Dogwalking With Van Morrison

photogaphy, poetry

Dogwalking With Van Morrison


Dogwalking With Van Morrison

October sun; blinding,high,
reveals night-shift silk
spun and caught in carpet
of crisp Autumn fall.
Van’s vision,and
I’m feeling his sense
of wonder.
Dog shares ecstatic
suspended moments,
appreciating too, the master’s
fiery vision bright;
and misses a squirrel
fancying it’s chances,
one too nonchalent
to care , sensing engagement
Pete’s seen squirrels before;
he’ll see them again.
What matters is the now,
nose down in
unmentionable odours
too potent to ignore.
I did walk the dog this morning, though this time it was Digger, not Pete  as sadly he fell and never recovered the fall, breaking his back after sliding off a rock.  It was a loss, but we couldn’t help but feel it was the best way for a dog to go – living  a life full of joy and freedom, chasing after something that had caught his nose.
The photo too tells of  a different Autumn, a holiday in October taken in the Scottish highlands. Where better to be amongst the colours of Autumn. Off up there soon , cannot wait!

Autumn beauty

Life, photogaphy

purleigh Essex2z IMG_1491 IMG_1518 IMG_1397

As I climbed the Cliffs, when I jarred the foliage, I perceived an exquisite perfume which I could not trace to its source. Ah, those fugacious universal fragrances of the meadows and woods! odors rightly mingled!

source: Henry David Thoreau

I love September – the temperature is more mellow, the smells of Autumn and the final fling of growth as the berries pour over the hedgerows. This year they are bounteous.

I live in two counties – half the week in Essex and half in the Midlands, as a result of life mixing it up with a second marriage and a husband who works away from home.  I like to spend time with him there,  the place where we stay is a little rural getaway from the city.  Bliss in a rented shack shared with a companionable South African and his dog. I like being 53 and much happier in my own skin.  Change is omnipresent – for me it involves the departure of the youngest son to university. I like change, even when its hard. It means ree-valuation, contemplation about how I want the next stage to unravel.  So living in two counties has its downsides, the peripatetic nature of it demands the continual packing and repacking, and the juggling of knowing what food needs to be where! But on the upside – more variety, more opportunity and lots of blackberries in Autumn.

Enjoy your Autumn, whatever you are doing, whatever change it brings.

Unnoticed and necessary.

Life, LOVE, photogaphy, poetry, United Kingdom



IMG_1530watercolour version

Purleigh, Essex.Anne Corr Digital watercolour.


Variations on the Word “Sleep”

 I would like to watch you sleeping,
 which may not happen.
 I would like to watch you,
 sleeping. I would like to sleep
 with you, to enter
 your sleep as its smooth dark wave
 slides over my head

 and walk with you through that lucent
 wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
 with its watery sun & three moons
 towards the cave where you must descend,
 towards your worst fear

 I would like to give you the silver
 branch, the small white flower, the one
 word that will protect you
 from the grief at the center
 of your dream, from the grief
 at the center. I would like to follow
 you up the long stairway
 again & become
 the boat that would row you back
 carefully, a flame
 in two cupped hands
 to where your body lies
 beside me, and you enter
 it as easily as breathing in

 I would like to be the air
 that inhabits you for a moment
 only. I would like to be that unnoticed
 & that necessary.

Margaret Atwood

Composition I and Composition II

Art, blogging, photogaphy

cris seascape 1 print cris seascape 2clock


‘The composition is the thing seen by every one living in the living they are doing, they are the composing of the composition that at the time they are living in the composition of the time in which they are living. It is that that makes living a thing they are doing. Nothing else is different, of that almost any one can be certain. The time when and the time of and the time in that composition is the natural phenomena of that composition and of that perhaps every one can be certain.

No one thinks these things when they are making when they are creating what is the composition, naturally no one thinks, that is no one formulates until what is to be formulated has been made.’


Thanks to Gertrude Stein for the words.

Thanks to my lovely husband for the photography, and the holiday. Thanks to our boys who make holidays and life the best way to spend our days.

Rock of ages.

