noteworthy, photography

Ten hours later…

I’m calling that done.









Mined Earth

living, photography, rhymes and rhythm, travel


We eat the cows that eat the grass

We mind the cows to eat their ass

We cheat the vows we made to last

We mined the earth in ages past


We beat the chimps to bigger brains

We wine and dine upon the trains

We fleeting people on the plains

We find it’s dry until it rains


We eat the grass and smoke it too

We kind of care but so do you

We sweetly love the food we chew

We pine for more, the lucky few


We treat the earth alike a buyer

We sign a contract: No to Fire

We greet the desert then perspire

We line for food and eat food prior


We earth the cable into ground

We mine the minds that come around

We mirthful creatures safe and sound

We shine when eating from plates round



1 2 3



An artwork in response to an amazing, earthing trip to the Australian desert in 2012.

The photographic prints were blown up, huge, on the wall.

The poem sat by their side,

eating away.










Connection – project statement

living, rhymes and rhythm

 Helen War


For every window opened there’s a person closing blinds

and for every piece of wisdom there’s a stale set of minds

But the technologic system that exists in every home

Can connect you to the people that have itchy feet to roam

In a way this makes it easy, and the challenge is at stake

Rest assured I’m troubled often, ‘til resolve begins to shake

And the distance is a blackness, where a single woman walks

In a flurrying of footsteps, sure that every shadow stalks

Then a pressing urge that peers into the dark and sees a light

Starts to confidently grow and creepy creatures lose their bite

For I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve been saved by a café

That connects me to my family when foreboding comes my way

It’s the reason keyboards hang above in printed brick-like wall

As they’ve built me up and wiped my tears and made sense of my scrawl

So repetition rips apart the righteous sense of real

I love the unoriginal with borrowed sense of zeal

The place you run to blows away stagnation in the trade

Art starts to house the wounded and they’re whinging they need aid

Now I don’t forget the reason I am running from the rest

I’m afraid they’ll draw my curtains for a personal conquest

The dilemma is I push away the ones who love me most

In a constant candid manner like the careless burn their toast

But for every blind that’s closed, unwilling wider world won’t wait

And the myth of work for happiness creates a tasty bait

Meaning those that close their eyes to all surprise are most sedate

With excuses so depressing they don’t dignify debate

My assertions hold me ransom though you’d likely never tell

I’ve begun to take a dark delight my mother named me Hell



Ya Flaming Galah





My artist statement

living, loving, travel

Helen War



A vision, moving slowly through the scenes of Milford Sound

The journey that inspired re-creation through an art

I knew then on the ocean that the peace I sought was found

To capture clarity in candid nature was a start

My mind was turned to yearn for work of worthiness anew

and call upon the memories that cycle well-known routes

where fingertips press tested temple, held there by a glue

to search for honest method with a medium that suits

For meaning maps mortality to land beyond the mire

Then traces tracks that terminate in toiled wasted time

But looking up, the stars against a blackness are on fire

There’s music at the mention of a mountain you can climb

Of stamping on a fabric printed, just like coins when newly minted

Serving to preserve the jams of thought against the mould

As time erodes the mind and precious clarity is tinted

I spend my time expressing what won’t be there when I’m old

To know the joy of travel, step inside the art around

Begin to breathe the air inside the deeper distant past

where layered lair of labour hangs above the hampered ground

to mimic mocking memories, elusive as they are vast

See solace in a semblance of some strips that tell a tale

A panoramic drama that narrates without the noise

But I can hear the pounding waves upon the ferry rail

And the squawking as a seagull floats upon the wind with poise

If pictures tell a thousand words, a novel’s in the air

my written carving speaks of thought and friendships that exist

It could be said these words are an extensive kind of prayer

To mighty Mother Nature who embraced me and I kissed

I want to feel that joy again in simple sweet sublime

The focus of the present is elation to the soul

This need dictated choice to write of Mindscape in a rhyme

For writing, art and music melts for me inside a bowl.