An anthology of poems by:
A Lizzard Art Publication
Victoria, BC Canada
About the Author
Elizabeth Bogod was born in London, England but has lived in Canada for most of her life. She now lives in Victoria, British Columbia, where she enjoys the mild climate and the natural beauty around her. Elizabeth is a trained community Mental Health Worker. She works as a Peer Support Worker at the BC Schizophrenia Society – Victoria Branch (BCSS) where she co-facilitates the New Light Recovery Workshop – a peer-led psycho-educational group that offers Dialectical Behavior Techniques for those with overwhelming emotions (cross diagnosis). As a separate initiative from services offered by BCSS, she also co-facilitates a support group called the Overwhelming Emotions Support Group for those affected by Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).
Elizabeth’s writing includes children’s stories, poems and most recently a visual Power Point Presentation that tells the Story of a personified tree as she grows up from a tiny seed to adulthood. Elizabeth’s many poems reflect her playful and adventurous nature often containing elements of humour, horror and drama. Elizabeth also enjoys creating visual art. She works in a number of mediums including acrylics, water colour, pen and ink and computer generated images.
The idea of using “The Painted Word” as the title of the anthology is to communicate that both the written word and the visual image have something to say. Although the message may not always be apparent (room is left for interpretation) the message is always there. It is Elizabeth’s wish that the communicated message may both challenge and entertain the reader.
Copyright © Elizabeth Bogod, 2010-03-15
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission
of this publication may be made without written permission.
The Painted Word.
Acrylic ink’s the medium preferred.
Always developing the look, the style
To overcome the writer’s block trial.
Fantasy, horror or something absurd
Every genre in my mind’s occurred
Follow the rainbow, the painted word
Left to guide you thoroughly undeterred.
Sailing, soaring, twisting angels fly.
Dancing, spiralling on the wind that blows.
And the sun warms them with its energy and light.
Synchronized movements, the angels dance
set to music, music that nature creates…
The birds’ chirps, the winds’ howl and the voices of man
echo up towards the heavens.
Song and dance fill the air with happiness and bliss.
The day passes swiftly.
The sky slowly dims.
The sun falls and night is nigh.
The angels grow weary, so they sleep ‘til morn.
All is silent on this starry night.
The moon beams down on the world at rest.
In the midnight hours of the night.
Clapping in all its fury,
disturbing the tranquil night.
Silence is no more…
Rain beats down from the clouds above
and lightning flashes.
The evil spirits awaken.
They revel to the beating of rain
and crashes of thunder all night long.
In a bottomless pit, here they dwell.
It blazes with fire that does not quell.
It is a wicked place known only as hell.
And as the sun rises
and light filters through the clouds
the angels awaken and dance again
in this mystical land
filled with good and evil.
Explanation of the Unexplainable
Black robes move through mist so dense,
Not demons, not devils, just ordinary men.
Night sets this extraordinary scene.
Oh, it has mysterious natures…
What could it be that alarms me so?
Trees dwell shaped like ghosts.
And what moves near me?
But the answer to my question…
Spectres on the prowl!
if we could not see,
how would it be?
I wonder if we could not smile,
who would we be?
But most of all
what if man could not
Like a red boundless ribbon
tied around those who love.
For most, it is too thick
to ever break away.
But for some
it is like lace
fragile and weakened
hanging from a thread
The lace is c/u\t
and boundless is no more.
The Land of the Mind
Way far away,
where no one has been
lies a fantasy.
but quite close at hand
and not all that hard to find.
It lies in me…
It lies in you…
It lies in everyone.
Just search a little way
up in your mind
And you will find your unicorn.
A unicorn of love,
A unicorn of grace
and everything else
that makes the mind a beautiful place!
Elephant Can You Laugh?
Can an elephant laugh?
So you ask. Let us ask the elephant.
So we asked, “Elephant can you laugh?”
“I can trumpet”, said the elephant.
“But can you laugh?” We asked again.
“I can charge”, he replied
Ignoring our question for the second time.
“But can you laugh?” we asked discouraged.
