it's nearly the end of the year folks
and it's the end of the line for the aol
its heavy cyber load propped up by some faraway server
pumping out large quantities of heat and see oh too
into our life-sustaining but damaged atmosfear
i'll leave it up till the end of the month
just in case any of ya feel nostalgic
fireseed forging ahead
starting afresh with an exciting new blog
but dontcha worry
same quality can troll
same old cut and trust
same know holds bard
insightful cement
and witty re-party
thank you all for yer loyal tea...
and look for word to seeing ya on the new blog
ps: new albumen coming soon!
love
f
xxxx
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
BACK IN ANGER
i salute you
my patient ones
you dogged seedlings out there
who have kept on watching this space
as autumn golds faded into winter greys
as the stock markets waned and imploded
as credit crunched disconsolately through the fallen leaves
as the media frenzy reached fever pitch
over centaur o'barmy's impending election victory
that historic moment
when the first ever irish horseman reached the white house
as that nice mr mandelson returned to the government fold
after his brief spell in the euro playground
bullying into submission
some poor little countries with neither cash nor clout
same as ever
money talks
money walks
the credit crunchy
the o'barmy gravy train
mandy's our man
the new boss looking suspiciously like the old boss
the concerns of the rich and powerful
writ large over our tv screens and radio waves
tragically distracting us from the everyday catastrophe
of grinding poverty and environmental destruction
unravelling in the margins of our attention
but dontcha worry your little heads folks
dem most generous n contritious bankers n traders
will nobly troubleshoot that nasty financial glitch
that dashing new young pressie dent erect o'barmy
will scare away the big bad wolf
aint nothing too serious
aint nothing a little trillion-dollar bail-out
or a new fella on the driving range can't solve
as for fireseed
he writes his songs
he makes his music
he haltingly embarks on a new journey
following a faint and tortuous trail through dense forest
clambering over fallen trees
stumbling through thick undergrowth
to a destination still unknown
his mission somehow to ease the grinding poverty
to slow the environmental destruction
that engulfs the world's peripheral vision
my patient ones
you dogged seedlings out there
who have kept on watching this space
as autumn golds faded into winter greys
as the stock markets waned and imploded
as credit crunched disconsolately through the fallen leaves
as the media frenzy reached fever pitch
over centaur o'barmy's impending election victory
that historic moment
when the first ever irish horseman reached the white house
as that nice mr mandelson returned to the government fold
after his brief spell in the euro playground
bullying into submission
some poor little countries with neither cash nor clout
same as ever
money talks
money walks
the credit crunchy
the o'barmy gravy train
mandy's our man
the new boss looking suspiciously like the old boss
the concerns of the rich and powerful
writ large over our tv screens and radio waves
tragically distracting us from the everyday catastrophe
of grinding poverty and environmental destruction
unravelling in the margins of our attention
but dontcha worry your little heads folks
dem most generous n contritious bankers n traders
will nobly troubleshoot that nasty financial glitch
that dashing new young pressie dent erect o'barmy
will scare away the big bad wolf
aint nothing too serious
aint nothing a little trillion-dollar bail-out
or a new fella on the driving range can't solve
as for fireseed
he writes his songs
he makes his music
he haltingly embarks on a new journey
following a faint and tortuous trail through dense forest
clambering over fallen trees
stumbling through thick undergrowth
to a destination still unknown
his mission somehow to ease the grinding poverty
to slow the environmental destruction
that engulfs the world's peripheral vision
Monday, September 22, 2008
CHARISMA
i attract you like a moth to a lamp
grow on you like interest in a bank
convince you like a salesman
woo you with my marketing
enslave you like a junkie
ensnare you like a trap
charisma
i entrance you like a hypnotist
i heal you like a therapist
soothe you like a painkiller
relax you like a masseur
elude you like a mirage
delude you like an ego trip
charisma
i beguile you with my entertainment
i amuse you with my wit
i inspire you with my passion
i impress you with my gravitas
i move you with my pathos
i intrigue you with my novelty
i shock you with my frankness
excite you with my spontaneity
i delight you like a shiny new toy
thrill you like a 21st-century boy
romance you like a romeo
seduce you like lothario
mesmerise you like an indian snake charmer
charisma
grow on you like interest in a bank
convince you like a salesman
woo you with my marketing
enslave you like a junkie
ensnare you like a trap
charisma
i entrance you like a hypnotist
i heal you like a therapist
soothe you like a painkiller
relax you like a masseur
elude you like a mirage
delude you like an ego trip
charisma
i beguile you with my entertainment
i amuse you with my wit
i inspire you with my passion
i impress you with my gravitas
i move you with my pathos
i intrigue you with my novelty
i shock you with my frankness
excite you with my spontaneity
i delight you like a shiny new toy
thrill you like a 21st-century boy
romance you like a romeo
seduce you like lothario
mesmerise you like an indian snake charmer
charisma
Monday, September 15, 2008
DEPTH
bored of the sealine
tired of mucking about
of paddling in the shallows
at the edge of the great ocean
i go deeper
i immerse myself
i breathe in deeply
dive beneath the surface
kick hard
swim down
and then down some more
to the uncharted waters
the dark caves
where the strange sea creatures dwell
to the bottom
where the lost cities lie half-buried by shifting sediments
there i gaily scoop up handfuls of facts from the sea bed
discard the useless opinions
swim upwards
and reemerge
staggering out of the sea
onto the beach of familiarity
tired of mucking about
of paddling in the shallows
at the edge of the great ocean
i go deeper
i immerse myself
i breathe in deeply
dive beneath the surface
kick hard
swim down
and then down some more
to the uncharted waters
the dark caves
where the strange sea creatures dwell
to the bottom
where the lost cities lie half-buried by shifting sediments
there i gaily scoop up handfuls of facts from the sea bed
discard the useless opinions
swim upwards
and reemerge
staggering out of the sea
onto the beach of familiarity
Thursday, September 11, 2008
DARK
dark is magical
who knows what supernatural forces move among its shadows?
