Connect Online Exhibition – Page 6

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Shusha Walmsley

The Messenger

She came to me at twilight time,
wrapped me in her silver gown,
whispered slowly in my ear
“all is not lost, have no fear”.

She came to me at twilight time,
silver hair flowing round.
She spoke of hope , new things to come,
different ways of life for some.

She came to me at twilight time,
glowing wings behind her.
She said the world was healing now.
I noticed love upon her brow.

She came to me at twilight time,
laughter freely scattered.
She said the world was newly born,
it would be now the great new norm.
She came to me at twilight time……

Mandela

A pearl imprisoned in its hardened
shell surrounded by a diamond sea,
surviving the test in order
to lead, to set his people free.

A shining example lets think of him now,
the length of his lonely days.
Ours in comparison have been so short,
a chance to change our wasteful ways.

We need to hear that voice right now
the sound of truth and reason.
A famous quote from a focussed man.
“A long walk to freedom”.

Heartbeat

Listen to my heart beat.
Listen to the sound.
Can you hear the rhythm
of my ancient ground.

Don’t abuse this earth
it’s just on loan.
We are the tenants
it’s not our own.

Treat it with care.
Honour its soul.
Feed it with love.
Make it feel whole.

We’ve had our warning.
Let’s take heed.
Listen to nature
Only use what you need.

Listen the heartbeat.
Listen to the sound.
Can you hear the rhythm
of the ancient ground.

Sian Dorman

www.siandormantextiles.co.uk
Instagram @siandormantextiles

Quarantine Jungle
Installation

Sonia Panova

Instagram @drawn_to_music
Sonia’s Etsy shop

The Touch Of Love
Acrylic ink on paper

£20 (A4 print £6, A3 print £10)

Reality
Acrylic ink on paper

£20 (A4 print £6, A3 print £10)

Not Special
Acrylic ink on paper

£20 (A4 print £6, A3 print £10)

Susan Waters

Notes on a Pandemic

What stories shall we tell
past knotted fear:

Of touching without flesh
of Winter-seeded faith
of viral music trumpeting
imagine all the people
of hands sounding gratitude
of words looped over metered space
threading a collective
of parked tyres, dusty tarmac

the exhaling earth
the constancy of sun
a pink crescent moon
the usual light on
all our faces