• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 05

Gathering of stuttering heart’s to soothe, our weary hurts

Blessed are we, the few
gifted our escape tunnel of creativity
to regather our hope
in these Times, of chaotic absurdity.

March 2022 and my month begins
like so many, this past few years
I am looking at an image
a prompt, a challenge, a whisper
it’s an email by Visual Verse
timely and prompt
asking my creativity, here
see this
show me, the You
that you can weave, out of this!

Often accompanied by witty and wise
editor’s words, shading a little more light
guiding our imaginations
to swim in the same river’s trajectory
to pool as one collective edition
of artistic self-expression
borderless, bold and triumphantly diverse.


Gathering of stuttering heart’s to soothe, our weary hurts

I read, a soothing title
to ease me into the threads, that began
to hover at the first sight of those birds.
‘A Hummingbird by a Lady’
what a sweet title and so aptly succinct
takes me back to ‘Henry’s Confession’
by John Berryman
‘Hum a little, Mr Bones’ he wrote to himself
just as Nina Hayes, sang like a lullaby
‘I’m the humming bird humming Bird
humming bird humming Bird
I’m doing my best’.

So its my turn, to try and add a brushstroke
to VV’s monthly collage Artwork
but I hesitate
I am a city born kid, incapable
of differentiating between a hummingbird
or a hummingbird hawkmoth
what can I add?

Beyond the birds, I seek to find the appeal
of that artwork, now posterity decreed
as defiant Art, with empowering intent
so I look deep into its weary yellow, backdrop
as a contrast
to the vitality, of Nature’s
vibrant colours at its forefront


Gathering of stuttering heart’s to soothe, our weary hurts

nothing stands out as loud or imposing
it’s all a matrimony of self-contained mildness
sober browns, with earthly greens
and faded greenery
there is certainly, a little flair
a speck of defiant gaiety, in amongst
the sombre realism, flowing just underneath
that top hummingbird’s, beaks
is a flood of bright yellow and pink
accentuated by light wave patterns as feathers.

Those tones, remind me
of March’s femininity theme, in modernity
and how Spring, is just around the corner
so I smile and type
while in my ear, Russia is apparently
getting closer, to capturing Kiev.

So this is my destiny, so this our Art
some, hundred and fifty years
from when this Rural Hours painting
of Red Throated Hummingbirds
was created
and two world wars, overcome
with hundreds of cemeteries, shovelled
for the millions of lives lost


Gathering of stuttering heart’s to soothe, our weary hurts

here is Art, trying to dogpaddle
some sense of meaning, or worth
to our lives
in the face of Humanity’s
warmongering fallibility
and insatiable need
for destruction and chaos.

So what to do
but fight our best, with what tools
Nature gave us at birth
to refuse: Hate
to ‘hum a little’, knowing
we’re ‘doing our Best!’
and heed the wisdom
of ‘our hummingbird, ladies’
believing in reassuring words
that promise
‘the rain would finally come’
and wash away, yet another stain
in our collective history
of evermore: barbaric inhumanity!