AV Peter

Mother of Pearl

 My photographic images of her

Are gathered over half a century.

As she alters, I change my camera,

So what she seems remains the same to me.

I change lenses too, for my view-finder

Sees the same differences between us

Getting shorter, as the length grows longer,

And less sharp when I use softer focus.

Now my shutter clicks past its thirty years,

Married to her, five more than mere silver.

The picture’s ours but the negative’s hers,

My positive proof just proves we’re still there.

Sand, in the mother shell, grew the real pearl;

Virtual images are artificial.

175

One-sev’n-five years of guarding the living,

But also the dead as they departed;

St. James, Hebden Bridge, is now rememb’ring

The place it played since the time it started.

Celebrating future through looking back,

Recalling all our present memories;

Seeking tomorrow peeping through the crack

That opens all our possibilities.

We sing the everlasting hymns of time,

In tune with everything God created;

Out of ordinary becomes sublime;

All is one with nothing separated.

We may seem dead and yet be still alive,

For ever celebrating one-sev’n-five.

My latest book of poems “In The Image of Love” will be sent to the printers shortly. It is 80 perfect-bound pages, printed in full colour by the printers of AV News: Mensa Printers.  It contains 73 Shakespearian sonnets, each poem is illustrated wih a colour image. About half of these sonnets have also been produced as AV Sequences. Most of them can be viewed on my www.youtube.com pages at “avpeter”. There are currently 83 Sequences made by me shown there. Some others of these poem scripts may well appear as Sequences within the next few months (or years!)

For those purchasing ”In The Image of Love” through a bookshop, its ISBN No is:    13  978-1-870682-25-1

Any wishing to order a copy through this site may do so via e-mail to  peter@3-c.coop

The RRP is £8 but to any members of the RPS AV Group a fiver (post free!) will do, especially for all those kind folk purchasing bulk orders for Christmas presents for their many AV friends (or enemies) !!!

Cheques made payable to “Peter S Coles” should be sent to Lacy House Farm, Charlestown, Hebden Bridge HX7 6PN

22nd September

Yesterday I witnessed a new Sequence “A Meditation on Colour” by “Jordan Lee” 

This is the pen-name for Bill Jordan and Keith Leedham.

If you were lucky enough to be at Cirencester, you would have been unlucky enough to be unable to distinguish any words within this Sequence, for Bill’s ten-year-old soundtrack had so much echo and other distortion on it that it was impossible to make out what the words were.

These words were mine. There are derived from a poem published in 1996 in “Kingdom Come and Other Poems” – ISBN 1-870682 02 -3.

In case any are actually in any way interested in the words, here they are:

A Meditation on Colour

Let there be light.

No, do not turn your minds away,

Incline them now to what WE say,

For WE are the Father and Mother of all colour.

WE are the bright dazzle which conceived this special gift for you.

Watch and pray

You may realise OUR prize.

This perfect present is but holy dust and spittle.

It heals your whole vision, until in faith your blind eyes must see.

Meanwhile, these colours are but a partial truth of US,

A ruthless reduction, an infinitesimal reflection of instant snippets,

A fast-fading old album of long-past monochromatic snaps.

No human can bear the white-hot terror of OUR nuclear heaven and hell.

No one lives to tell the tale.

No! Here and now, on Earth, you cannot know US

For OUR nature must only reveal this sort of ghost of US.

The rest is kept secret, as an iceberg in the mist.

Now you may just glimpse OUR shadow,

As these merging primal colours reveal

Stolen, pale white, surprising, third images of US.

Yes, here and now, you see through the glass darkly,

But soon, after these materialistic trials and tribulations,

This long, interminable, little while,

Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, you meet US face to face,

In OUR awful, all powerful, real entirety.

WE are the one in three. WE are the TRINITY.

WE are energy, Matter and Spitrit,

So far best expressed in Jesus Christ, the SON.

WE are TRUTH, WE are LIFE ,  WE are THE WAY.

But if you still insist on blindness,

If you will not see,

Turn now, turn, go

Right through your Newton’s newer rainbow.

Listen, while you can, to more than just this one great lesser man.

Try at least these three simpler, revised and authorised versions of US.

Digest Einstein, Heisenberg and Pauli.

Eat and drink of them in their coloured remembrance of HIM US and ME,

For WE are the Father and Mother of all colour.

WE are the bright dazzle which conceived this special gift for you.

Watch and pray. You may be our perfect prize today.

Doubt not if WE make the higher man. WE can.

WE are THE WAY.

Let there be brighter light.

September 26th

Last night I decided to write a sonnet to fit the images I had used from Hannah Thurman’s site to make the Sequence T 4 2

Here is the poem:

Lost Moments

Written having met Hannah Thurman & visited www.HannnahThurman.co.uk

She stitches cups from all those lost moments,

Which epitomize her collected past,

Embroidering accidental intents,

From savoured beverages which never last.

Sadness mingles with the joy created,

As patterns weave between the warp and weft;

Contrast saturates the love we hated,

Sometimes wondering if there’s nothing left.

We question every new phenomenon;

Our unforced errors interrupt the flow;

Screw dislocations allow perfection,

As structure grows along the faults we know.

Present is defined from each instant gone;

Miracles depend on imperfection.

I had read the Book by Steve Clayton “the art of being dead” after I went to the launch of it in Hebden Bridge.

Following this, I wrote this sonnet, which will appear with my new book “In The Image of Love” ISBN 978-1-870682-25-1

The Writer’s Art

Had I decided my final exit

Would be me dying on page ninety-five

Hell could be the sexually explicit

Alternative to staying here alive.

Portraying lies among the living dead

Enables us to become murderers

Of the characters in the author’s head

Becoming or inventing one of us.

The writing art lies in observation:

Perceiving self in everything we see;

Wisdom gleaned from foolish conversation;

Hallucination from reality.

The artist in the author now insists

That happy endings are for pessimists.