Saturday, November 26, 2016

The soul...

Photo - Barbara Allen 2016

The soul starts out on high, in a peaceful place, and then at birth it comes down, to inhabit a body, and is swept into a raging flood of material experience.

That’s why a baby cries when it’s born; because formerly the soul experienced peace and godliness, but now; gross, physical reality.

© Martyn Legg 2016

Sunday, November 13, 2016

The muse

A favorite spot of Victor Hugo & Renoir
Much of Toilers of the Sea was penned here circa 1865
Words that drip from angry pen
Thoughts that balance, now and then
Visions seen but never grasped
Lives unfold but will not last
Moments trickle through my hands
Dreams are birthed, as yet unplanned
Futures turn and start anew
Something lost and something true
Passions fired by sickened gut
Things I am and things I’m not
Fury breaching like a dam
Screaming deep ‘it’s who I am’
Walking paths the saints have known
Reaping fruits I have not sown
Talk is vapor, night is day
Even fools have things to say
Days of thunder, spring is near
Things unseen will soon be clear
Rage unfolds, injustice thrives
So so glad He changes lives…

© Martyn Legg 2016

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Waves on the Shore

With my feet on a beach, there are stars I can reach, I won't ever die, I'll just step through the sky, there are waves on the shore that will lead me to more, where the sun never sets and there are no regrets...

Friday, June 17, 2016

Door to nowhere...

I've been wanting to create a door to nowhere for years, it's a perfect trompe-l'œil for city dwellers with small patio or passage type gardens or anyone wanting to create a bit of mystery or fun. The door is about 50mm off the wall, I'm hoping that bees, bugs & gremlins will find sanctuary here. Due to the missing glass, the ivy will soon grow through and also smother the edges of what was once a door to a secret garden, belonging to the most beautiful young girl in the town, whose heart was broken by the local bee keeper. To this day, her sighing can be heard in the warmth of the evening sun, as shadows 
lengthen, and become nocturnal beings.

Some days we just need to dream.
Acts 2:17 ‘In the last days I will send My Spirit on all men. Then your sons and daughters will speak God’s Word. Your young men will see what God has given them to see. Your old men will dream dreams.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Three years on.

Saturday, three years since I found my old mum dead on the floor, after a wonderful day gardening, doing things she shouldn't have been doing. There was always one bit more to sort and tidy, she loved it; the rhythm and result. I'm supposed to be building, but feel terribly distracted so I've given up, picked up her secateurs and started sorting last year’s cuttings. Only two male friends have ever broached the subject in that time, males seem a bit pathetic sometimes; it's amazing how fiddling with the garden helps. Robins and wrens, gerberas and roses, seem to redress the balance of life at times.

Here's one more cutting just for you mum.