dark is beautiful
the moonlight shrowds the trees and hedges with its soft glow
dark is lonely
staring out alone across the empty street
dark is exciting
who knows what might happen on a night like this?
dark is possibility
wild dreams harboured and nurtured in its fingers
dark is renewal
sleep replenishes the weariness of the day's end
who knows what supernatural forces move among its shadows?
dark is beautiful
the moonlight shrowds the trees and hedges with its soft glow
dark is lonely
staring out alone across the empty street
dark is exciting
who knows what might happen on a night like this?
dark is possibility
wild dreams harboured and nurtured in its fingers
dark is renewal
sleep replenishes the weariness of the day's end
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
THE STIFFS
the stiffs are old before their time
the stiffs are closed to an open mind
the stiffs can't bear us having fun
the stiffs only want to get stuff done
the stiffs ain' t into rock n roll
the stiffs ain't got no heart or soul
the stiffs won't stop to smell the roses
they're too busy being sanctimonious
you can tell a stiff by the way he talks
you can tell a stiff by the way she walks
the stiffs are closed to an open mind
the drag with the stiffs is they're too uptight
the stiffs can't remember what youth was likethe stiffs can't bear us having fun
the stiffs only want to get stuff done
the stiffs ain' t into rock n roll
the stiffs ain't got no heart or soul
the stiffs won't stop to smell the roses
they're too busy being sanctimonious
you can tell a stiff by the way he talks
you can tell a stiff by the way she walks
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
FLOWERS IN THE RAIN
he was running late again
ducking out of the doorway
he headed for the car
cursing the wretched rain
that had started lashing down again
the incessant rain
like a biblical flood
seemingly without beginning nor end
fumbling with his keys
he manoeuvred the door open
and slipped inside the vehicle
tightly wrapped up in her waterproofs
she made her way slowly down the lane
she was in good time
no need to rush
although the rain was heavy
and the clouds ominous
it was fun to watch the water run off her clothes
and drip harmlessly onto the road
she slalomed along
exploiting the camber to avoid the deeper puddles
splashing through the shallower ones
who said that pushbikes were for mugs?
exactly what he didn't need
a long queue of traffic
blocking both lanes of his progress
he'd never make it at this rate
why was she so bloody stubborn?
what was the big deal about getting a mobile phone?
the windows began to fog
the sky darkened
trapped in his metal box
he suddenly felt a mild surge of nausea
claustrophobia
quickly he opened the passenger window
allowing an obliging spray to dowse the seat
it reminded him of momentarily getting trapped
in a curved pipe
at a kid's playground years ago
no way out!
she arrived at the recital
unwrapped
and greeted the orchestra
despite the storm
everyone seemed on good form
she was nervous but ready
the hall began to fill
no sign of him yet
still time
she began to tune up
he banged the dashboard in frustration
complete gridlock
what was it this time?
road works?
an accident?
it didn't matter
nothing for it but to sit tight
and watch the waters rise
what was he going to tell her?
the conductor was preparing to begin
she took a final regretful glance
at the empty seat in the front row
how could he?
on her big day?
he sat at the bar
staring out of the window
the rain had a mesmerising effect
the feeling of time stood still
another?
why not?
it had gone better than she could have expected
a pity he had missed the performance
but there would be another time
she waved goodbye to the other musicians
and headed out into the wet night
maybe she should ring to check he was ok
she looked around for a box
he thought for a moment
then switched off the mobile
he'd call her when he got back
perhaps she should make sure he was ok
she was worried now
she headed across town to his place
angry with himself
angry with the weather
angry with the traffic
he drove home
even though the rain still poured down
the roads were clearer now
it was getting late
he accelerated round the bend
too late he saw the blurry figure crossing at the lights
the wheels locked as the car skidded out of control
the next day
as the rain filled the gutters once more
three wilting bouquets
flapped in the breeze at the roadside
ducking out of the doorway
he headed for the car
cursing the wretched rain
that had started lashing down again
the incessant rain
like a biblical flood
seemingly without beginning nor end
fumbling with his keys
he manoeuvred the door open
and slipped inside the vehicle
tightly wrapped up in her waterproofs
she made her way slowly down the lane
she was in good time
no need to rush
although the rain was heavy
and the clouds ominous
it was fun to watch the water run off her clothes
and drip harmlessly onto the road
she slalomed along
exploiting the camber to avoid the deeper puddles
splashing through the shallower ones
who said that pushbikes were for mugs?
