bookseeker agency
a platform for artistic
enterprise
p o box 7535, perth, ph2 1af,
bookseeker[a]blueyonder.co.uk
acting for:
Lesley Haycock, artist –
Marie Marshall, poet
Apples – bright as
flame!
You children of the blessed tree,
With branches full; towards the ground
You’re pulled by august gravity,
So ripe, so rich, so round.
Apples – red as shame!
You beacons of fecundity
Amongst the dark-green leaves; you’re found
A-sway in all that melody –
The branches sighing sound.
Apples – sharp as pain!
The juice of love is tempting me
To take the woman, leafy-gowned,
In blushing, scarlet harlotry,
And green-and-yellow-crowned.
Apples – fresh as rain!
My hands reach out to pluck you free,
To build a joyful, tumbling mound,
To roll you with a juggler’s glee –
Fresh pippins by the pound!
Lesley Haycock is an artist from
nature pictures, and abstracts. She has exhibited,
and received praise for the diversity of her work, along with many
commissions.
Other reviews have used such words as “unique”, “breathtaking”,
and “stunning”.
Marie Marshall is a poet from
Tayside. She has been called “one of the
two or three best formalist poets currently writing”.
Her work has appeared in magazines and anthologies. She
specialises in the English sonnet, but uses other forms of verse such
as Sapphic and haiku, as well as free verse.
This web-site exists to give each of them a small showcase, to
present to gallery-owners, publishers, and other interested parties.
Some of Lesley’s paintings and Marie’s poems have been placed
together on this site. Enjoy!
Anyone who may be
interested, please contact us at the address above.
It’s a
spring thing
“Look at me!”
Narcissus calls…
…his trumpet fades.
When May comes his
beauty falls…
…’midst summer
shades.
Echoing
tree-columned halls…
…nymph of the
glades.
NB all images, poetry, and other material on
this site are subject to copyright
Your
savage alchemy
How you are turning
me from lead to gold,
Your magick, and your savage alchemy,
Your little gift of
miracles – Behold! –
The
mysteries of your philosophy.
How selflessly your
love keeps me alive,
Your charm, that
strange and unseen talisman,
Your faith, without
which I could not survive,
The spells which
whisper to me, “Yes, you can!”
How you break in and
wake me from my dream,
Your scent, your
lilting voice, your gentle touch,
Your memory – that current flows upstream –
The little soapstone
netsuke I clutch…
What is this
alchemy, through which I live?
Why do you work this
craft and, taking, give?