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Dead Men's Doodles

Dead Men's Doodles

A selection of artwork and writing by Brett Walsh

On memories stuffed With dead men's doodles.
—The Age of Anxiety by W. H. Auden

'The Boy Dressed in Hoar Frost' (Ink & Crayon on Paper) Brett Walsh © 2020

Brett Walsh © 2023

Made with Squarespace

Of his bones are coral made; | Those are pearls that were his eyes; | Nothing of him that doth fade | But doth suffer a sea-change | Into something rich and strange.

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like a little yellow vixen | caught by her throat in a snare, | writhing like a flame | of pale yellow fire -

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Your eyes, where nothing is revealed, | The bitter nor the sweet, | Are two cold stones, in which the tinctures | Gold and iron meet.

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...gone is the armour of power that formerly protected their naked souls; nothing, no shield, stands between them and tears.

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Of his bones are coral made; | Those are pearls that were his eyes; | Nothing of him that doth fade | But doth suffer a sea-change | Into something rich and strange. * like a little yellow vixen | caught by her throat in a snare, | writhing like a flame | of pale yellow fire - * Your eyes, where nothing is revealed, | The bitter nor the sweet, | Are two cold stones, in which the tinctures | Gold and iron meet. * ...gone is the armour of power that formerly protected their naked souls; nothing, no shield, stands between them and tears. *