exactly what he didn't need
a long queue of traffic
blocking both lanes of his progress
he'd never make it at this rate
why was she so bloody stubborn?
what was the big deal about getting a mobile phone?
the windows began to fog
the sky darkened
trapped in his metal box
he suddenly felt a mild surge of nausea
claustrophobia
quickly he opened the passenger window
allowing an obliging spray to dowse the seat
it reminded him of momentarily getting trapped
in a curved pipe
at a kid's playground years ago
no way out!
she arrived at the recital
unwrapped
and greeted the orchestra
despite the storm
everyone seemed on good form
she was nervous but ready
the hall began to fill
no sign of him yet
still time
she began to tune up
he banged the dashboard in frustration
complete gridlock
what was it this time?
road works?
an accident?
it didn't matter
nothing for it but to sit tight
and watch the waters rise
what was he going to tell her?
the conductor was preparing to begin
she took a final regretful glance
at the empty seat in the front row
how could he?
on her big day?
he sat at the bar
staring out of the window
the rain had a mesmerising effect
the feeling of time stood still
another?
why not?
it had gone better than she could have expected
a pity he had missed the performance
but there would be another time
she waved goodbye to the other musicians
and headed out into the wet night
maybe she should ring to check he was ok
she looked around for a box
he thought for a moment
then switched off the mobile
he'd call her when he got back
perhaps she should make sure he was ok
she was worried now
she headed across town to his place
angry with himself
angry with the weather
angry with the traffic
he drove home
even though the rain still poured down
the roads were clearer now
it was getting late
he accelerated round the bend
too late he saw the blurry figure crossing at the lights
the wheels locked as the car skidded out of control
the next day
as the rain filled the gutters once more
three wilting bouquets
flapped in the breeze at the roadside
Monday, September 08, 2008
JOB APPLICATION
dear sir or madam
i am delighted to apply for the position advertised
in this month's edition of 'the art of living'
i believe that my talents skills and experience
will make you a real asset to my organisation
efficiency and panache are my watchwords
'failure' and 'can't' do not form part of my vocabulary
my maturity speaks for itself
i think it is true to say
that i have been around the block a few times
done my time on the fairway
played a few rounds
and sunk a few putts
(not to mention my prowess at sinking a few
at the nineteenth hole!)
you will not be surprised to hear
that i am renowned for my sense of humour
dry wit
verbal dexterity
and intelligent repartee
in fact my friends tell me i can be extremely punny
when i put my mind to it!
i can also keep a cool head when the heat is on
while others around me lose theirs
as they fumble with the aircon remote
(mine is a tall lemonade with ice
shaken but not stirred)
multi-tasking is another forte
particularly when it comes to sipping a good espresso
whilst listening to music and contemplating a fine view
always up to date with the lastest fad
my green office credentials are finely developed
woe betide the colleague
who leaves his computer unattended
without shutting down to conserve power
when i am in the vicinity
i can blow the whistle for england
no wasted v's on me!
likewise if you need someone to get the job done
whatever it takes
look no further
i have a natural flair for delegating tasks to colleagues
freeing myself up for more interesting projects
in fact my man management skills
mark me out from the crowd
i always buy the first round
and more often than not i am reciprocated
please do not mistake my laidback demeanour
my approachability and my sociability
for slothfulness
i like a challenge
but i am also conscious of the need
to maintain an appropriate work-life balance
let me just say that i like to stop and smell the roses
while they are still in bloom
here i should point out
that i absolutely deplore sexual harrassment
unless of course i happen to be on the receiving end
in fact i am a vehement supporter of equal opportunities
and would rarely if ever sleep with a female colleague
without her permission
and on the strict condition
that work and pleasure be kept separate
with no strings attached
i should add that i am a happily married man
with a young family
and am not generally one for office affairs in any case
needless to say you will be contacting me shortly
to discuss how i can transform your organisation
until then
i am yours faithfully
ed hunter
i am delighted to apply for the position advertised
in this month's edition of 'the art of living'
i believe that my talents skills and experience
will make you a real asset to my organisation
efficiency and panache are my watchwords
'failure' and 'can't' do not form part of my vocabulary
my maturity speaks for itself
i think it is true to say
that i have been around the block a few times
done my time on the fairway
played a few rounds
and sunk a few putts
(not to mention my prowess at sinking a few
at the nineteenth hole!)
