25 October 2011

Lettering on a house in Cambridge

This was just a house we passed at the end of the walk from Grantchester meadows up to Newnham in Cambridge. Such a simply thing and yet lovely.

21 September 2011

Bletchley Park - Second World War lettering and numbers treasures.

For my birthday, I finally managed to get to Bletchley Park in Bedfordshire. It's an astonishing place, a place where you can still tangibly feel the presence of the people that worked there in the Second World War. I actually got to see an Enigma machine and got to see Colossus working. A magnificent sight and sound! Here are just a few of the beautiful numbers and letters about the place.

The Polish Memorial

The Polish Memorial

Bakelite Radio

30 July 2011

St. Mary's Uggeshall - poor box words

Another small object that grabbed my attention. Its a poor box that was in St.Mary's church at Uggeshall in Suffolk. This little church we came across by sheer fluke and couldn't believe our eyes. Its thatched and old, really old. And open to see inside too. Its very simple inside with many devotional pictures of Mary. Its one of my very favourite of churches. So utterly peaceful and full of atmosphere. Truly wonderful and tucked away from the main roads. Go and visit if you are near and put some money in the donations box.

Holy moly guacamole!! saying hello again and some new beautiful text to see!

Holy moly guacamole... I havent posted on here for what feels like a billion years. Ok, a bit of an overstatement, but its been a long time. I have been poorly, had a lot on work wise and had difficult family commitments to cope with. Still, a break is sometimes what you need to recharge and here are some photos of some new beautiful words I have found on a recent trip to Suffolk.

Aldeburgh Museum

A boat at Southwold harbour

Sole Bay Inn at the heart of Southwold

Everwhere I go, a little bit of Salisbury

St Margaret's church at Reydon

Back to Front Cottage at Southwold

17 March 2011

" The Sand in my Hand" - spoken poem

Click HERE to hear on AudioBoo

The sand in my hand

Standing with the sun on my back
I can hear the swoosh of the waves coming and going.
Their movements are as timeless as the sun rising and setting.
I know that the warm dry sand in my hand,
that slips through my fingers
is the most beautiful thing
in my world at this moment.
It's like liquid, the grains joined and intimate,
touching so close that there is no air between them.
I am so happy, but
I know in its beauty I have to let the sand fall through my fingertips.
It must fall away into the wind,
into the air,
into space.
I have no choice.
I long to hold it forever but I know I have to let it go.
And so the waves swoosh
coming and going,
coming and going,
coming and going.

©Vanessa Stone 2010.

24 February 2011

AudioBoo - my poems spoken - "About a father, about a life"

I have recently signed up to Audioboo. Its a sharing site for just audio, so a bit like Twitter and  Facebook, but its feels much more quirky and little and VERY easy to do. I simply love it as hearing someones voice is intimate and makes them feel like they are in the room with you. And so far I have found people talking and reflecting about their lives and their day to day thoughts along with musicians,and journalisty kind of audio clips from real news events around the world. I first thought I would use it so that you can hear me say my poems and talk about some of my work as hearing a voice adds and richen the experience of getting to know someone - but I think its going to be a broader use that that as I can just record stuff on my phone and post it. have a little tiny stab at making some sound pictures. Its a whole new world!

So here is my poem " About a father, about a life" read on AudioBoo. Have a listen!  CLICK HERE

"About a father, about a life"

Into this building we have all walked
All hear the echo of our footsteps and see the mark of them.
There are many floors - only three I have fully known.
You have climbed, trod many more.
And in that time, my hand held - looking up.
Doors you opened, window light bright, shadows few.
A cloak naturally assumed to be there.

(the thief in the shadows has been stealing your wings,
feather by feather by feather)

I opened doors too, alone, in this great bulk.
And am opening them still, little tear by little tear.
A cloak that’s now given, a hand held looking down.

©Vanessa Stone May 2009