“I feel hurt and pain, happiness and joy.
Sure I can laugh. I love to laugh!”
was afraid to go past her boundary, out the gate
with fear that she would meet her fate.
She drew back in fear
with every sound she could hear
through each extra sensitive ear.
kept a move, enticed by jersey milk
which made her hair shine like silk.
With glaring eyes she looked around
hearing every single sound.
She would leap and bound away
if she heard a noise that day.
she dared to endeavour past her boundary, out the gate
not so afraid she would meet her fate.
needed to explore the green, gigantic yard.
I could tell for her it was very hard.
she sat awhile, her eyes so wide
looking to either side.
she seemed ready to roam through the grass
to face the test she wanted to pass.
could go no further, past her boundary, out the gate.
She was too afraid she would meet her fate.
About My Cat: This poem is a true story. It is about our family cat “Macavity” (now passed away) named after one of the cats in the musical “Cats”. Our Macavity was very much a mystery cat. She kept to herself most of the time. The one thing she enjoyed most was going outside to explore. Recently, our townhouse complex had experienced a group of young people with BB guns taunting the many animals who lived there.
I thought that Macavity was afraid to go outside because of these individuals and so I tried to help overcome her fears so she could enjoy herself once again. Sadly, the reality which was unknown to our family until the very end was that Macavity was slowly losing her eye-sight. In the end Macavity lost her sight completely and had to be euthanized but through this poem she is fondly remembered as our Mystery Cat.
The Crescent Moon
Upon an ancient night
like in a cocoon,
seized of gleaming light
is the crescent moon.
The night angel is in a sorry plight
for the black raven is in flight
to change the sky into an evil night.
Pierced stars fall from the sky.
Imbedded in the earth, now they lie
Oh night angel, shall you die?
For I can hear your angel sigh!
Oh, night angel, please defy the black raven
to make the earth into a pleasant haven.
This is all I dare say
on this blackened day.
Please light my way
where green meadows lay.
The night angel carpets the sky
Saving each star that is nigh
So soft, heavenly, uniquely light
She puts up a great fight.
Her Wings reach up and uncover the moon
that is due by the goodness of love to be back soon.
The black raven in an effort to retrieve the dark night
hits the soft angel and bounces out of flight
landing in a spider’s web.
Never again would the raven
Steal the night angel’s role
for she had much too strong a soul.
One Solitary Man
There stands one solitary man against a brick wall.
Why does he stand there ever so tall?
Do birds and bees fill his one-track mind
or do butterflies circle his thoughts for his mind’s in a bind?
He shows no concerns that people think him odd.
When they pass, he does not even nod.
Is he eccentric, weird, or just unconventional?
Oh, why does he stand there? It’s obviously intentional.
Maybe he’s dreaming his life away
And simply has nothing to say.
Are great wheels turning within his head
Thinking great things that will make him famous when he is dead?
I wonder if he be nice or mean.
His personality has never been seen.
Does anybody know
whether he be friend or foe?
I do not understand this solitary man. Not at all.
Do you know why he stands against a brick wall?
The Balancing Act
We are your body
and your destined fate.
The circus is over.
The train is gone,
but we, your body,
still perform the balancing act.
The stakes are high
on which we show,
our white faces
with red fake smiles
under which our lips chip
away in the dry, cold wind.
Our clowning days are long gone
for the circus is over
the train is gone
but we, your body, still perform
the balancing act.
If thou fail
to write right
then thou shouldst
If thou write right
of thy earth
then right is thine to write.
And what is writ right
is righteous to be writ.
The Boy who Lived
(Inspired by the Harry Potter Series)
Because he was born of love
Of parentage noble and brave
Because he faced him without love
Or care or regard for humanity
Because he with love bears the scar
of he who killed those that loved him
And he of love stands now up against him
Because he knows not any love
Lay his soul in parts around
Because he thought that might protect him
And give him life eternal
But he who knows love knows this now
And aches to find each piece of scattered soul
Because he with love is destined
By the power of his love
To seize and destroy him
Or shall it be the downfall
Of all whom love is known to?