you will not be surprised to hear
that i am renowned for my sense of humour
dry wit
verbal dexterity
and intelligent repartee
in fact my friends tell me i can be extremely punny
when i put my mind to it!
i can also keep a cool head when the heat is on
while others around me lose theirs
as they fumble with the aircon remote
(mine is a tall lemonade with ice
shaken but not stirred)
multi-tasking is another forte
particularly when it comes to sipping a good espresso
whilst listening to music and contemplating a fine view
always up to date with the lastest fad
my green office credentials are finely developed
woe betide the colleague
who leaves his computer unattended
without shutting down to conserve power
when i am in the vicinity
i can blow the whistle for england
no wasted v's on me!
likewise if you need someone to get the job done
whatever it takes
look no further
i have a natural flair for delegating tasks to colleagues
freeing myself up for more interesting projects
in fact my man management skills
mark me out from the crowd
i always buy the first round
and more often than not i am reciprocated
please do not mistake my laidback demeanour
my approachability and my sociability
for slothfulness
i like a challenge
but i am also conscious of the need
to maintain an appropriate work-life balance
let me just say that i like to stop and smell the roses
while they are still in bloom
here i should point out
that i absolutely deplore sexual harrassment
unless of course i happen to be on the receiving end
in fact i am a vehement supporter of equal opportunities
and would rarely if ever sleep with a female colleague
without her permission
and on the strict condition
that work and pleasure be kept separate
with no strings attached
i should add that i am a happily married man
with a young family
and am not generally one for office affairs in any case
needless to say you will be contacting me shortly
to discuss how i can transform your organisation
until then
i am yours faithfully
ed hunter
Sunday, September 07, 2008
FILM DIARY
as he opened the box
his eyes alighted at last on what he was seeking
an australian flag
printed on a faded sky blue background
picking up the book
he wiped the dust from its cover
coughing
he turned to the first page
neat script written in blue biro on red paper
days 115 - 176
24 february - 26 april 1990
he knew this would be an unlikely story
peopled by a cast of fabulous characters
part imagined fact
part true fiction
the setting?
a shabby backpackers hostel in kings cross
a lorry trundling the length and breadth
of the sydney suburbs
a rambling houseshare in surry hills
an architects office in north sydney
a newsagents in town hall station concourse
a blurring succession
of pubs and gigs and parties in surry hills
the cafes of darlinghurst
the markets of paddington
the protagonist?
a lanky blond-haired grey-eyed young everyman
adventurous in spirit
but naive and inexperienced
a mere A$400 to his name
accustomed to life on a shoestring
living for the day or night
ready to take what he could get
while he could get it
unsure of what tomorrow would bring
the plot?
a breathless tale of mis-spent youth
stumbling from black-eyed drunken stupor
to the bleary tedium of casual work
from all night out on the town
to the clumsy detail of the casual affair
the cast?
a sadistic sicilian lorry driver
a schizophrenic landlord
a roommate with a deathwish
a cockney vegan travelling incognito
an unrequited housemate
an egotistical ex-travelling companion
a bumbling and scheming supervisor
a croatian triple j devotee
a bisexual party animal
a 17-year-old ruby tuesday
a hundred pom-bashing wise guys
his eyes alighted at last on what he was seeking
an australian flag
printed on a faded sky blue background
picking up the book
he wiped the dust from its cover
coughing
he turned to the first page
neat script written in blue biro on red paper
days 115 - 176
24 february - 26 april 1990
he knew this would be an unlikely story
peopled by a cast of fabulous characters
part imagined fact
part true fiction
the setting?
a shabby backpackers hostel in kings cross
a lorry trundling the length and breadth
of the sydney suburbs
a rambling houseshare in surry hills
an architects office in north sydney
a newsagents in town hall station concourse
a blurring succession
of pubs and gigs and parties in surry hills
the cafes of darlinghurst
the markets of paddington
the protagonist?
a lanky blond-haired grey-eyed young everyman
adventurous in spirit
but naive and inexperienced
a mere A$400 to his name
accustomed to life on a shoestring
living for the day or night
ready to take what he could get
while he could get it
unsure of what tomorrow would bring
the plot?
a breathless tale of mis-spent youth
stumbling from black-eyed drunken stupor
to the bleary tedium of casual work
from all night out on the town
to the clumsy detail of the casual affair
the cast?
a sadistic sicilian lorry driver
a schizophrenic landlord
a roommate with a deathwish
a cockney vegan travelling incognito
an unrequited housemate
an egotistical ex-travelling companion
a bumbling and scheming supervisor
a croatian triple j devotee
a bisexual party animal
a 17-year-old ruby tuesday
a hundred pom-bashing wise guys
the scenery?
the soaring backdrop of the harbour bridge
the majestic airbrushed vistas of the blue mountains
the parched bush landscapes of new south wales
the golden curve of bondi
the water-cannoned seediness of the cross at dawn
the musak-washed blandness of the shopping arcade
the airless claustrophobia of the underground
the bohemian brickwork of surry hills:
'i loved my records - $ to you'
the soundtrack?
