Beyond the Sphere

The Rickety Railway Track

Along the rickety railway track the journey has begun.
With innards juddered, bones shaken, nerves shredded,
The question is: when will the journey be done?

Dance of the Phoenix

With wings of fire
Feathers of flame
And head and tail of light

The phoenix
The firebird
Lifts off the ground, and upwards into flight

   It circles
It soars      
It sizzles                  
It roars          
           It shrieks
                                           It weaves and dives
                                                                         It hovers
                                                        It swoops
                                          It spins
                          It loops
And it aims for the greatest heights

The phoenix
The firebird
Dances and flies

And it dances with delight

I seem to be having a weekend with a ‘dance’ theme, for some reason, this week. Haven’t a clue how that could have possibly happened!

After yesterday’s post being an extended version of ‘Pianist and the rain’, I’ve revisited another post from 2012, ‘The birth of the phoenix‘, and this time, instead of extending that rhyme as well, I’ve kind of continued on with it. The first part was the phoenix rising from the ashes, and now this is the phoenix in flight. Who knows, the next part may be about what the phoenix has for tea!

I love playing with colour with the odd post. I hope the text is clear if viewed on a device where the background appears white. I was once told off for using yellow in a post, but just for devilment, I’ve added three yellow characters at the beginning.

I’m such a rebel at times!

Dance of the Pianist

As the pianist played, the rain fell.
As the rain fell, the thunder sang.
As the thunder sang, the lightning danced.
As the lightning danced, the pianist played.

Thunder and music.

Lightning and rain.

Harmonious. Togetherness. Nature and sound.
Dancing. And playing. Music abounds.

In tune.

In rhythm.

Inside and out.

The pianist plays as the rains come down.

Thunder. Now birdsong. Raindrops galore.
Both nature and musician need to give more.

Sunlight breaks through the gaps in the cloud.
If bright light was sound, this is very loud.
Competing with birdsong
And the pianists’ keys
And the patter of raindrops
And the rustle of leaves

The pianist continues.

More thunder claps.

More sunshine through the clouds’ many gaps.

The birdsong and chatter continue with glee.
The thunder rumbles on, although distantly.
The raindrops still fall, but now gentle and light.
And the pianist still plays, to his delight.

A rainbow appears to join in the dance

As if by magic

As if by chance.

Each by itself. All as one.

On and on.
And on.
And on.

Into the future. The days ahead.
The pianist will play to the tune in his head.

To sunshine.

To birdsong.

To moonlight.

To life.

To raindrops and thunder.

To daytime and night.

As nature calls, the pianist will play.

Their dance, their togetherness, will be on display.

The dance will continue.

Through sunshine and rain.

Not always different.

Not always the same.

The pianist will play as the rains come to call
Through thunder and lightning.

In fact, through it all.

I first put this together back in 2012, although at the time I didn’t feel it was complete. Or complete enough, if that makes sense, but at the time any extra words I used didn’t seem to fit in with the flow.

I’ve revisited this little creation today, and added a few extra lines, plus an extra level of perception to indicate the passing of time.

I remember writing the first part one evening in 2012, as I was playing a video I’d found on You Tube of heavy rain in a tropical rain forest somewhere, and from there I just went with where my imagination took me (Not that I do that very often, I must add!) I have no idea what forced me to look for a tropical rainstorm in the first place, although it could have been simply to find inspiration for this post. Well, the first post, not this one. Obviously.

Although I have no clue as to who the pianist is (it certainly isn’t me as I haven’t got a musical bone in my body!), I’m beginning to see him (or her, although I did use the word ‘his’ in one or two of the lines) as the heart, beating its way though everything, from beginning to end. The dance, in this case, is life. And the weather and wildlife indicate all of the different events we come across on a daily basis.

See. I told you… my imagination is running away with me again. It could also just be about an obsessed pianist playing to nature’s tune.

Anyway, enough imagination for now.

Time to look for a fitting photograph for this post (although by the time you read this, you’d have already seen it!) I love playing with time at times…

One man’s art is another man’s garbage

I’m channelling another of my Inner Beings.

