Portfolio by Robert Ketch

Once upon a time...

Art, poetry and Jewellery by Robert Ketch

Maiden, Mother, Crone.

This sequence of artwork tells a story spanning generations, places, and cultures. A feminine story, but one that many people of either gender will relate to.

I have for you a story, its truths I may not tell.

It is not a tale of glory, but of how so many fell, Of choices hard and unjust, of sins both false and real, And of those that went before it, their fates that time did seal.

And if my tale offends you, of apology’s I offer none, But simply gladness of your ignorance of all that did become.

Your bliss I would not alter, my tale it does remain, In truth I shall not falter, so hear my hearts refrain.

But this tale is still one sided, so much left untold, Here is but the darkness, light may yet unfold, The clouds may yet be passing, joy be coming soon, And truth and kindness reach us, as the unveiling of the moon.

Nortad Robert Ketch

Once upon a time.

Mary was contrary, but a solution she did find, heed her tale so gory of how the path of life may wind. Her tale it has a moral, of compassion yet so fair, so harm it none do what ye will, upon the midnight air.

choices The bright lights and wild nights, or glum days of inner plight?

Either way I fly.

In darkness I abide, damned for others pride, which then created hell inside, so now its do or die.

Its not just diamonds...

Behaviour so old and lewd requires an answer bold and crude...on this you may depend, titanium can also be a girls best friend.

And of this I do assure , I will not rest before, your whimpers I do hear upon the night so bright and clear.

Digging for victory The devil that I know so well, it seems may take me yet to hell, but the gold I do receive, hungry mouths will surely feed and the neon city lights and parties every night will soon help me forget, my everlasting debt.

Sometimes diamonds are not a girls best friend.

"He's not that bad " I said, "when he drinks he just sees red", and I shall make sure that I'm not rude, in my life of servitude. For diamonds and for gold , my life was fairly sold, and it seems that his friends can't hear my screams of pain and fear.

Mothers little helper/mothers ruin What a drag it is getting old, perfect home and plenty of gold, but the price I paid you see, I numb with narcotics found so free.

And if the neighbours knew, the gossip would ensue, so appearances I do keep, as the child inside does weep.

Mary, Mary quite contrary My freedom I have found, my wings to fly again, yet gossip does abound, They're whispering my name...but in new found joy I do not care, for reckless words of fools, neither watching deed nor sign, of my end to come so cruel.

Silver bells and cockleshells This garden it does grow so fair, so let the sinners all beware, for we will drag them by their thumbs, with tools that will soon loosen tongues.

Maidens wait, the fires kiss, for the ones we shall not miss, so mind your tongue and minds so bright, or come and join us in the night.

The wages of sin or the price of fear?

And how will we honour, those souls that went before? Apologies they'll not now need, but their lesson true we might well heed.

Find compassion bold and true, for the people around you, whether liking them or not, so those souls not be forgot.

Just in case that you surmised, that its better on the other side, each gender has its cross to bear, so let the envious now beware.

Welcome to the supporting act.

The poet Demons they do haunt me, the rope it does await, my soul it is so tortured, I can't avoid my fate. Depression my companion, my heart it long did bleed, yet I compose my ditty's, for you fools to read.

The priest On a grey day in a grey town, fiery demons I drew down. With tales of sin and pain, I implore the good lords name, and so instead of food or other earthly things so crude, the people did commence, to make good recompense.

The prophet I lead them all to holiness, I lead them all to death. They worship and adore me, they wait on every breath.

They shall fill my wallet, to learn my foolish words, and you know that I am laughing at a situation so absurd.

The king Would you have our crown, and burdens that you see? we know we will not win, for us no victory. So gold it does abound, but corn still needs to grow, so blood it will be spilled in the summers ruddy glow.

The warrior Let nations be forgot, we're all the same down here, no dignity in death where the poppies did appear.

Brave men one and all, we rallied round our kings, to be lions led by asses is what our fate would bring.

With special thanks to: Indra Bindere for photography

And Marianne Forrest + Simone Ten Hompel for their patience and tuition!