wet blanket and danny destiny by the chills
out of my hands by died pretty
a country called nothing and fade by glide
metropolis and you're still beautiful by the church
bye bye pride and the streets of your town by the go-bes
beds are burning by midnight oil
nothing compares 2 u by sinead o'connor
living on a prayer by aerosmith
as he read and remembered
the images
the words
the sights
the sounds
the feelings
the sensations
all flooded back
the energy
the vitality
the pomp
of youth
refracted through the nostalgic prism
of middle age
Saturday, September 06, 2008
ON A DAY LIKE THIS
on a day like this
the grey skies opened
the rain cascaded over the roof tiles
overflowing the weary gutters
forming deep puddles on the patio
water dripped from branches leaves and twigs
the slugs were in their element
a hardy pedestrian occasionally walked by draped in a sowester
but the fireseed and his seedlet stayed indoors
watching the little rivulets trail down the windowpanes
on a day like this
the fireseed hung up the washing to dry in the garage
while his little seedlet watched
playing and singing a little tune to herself
daddy: 'that's a good tune - what is it?'
seedlet: 'i made it'
daddy: ' really? did you write a song like your daddy?'
seedlet: 'yes of course!'
then the fireseed started humming
the seedlet's tune had given him an idea
running the tune through his head
he rushed upstairs to grab a guitar & work out the chords
on a day like this
a telephone rang downstairs
little hannah elisabeth watton
ran into the hall to answer it
after a short pause
her daddy heard her say in a quizical voice:
'what kind of nanny?'
then after another pause:
'but i've already got a nanny barbara!'
on a day like this
the world stood still for a while
as the rain lashed down
brooks became rivers
rivers became rushing torrents
streets became rushing torrents too
someone said they saw an old man with a large boat
beckoning the animals in two by two
hurrah!
the grey skies opened
the rain cascaded over the roof tiles
overflowing the weary gutters
forming deep puddles on the patio
water dripped from branches leaves and twigs
the slugs were in their element
a hardy pedestrian occasionally walked by draped in a sowester
but the fireseed and his seedlet stayed indoors
watching the little rivulets trail down the windowpanes
on a day like this
the fireseed hung up the washing to dry in the garage
while his little seedlet watched
playing and singing a little tune to herself
daddy: 'that's a good tune - what is it?'
seedlet: 'i made it'
daddy: ' really? did you write a song like your daddy?'
seedlet: 'yes of course!'
then the fireseed started humming
the seedlet's tune had given him an idea
running the tune through his head
he rushed upstairs to grab a guitar & work out the chords
on a day like this
a telephone rang downstairs
little hannah elisabeth watton
ran into the hall to answer it
after a short pause
her daddy heard her say in a quizical voice:
'what kind of nanny?'
then after another pause:
'but i've already got a nanny barbara!'
on a day like this
the world stood still for a while
as the rain lashed down
brooks became rivers
rivers became rushing torrents
streets became rushing torrents too
someone said they saw an old man with a large boat
beckoning the animals in two by two
hurrah!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
RELATIVITY
i am tired and weary
but not as weary as the coalminer
returning home blackened from his long subterranean shift
i am short of time
but not as short as the old man
gasping his last breath on his deathbed
i am uncertain
but not as uncertain as the lonely woman
struggling to choose between her children and her lover
i am a clumsy guitarist
but not as clumsy as the novice
who struggles to finger a g chord
i am a mediocre singer
but not as mediocre as the tone-deaf milkman
who clinks the bottles on our doorstep
i am a slow-coach
but not as slow as the slug
that slithers doggedly across the wet pavement
i am careful with my carbon
but not as careful as the average ethiopian
who emits a mere one hundred and sixtieth
of the average yank
i am a diligent daily blogger
but not as diligent as the man i know
who knocks out close on 365 blogs a year
my joints are stiff and unsupple
but not as stiff as our old neighbour
hobbled by painful arthritis
i feel the aches and pains of a middle-aged man
but not as acutely as the peasant
who toils every day in the fields
my wardrobe is bare
but not as bare as the vagabond's
who carries his clothes upon his back
i want for little
but i want for more than the egoless sage
who devotes his life to the search for enlightenment
but not as weary as the coalminer
returning home blackened from his long subterranean shift
i am short of time
but not as short as the old man
gasping his last breath on his deathbed
i am uncertain
but not as uncertain as the lonely woman
struggling to choose between her children and her lover
i am a clumsy guitarist
but not as clumsy as the novice
who struggles to finger a g chord
i am a mediocre singer
but not as mediocre as the tone-deaf milkman
who clinks the bottles on our doorstep
i am a slow-coach
but not as slow as the slug
that slithers doggedly across the wet pavement
i am careful with my carbon
but not as careful as the average ethiopian
who emits a mere one hundred and sixtieth
of the average yank
i am a diligent daily blogger
but not as diligent as the man i know
who knocks out close on 365 blogs a year
my joints are stiff and unsupple
but not as stiff as our old neighbour
hobbled by painful arthritis
i feel the aches and pains of a middle-aged man
but not as acutely as the peasant
who toils every day in the fields
my wardrobe is bare
but not as bare as the vagabond's
who carries his clothes upon his back
i want for little
but i want for more than the egoless sage
who devotes his life to the search for enlightenment
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
ACCESS DENIED (GOOD WEATHER FOR SLUGS - PART 2)
6:30am - wake up from deep slumber
today the nagging mechanical bleep rings loud and clear
an orange sun glows thru the bathroom window
no yoga or dawn blog post again today
just one big rush to get ready for the chalkface
6:45am - delicious aceh coffee n muesli
don't bother with the radio's snooze news
but imagine the headlines instead
votes on your favourite to the comments box please:
a) gordon's ratings have plummetted to a minus figure
i.e. more people wouldn't vote for him
than are on the electoral roll
b) the us congress has approved a $1 billion aid package
to ease fuel poverty among texan 4wd drivers
c) the government is tabling a parliamentary bill
to ban bacon sandwiches as a health & safety risk
7:00am - shower with aromatic home-made korean soap
7:30am - write lesson plans for today's british council inspection
8:45am - kisses n cuddles with woodle and mrs f
8:50am - bike thru strangely quiet bright streets
it isn't raining!
