The Colour of Poetry

Time for a little experiment.

I decided that I would assign a colour to each letter of the alphabet using the range of a rainbow.

So, starting with Red as A, moving through to Violet as Z.

And to show you what that looks like, here’s a pretty little picture of it.

Rainbow Alphabet

Now, some people might say that I need to do a bit more work on the blending. And they’d be right. But for the sake of expediency, you’re stuck with the above.

Next, I took a poem. Actually it’s a haiku. No point getting too ambitious.

I wanted to see what my poem would look like purely as colour.

And it looks like this…

I think it looks kind of pretty in an abstract kind of way.

Of course, you wouldn’t just have to use the colours of the rainbow. You might want to try it using only hues of red and orange. You could also vary the shapes.

If it doesn’t take the art world by storm MI6 could always use it as code.

Next up, The Odyssey.

Haiku for Norway

Utoeya

Bullets rain
Like spruce needles,
Where children cannot hide.

Japan Art Auction Posters

Here are a brace of posters promoting the forthcoming Japan Art Auction at Studio Manchester on the 7th April.

Please help spread the word by downloading them, printing them out and sticking them up in your office.

Numbers to the exhibition will be extremely limited so please make sure you can definitely attend before requesting a ticket.

Also, if you could Tweet and share on Facebook / Linked In, I’d be very grateful.

Thank you.

David Milligan-Croft

JAA-POSTERS

Japan Art Auction Poster

JAA Haiku Poster

Japan Art Auction

I’ve been so busy Tweeting, Facebooking and Linked-In-ing, that I’ve neglected to mention the Japan Art Auction on my blog!

I’m putting on an exhibition / auction of UK and Irish creative work to raise funds for victims of the tsunami.

Artists include: writers, photographers, designers and illustrators from the advertising industry who are kindly donating work to be auctioned/sold.

I have already received the first piece for the exhibition – a beautiful poem by Irish poet, Patrick Chapman.

I’ve had lots of very positive feedback, offers of help, and advice on how to put on an exhibition!

If anyone out there wants to donate some artwork, please drop me a line. It can either be something bespoke, related to the disaster, or something from your archives. Or, if you know someone else you think might want to help, send them this post.

The medium isn’t important either. It could be: a painting, illustration, photograph, poem, prose, haiku, graphic design etc.

What it must be: is something that you think someone else might want to put on their wall.

The main goal for this is to raise money for the people of Japan.

The date is TBC. As is the venue. But it is more than likely going to be in Manchester, England.

I’ll provide regular updates as I have them re specs, venue, dates etc.

Anyone who wants to help in any way, (even if it isn’t to exhibit), please drop me a line. But, above all, remember, I want everything for Free!

Thank you.

David Milligan-Croft

 

Sexist Haiku

It’s been a while since I posted any poetry what with all my ramblings about TV advertising and the creation of the universe.

So, not in the spirit of traditional haiku, I thought I’d write a couple of sexist ones. One for the boys and one for the girls.

For the boys:

The trouble with girls

Is once you go steady, they

Get really fatty.

And, for the girls:

The trouble with boys

Is once you go steady, they

Think you’re their Mummy.

Now, to be fair, (and factual), my missus doesn’t fall into this chubby stereotype as she’s as skinny as a beanpole. (And I mean that in a nice way, as I love beanpoles. And my wife.) In fact, it’s me who’s let themselves go. It’s depressing when your waist measurement is actually a larger number than your inside leg measurement.

In fact, since getting married, I’ve become a veritable tubbygutbucket. But I don’t care. I’m on the gravy train, and it isn’t Bisto gravy granules. It’s proper gravy made from the hot dripping fat of a roasting pig’s carcass.

That said, my middle-aged self-indulgence might come back to haunt me when it’s time to meet the maker. Trying to sneak in through the ‘Angel flap’ in the Pearly Gates and Gabriel saying: Jeez, those Angels are really letting themselves go. And Jesus saying: Will you stop calling me Jeez, it sounds really patronizing.

Which all leads me, rather clunkily, round to…

When your belly is bigger,

Than your inside leg,

It’s time to stop eating

Breakfast in Gregg’s*.

 

*Gregg’s – bakery chain that sells pies and pasties.

 

A Christmas Haiku

Thrust toward heaven

Warm tongues catch falling snowflakes -

The kiss of Christmas.

(See you on the other side, Happy Christmas xx.)

Haiku time

It’s been a while…

Greedy garbage trucks
Prowl neon-lit streets, leaving
Nothing in their wake.

Today’s haiku

Driving, or rather, stuck in traffic, in 83ºF heat. A haiku sprang to mind.

Dandelion clock

Floats in through my car window,

A breath, and it’s gone.

A big bang idea

All ideas start with a spark of electricity. An electrical impulse which travels through synapses to become an action.

And there you have it: Life.

Congratulations. You are now the proud parent of an idea.

My two children started out as an idea. An idea that I wanted them. And I got two beautiful girls. (Of course, there was a lot of two-ing and fro-ing with the client. Got knocked back a few times, but I persevered.)

I am an ardent believer that absolutely anything is possible. If you can imagine it, it can be done. Time travel, yes. Star Trek teleporter thingamibobs, yes. Less than a hundred years ago, if you had said we would fly rockets to the moon most people would think you a loon. But somebody, somewhere had an idea that it was possible. Not necessarily the person who invented the rocket but way before that. Before Copernicus. Think stone age man staring up at the glowing creamy orb and wondering what it must be like to set foot on it.

That’s how a lot of ideas start. They don’t begin and end with the author. They get transferred to other people. People who believe your idea is a good one. It gathers momentum and before you know it, it isn’t an idea anymore. It’s a thing. A noun. It lives.

Here’s an idea: What if that’s all we are – An Idea? The whole universe, an idea that somebody dreamed up. Who? Perhaps it’s a kid looking out of his bedroom window staring up at a moon. Or a little girl imagining a make believe world, or a scientist wondering what life might be like on another planet. Whoever it was, I think they’ve buggered off for their dinner.

The point? If you can think it, it can be done. If you believe in it, it will gather momentum. You will have to nurture it at first with the tender loving care a parent should give its baby. But at some stage you have to let it go and grow up all by itself. It’s not yours anymore. It has its own friends. It’s own opinions and you might not necessarily always agree with them. Maybe they don’t turn out quite as you had hoped. Maybe they’re more Batley High School than Oxford. But still, it is your baby and you should be proud.

Time for a haiku

I don’t usually give an explanation of the background to my haiku, as the poem should paint the picture itself. On this occasion, I’ll break the rules. I’m very fortunate to have the Peak District on my doorstep, so will take off with the younglings at the weekend to sample the delights of Peveril Castle, or Chatsworth House, or simply enjoy the undulating dales and vales.

It’s this proximity to ‘civilisation’ that I was trying to capture. The joy of wild beauty coupled with urban pollution.

I’ve done two versions – a contemporary one which doesn’t conform to the 17 rule and a purest 17 one. I can’t decide.

Plastic bag

Caught on barbed wire, gulps the

Moor-ish wind.

Plastic carrier

Bag caught on barbed wire fence,

Gulps the moor-ish wind.