A-Hmmmmm. Brrr Brrr.

A-Hmmmmm. Brrr Brrr.

A-Hmmmmm Brrr Brrr…

Hello. Inner Being are you there?

(He’s nodding in agreement. It’s going to be one of those channellings!)

Could you please advise me of your name?


Tomelangelo? My SECOND Inner Artist? How cool!

And what would you like to show us today, Tomelangelo?

Art through photographs.

Sorry. It looks like this is another photo post. Sigh. OK, then. Go for it, Tomelangelo.


The Sweet Collection

Bonbons in a row
Bonbons from above
Bonbons plot
Bonbons gone
Bonbons in captivity

The Cute Collection

Splodge cute
Splodge blink 1
Splodge blink 2
Splodge blink 1
Splodge blink 2

The Floral Collection (Incomplete)

A stereotypical rose


Tomelangelo… hello… are you there?


That’s it? That’s your Art Through Photographs collection?

Like everything it’s a work in progress. Besides, Art is in the eye of the beholder. One man’s art is another man’s garbage. Everyone’s a critic nowadays.

But isn’t art meant to be more than just a bunch of photographs?

Art is what it is. An arrangement. Something that stimulates the senses; the mind; the critic. Art is creation expressed through a different vantage point. Art is a moment caught in time. Art is a message from the creator intended to create more thought; more creativity. Art is a craft that both expresses the imagination and ignites it.
Art is what it is. In whatever form it is portrayed. Acting. Music. Singing. Dance. Painting. Sketching. Writing. Poetry. And photography. Plus others. Anything that requires creativity, is art.

He’s hung up.

I notice that he doesn’t mention blogging. Is that an art form then?

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The Mansion: Morsels of Mayhem and Magic

Something to lighten the mood is in order, I feel. Well, something different anyhow.

I’ve harped on about this Mansion of mine for what seems like centuries now. I’ve revealed bits and bobs about it as time’s gone by, like the fact that way beneath the Mansion flows the Lava River for starters; the different Views from the Windows I see which change more regularly than clockwork for the main course; and that odd Room that appeared outside in the Grinds just in time for Halloween that time, for dessert.

As in-between snacks, I’ve:

  • Revealed that there’s a mysterious Shield up on the wall on the Landing
  • Mentioned an all-consuming vortex in the bathroom (which also doubles as my laboratory from time to time)
  • Discovered a hidden room downstairs that was used back in the 1970s by an old space agency that sent a probe out looking for distant worlds (and found one!)
  • Described the rather hot vestibule that leads down to the Cellar
  • Explained how the Mansion, on occasions, drags me into a whole different time period completely for the day
  • Written about the time I conversed with a disembodied voice one morning and another time where items moved to the centre of the room without me (or anyone physical!) being in there
  • Gone into detail about the Grinds that surrind the Mansion, concentrating on the rather large Lake at the bottom end, and the creatures that live down there
  • Hinted that the Mansion sometimes changes shape entirely

For liquid refreshment, I’ve flooded the occasional post with details about the staircase, the different wings, the Driveway, the odd turrets, and the creatures of the night that come alive in the Grinds (away from the Lake)

And for a sprinkling of garnish, I’ve revealed the very stone that is used in parts of the Mansion’s construction… the kind that records history.

One important fact has never been revealed, and that fact is of the utmost trivia… a winner to win the fiercest of trivia competitions… a point so pointless it’s worth knowing just because of that.


I can now reveal that piece of trivia. Brace yourselves, it’s going to be emot – nope – hang on – it’s going to be exceptional. And you were here when it was first revealed!

Shall we have a drum roll? Nope.

Shall we have a spring roll? Er, no…

Shall we have a – let’s forget all that and just roll!


The number of stairs on the staircase up to the landing is fifteen. That’s right. 15 is a magic number. The number of stairs down from the landing is fourteen. 14’s just baffling.

As a hiccup: have I ever mentioned the fact that the Mansion straddles Universes and Dimensions? I’m sure I have. I must have.

And for that reason alone you can see why anything’s possible here.

It really is.