9:00am - arrive at bham uni to meet inspectors
set up classroom technology
more penguin cafe orchestra
to caress studes' eardrums
brief staffroom banter
9:30am - begin morning lessons
inspector comes straight in and observes first half hour
she sits down where yesterday there was a toilet
students ask me where the toilets have gone
i skilfully deflect the question
and ooze warmth and friendliness
rapport is half the battle...
11:00am - 3:45pm - iffy coffee-banter-teaching-lunchtime
downpour-lesson planning-teaching blur
no more observations
4:00pm - meeting with inspectors
fat-chewing
eyebrows raised over our contractless lack of status
4:30pm - try to sort out my lack of access to computer network
it seems that personnel have no record of me!
i get a form to fill in
my turn on the rota
to do photocopying blitz for tomorrow
6:00pm - home on bikey
fail to avoid latest downpour
6:15pm - mrs f not happy with me
she was stuck in supermarket this arvo
unable to pay for shopping
because i forgot to give her our new bank card
(the old ones expired on sunday)
access to funds denied
heat up yesterday's dinner
adding cayenne pepper and kidney beans for variety
eat with couscous
munch on carrot sticks dipped in houmous while i wait
7:00pm - sit down to dinner just as everyone else finishes
yummy!
listen to the archers
even the archers has a resident eco-warrior now!
7:30pm - tidy up and play seamonsters with hannah
with cushions on the carpet as stepping stones
hannah wants to be the monster so that she can chase me
8:00pm - put kettle on
listen to moral maze about demonizing paedophiles
to cheer self up
8:45pm - prep woodle's warm water
drag her upstairs for teeth brushing
read 'mr fussy' bedtime story
lights out
9:00pm - sit down at computer
reject idea of doing work for rest of bc inspecto tomorrow
and decide to get up early instead
start writing this post
was it worth it?
of course
gotta keep my dear readers happy!
sweet dreams
f
x
today the nagging mechanical bleep rings loud and clear
an orange sun glows thru the bathroom window
no yoga or dawn blog post again today
just one big rush to get ready for the chalkface
6:45am - delicious aceh coffee n muesli
don't bother with the radio's snooze news
but imagine the headlines instead
votes on your favourite to the comments box please:
a) gordon's ratings have plummetted to a minus figure
i.e. more people wouldn't vote for him
than are on the electoral roll
b) the us congress has approved a $1 billion aid package
to ease fuel poverty among texan 4wd drivers
c) the government is tabling a parliamentary bill
to ban bacon sandwiches as a health & safety risk
7:00am - shower with aromatic home-made korean soap
7:30am - write lesson plans for today's british council inspection
8:45am - kisses n cuddles with woodle and mrs f
8:50am - bike thru strangely quiet bright streets
it isn't raining!
9:00am - arrive at bham uni to meet inspectors
set up classroom technology
more penguin cafe orchestra
to caress studes' eardrums
brief staffroom banter
9:30am - begin morning lessons
inspector comes straight in and observes first half hour
she sits down where yesterday there was a toilet
students ask me where the toilets have gone
i skilfully deflect the question
and ooze warmth and friendliness
rapport is half the battle...
