Original artwork description:

Acrylic and pencil painting on board.

It seems strange to think of all these foreign cities covered in rubble
If my home was like that
I think I’d trouble myself
to sweep up a bit and tidy my shelf

Always shouting screaming and shuffling around
You wouldn’t catch me acting like that in my little town

‘It’s lack of Pride! It’s lack of Respect!’

But a needling voice in my head says ‘I suspect…’

It might be difficult to clean and polish
when drones and airstrikes are called to demolish
Your little corner of safety
Your humble nest
When trooping troops are called at the behest
Of greedy politicians oceans away
Why the fuck do they get their say
On what is burnt, battered and skinned
Who called them up? Who let them in?

They’re after a man, a group, a sect
Exploding the city
What do they expect?
We’ll get out of the way, move all of our children
Okay, we got out in time, what do we do now then?

But not all of us did
People squashed to jam
Dust clouds and glass shards
Orphaned babies and burning cars
It seems so unreal in a distant country
That anything like this could happen to me

But remember that smoking hole in the ground
Where fruits trees grew and laughter was found
Was once a home much like yours
Explain to me again why we need these wars?
It’s for freedom and liberty whatever than means
I hope it arrives neatly packaged for you
Because it seems for me, completely untrue.

A painting with a poem. The poem was almost an act of automatic writing, the focus being, not focussing too much and letting it write itself. It was a freeing experience after the detailed painting of the flowers whilst hunched over my desk clutching a small brush.

Ready to hang!

Materials used:

Acrylic on board

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