Art, earth, photogaphy, poetry, United Kingdom


Digital painting from Elgol, Isle fo Skye . Anne Corr

Digital painting from Elgol, Isle fo Skye . Anne Corr

Six Significant Landscapes
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.

The night is of the colour
Of a woman’s arm:
Night, the female,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.

I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.

When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.

Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.

Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses —
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon —
Rationalists would wear sombreros.
— Wallace Stevens



Art, photogaphy, poetry, Thoughts



Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and would that night were here!
But ah!—to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!—with twilight near!

Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,—
There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.

Love has gone and left me,—and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,—
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There’s this little street and this little house.

-Edna St Millay


‘But words are things’

Art, books, literature, photogaphy, poetry
~Wooded walk

~Wooded walk

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books
that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be
able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it,
live along some distant day into the answer.”

This is an excerpt from the enormously popular poet Rainer Maria Wilke,  from ‘Letters to a young poet’, published after his death.  He wrote a correspondence to a young man in the Austro Hungrian army between 1902 and 1908; Franz Kappus was a young man struggling with his own poetry and turned to Rilke for advice.  He certainly got it.   He advised Franz to look inward and not rely on the capriciousness of the market place. Rilke didn’t critique the young man’s poetry, but instead wrote with greater impact, about soul and shared profound insights about creativity, soul, reflection, relationships, sexuality,  love, and life. The letters were published by Franz after Rilkes death, and have been admired as literary masterpieces. They can be read here in translation.;

 Like Rumi, Rilke is a mystical wordsmith, and his words have gone on to inspire and solace in equal measure.  In the words of an English poet, Lord Byron, 


But words are things, and a small drop of ink,

Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces

That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.

Lord Byron, Don Juan (written between 1818 to 1824), Canto III, Stanza 88.

Rooted in the present, branching out.

blogging, books, illustration, Life, literature, photogaphy
When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. . . . Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.
A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing trees study  Anne Corrreveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.
So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.woods 1V  anne corr




 Words by Hermann Hesse

Rocking all the way home.

Art, blogging, photogaphy, poetry, United Kingdom

rock and seaweed Anne Corr

Landscape holds dominion here;

rock and light; half-light,

cloud  and shadow. Moving,

sweeping , ever-changing,

ever time-less.

I came here broken;

heart grieving life losses

(disconsolate, bereft).

Time locked down, moved on

Had gone elsewhere.  Here

I was still; silenced, petrified.


Rock, stone, light became as

near to enchantment as life.

The breath of the wind, and

flight of the mist kissed me,

mired in sadness, mourning for

what is not; fantasies

of a mortal mind.


All that has gone before;

here, remains. In heart of stone,

in the spirit of trees; blazoned

over sides of mountains,

gushing and rushing  in waterfalls

fierce as thunder.


I am rock, and stone; grass ,water,

sand and mist. Timeless, changed.


Here, and here, alone.


Sea and rock Anne Corr Rock and sea     Anne Corr


All creative endeavour here is by me, please do not copy or use it without prior consent.  Of course I mean the photos and the poem,  not the landscape itself which is its own creation and spectacularly amazing.

And if Dr Quack is reading the photo  below is for you; it proves the existence of giant mallards before they were all petrified – literally. this one is just keeping its head above water.

Giant duck of stone   Anne Corr

Giants, volcanoes and an Island of Perpetual Delight.

Life, photogaphy, travel, United Kingdom

The visibility was holding beautifully – this Island can be shrouded in mist for the whole of a weeks stay, but our luck was in.  In March you’re never without a few layers to keep out the wind, which is uncompromising, but not to have had the waterproof trousers on is a real bonus.  To know Skye is to fall in love with Skye, and like all good relationships , it just keeps on giving. On this day we saw a sea eagle in flight, a burnt out volcano and messed about in a little corner we had never yet seen which appeared to have been the burial grounds of giants. You will see what I mean from the photos.  I was seeing giants everywhere, so what with faery pools yesterday and these petrified beings today, it’s no stretch to realise we are in the land of myth and magic.

Here's my head of a giant

Here’s my head of a giant

My giants lying together in their final resting place

My giants lying together in their final resting place

Just a great view
Just a great view

panorama of the spit of land we were walking.
panorama of the spit of land we were walking.