11:00am - 3:45pm - iffy coffee-banter-teaching-lunchtime
downpour-lesson planning-teaching blur
no more observations
4:00pm - meeting with inspectors
fat-chewing
eyebrows raised over our contractless lack of status
4:30pm - try to sort out my lack of access to computer network
it seems that personnel have no record of me!
i get a form to fill in
my turn on the rota
to do photocopying blitz for tomorrow
6:00pm - home on bikey
fail to avoid latest downpour
6:15pm - mrs f not happy with me
she was stuck in supermarket this arvo
unable to pay for shopping
because i forgot to give her our new bank card
(the old ones expired on sunday)
access to funds denied
heat up yesterday's dinner
adding cayenne pepper and kidney beans for variety
eat with couscous
munch on carrot sticks dipped in houmous while i wait
7:00pm - sit down to dinner just as everyone else finishes
yummy!
listen to the archers
even the archers has a resident eco-warrior now!
7:30pm - tidy up and play seamonsters with hannah
with cushions on the carpet as stepping stones
hannah wants to be the monster so that she can chase me
8:00pm - put kettle on
listen to moral maze about demonizing paedophiles
to cheer self up
8:45pm - prep woodle's warm water
drag her upstairs for teeth brushing
read 'mr fussy' bedtime story
lights out
9:00pm - sit down at computer
reject idea of doing work for rest of bc inspecto tomorrow
and decide to get up early instead
start writing this post
was it worth it?
of course
gotta keep my dear readers happy!
sweet dreams
f
x
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
DAILY GRIND (GOOD WEATHER FOR SLUGS)
7:45am - wake up from deep slumber
completely missed 6:30 alarm
did it not go off?
did i sleep thru it?
who cares?
it doesn't matter now
the sun is well above the horizon
no yoga or dawn blog post today
just one big rush to get to the chalkface
8:00am - delicious aceh coffee n muesli
the radio spouts some forgettable snooze news
'gordon brown choked on a bacon sandwich this morning
and couldn't decide whether or not to call an ambulance'
prepare sarnies
vegan pate dolloped onto thick-cut home-baked bread
8:15am - shower with aromatic home-made korean soap
8:45am - kisses n cuddles with woodle and mrs f
8:50am - bike thru strangely quiet bright streets
it isn't raining!
9:00am - arrive at bham uni
set up classroom technology
put on some penguin cafe orchestra
to wake up rammadan-enduring studes
9:15am - staffroom banter
9:30am - begin morning lessons
swift recap on academic style
the positive energy is flowing
11:00am - iffy coffee (not aceh) and more banter
11:30am - back into class to talk about reading strats
(strategies unfortunately, not stratocasters)
a downpour begins outside
1:00pm - lunchtime and banter with joe n jon
draft silly email to sarah h at bc in sk
another heavy cloudburst
2:15pm - last class of day begins the beguine
i maintain studes' attention
by setting them assessed essay homework
3:45pm - lesson finishes
bid studes fond farewell
not sure if it's mutual
rearrange furniture to better suit group dynamics
mention concerns to boss about classroom
being strewn with abandoned porcelain toilet bowls
(in light of british council inspection starting tomorrow)
don't want them to kick up a stink about it
in their report
ha! ha! ha!
form crew to reorganise classroom
we manage to conceal toilet bowls & plumbing paraphenalia
behind desk and cupboard
4:30pm - headache in the offing
head for home on bikey
just manage to avoid yet another downpour
4:45pm - kisses and altercations with a moody woodle
final caffeine hit of day (aceh hurray!)
munch thru some of mrs f's freshly-baked sweetcorn cake
5:15pm - start preping dinner
chopped tomatoes
steamed cauli n runner beans
fried onions n garlic n pepper n mushies
to go with baked spuds
6:30pm - dinner with mater & pater
mrs f and woodle head off on walk to find slugs
uncle j nowhere 2b seen
7:00pm - wash up
(does the fun ever end?)
w and mrs f return
they have counted twenty slugs n snails
this must be perfect weather for slugs
7:30pm - play pre-bed game of pelmanism with woodly
woodle cheats by peaking at cards
when it's not her turn
and jealously guarding matches she has identified
by sticking her hands over them
weekend cold coming back
afternoon headache gradually getting worse
take some paracetamol
8:00pm - prep woodle's warm water
and drag her upstairs
brush w's teeth while mrs f has time-out on computer
tidy messy bedroom
get w to choose 2 bedtime stories
dumbo and pinnochio
read books together
w skilfully latches onto phrase 'a mighty flap'
as in 'dumbo gave his ears a mighty flap'
time for lights out
9:00pm - sit down at computer
read sk's blog
check email inbox
finish daft email to sarah and press send
do wikipedia search on clint beetroot aka eastwood
reject idea of doing work for bc inspecto
and decide to get up early instead
(hope alarm clock goes off!)
10:00pm - start writing this post
was it worth it?
i think so
but i'll leave you to be the judge, dear reader
10:36pm - night night
f
x
completely missed 6:30 alarm
did it not go off?
did i sleep thru it?
who cares?
it doesn't matter now
the sun is well above the horizon
no yoga or dawn blog post today
just one big rush to get to the chalkface
8:00am - delicious aceh coffee n muesli
the radio spouts some forgettable snooze news
'gordon brown choked on a bacon sandwich this morning
and couldn't decide whether or not to call an ambulance'
prepare sarnies
vegan pate dolloped onto thick-cut home-baked bread
8:15am - shower with aromatic home-made korean soap
8:45am - kisses n cuddles with woodle and mrs f
8:50am - bike thru strangely quiet bright streets
it isn't raining!
9:00am - arrive at bham uni
set up classroom technology
put on some penguin cafe orchestra
to wake up rammadan-enduring studes
9:15am - staffroom banter
9:30am - begin morning lessons
swift recap on academic style
the positive energy is flowing
11:00am - iffy coffee (not aceh) and more banter
11:30am - back into class to talk about reading strats
(strategies unfortunately, not stratocasters)
a downpour begins outside
1:00pm - lunchtime and banter with joe n jon
draft silly email to sarah h at bc in sk
another heavy cloudburst
2:15pm - last class of day begins the beguine
i maintain studes' attention
by setting them assessed essay homework
3:45pm - lesson finishes
bid studes fond farewell
not sure if it's mutual
rearrange furniture to better suit group dynamics
mention concerns to boss about classroom
being strewn with abandoned porcelain toilet bowls
(in light of british council inspection starting tomorrow)
don't want them to kick up a stink about it
in their report
ha! ha! ha!
form crew to reorganise classroom
we manage to conceal toilet bowls & plumbing paraphenalia
behind desk and cupboard
4:30pm - headache in the offing
head for home on bikey
just manage to avoid yet another downpour
4:45pm - kisses and altercations with a moody woodle
final caffeine hit of day (aceh hurray!)
munch thru some of mrs f's freshly-baked sweetcorn cake
5:15pm - start preping dinner
chopped tomatoes
steamed cauli n runner beans
fried onions n garlic n pepper n mushies
to go with baked spuds
6:30pm - dinner with mater & pater
mrs f and woodle head off on walk to find slugs
uncle j nowhere 2b seen
7:00pm - wash up
(does the fun ever end?)
w and mrs f return
they have counted twenty slugs n snails
this must be perfect weather for slugs
7:30pm - play pre-bed game of pelmanism with woodly
woodle cheats by peaking at cards
when it's not her turn
and jealously guarding matches she has identified
by sticking her hands over them
weekend cold coming back
afternoon headache gradually getting worse
take some paracetamol
8:00pm - prep woodle's warm water
and drag her upstairs
brush w's teeth while mrs f has time-out on computer
tidy messy bedroom
get w to choose 2 bedtime stories
dumbo and pinnochio
read books together
w skilfully latches onto phrase 'a mighty flap'
as in 'dumbo gave his ears a mighty flap'
time for lights out
9:00pm - sit down at computer
read sk's blog
check email inbox
finish daft email to sarah and press send
do wikipedia search on clint beetroot aka eastwood
reject idea of doing work for bc inspecto
and decide to get up early instead
(hope alarm clock goes off!)
10:00pm - start writing this post
was it worth it?
i think so
but i'll leave you to be the judge, dear reader
10:36pm - night night
f
x
Monday, September 01, 2008
I'M SORRY I HAVEN"T A VEGAN CLUE
two lentilmen of verona
the adventures of tom soya
'the enormous turnip' by the brothers vegan
'the importance of being vegan' by oscar wild raspberry
a man for all vegans
'vegan with the wind' starring the luscious vivienne leak
the vegans of navarone
seven wives for seven vegans
vegan on the roof
20000 vegans under the sea
my fair vegan
'the vegan has landed' with michael sugar cane
'where vegans dare' by alistair mclentil
one of our vegans is missing
death of a vegan
'i am the vegan' by john lettuce & paul mccelery
'you've lost that lovin' vegan' by the rye toast brothers
'stairway to vegan' - led zucchini with vocals by robert plant
when the going gets tough the tough go vegan
'the power of tofu ' bu huey lewis & the new potatoes
i'm in the mood for damsons
sixty-eight vegans
i'm veganing for glory
stick to your vegans!
the adventures of tom soya
'the enormous turnip' by the brothers vegan
'the importance of being vegan' by oscar wild raspberry
a man for all vegans
'vegan with the wind' starring the luscious vivienne leak
the vegans of navarone
seven wives for seven vegans
vegan on the roof
20000 vegans under the sea
my fair vegan
'the vegan has landed' with michael sugar cane
'where vegans dare' by alistair mclentil
one of our vegans is missing
death of a vegan
'the good the bad and the vegan' starring clint beetroot
(a veggie sphaghetti western)
an american vegan in london
'veganing las vegas' featuring nicholas caper
'the white pieces of tofu' sung by vegan lynn
'we'll fight them on the allotments' said winston churchill
'where have all the vegans gone?' by pete vegan'i am the vegan' by john lettuce & paul mccelery
'you've lost that lovin' vegan' by the rye toast brothers
'he aint heavy he's my vegan' by the caulis
it's only just vegan
when you're in love with a beautiful vegan'stairway to vegan' - led zucchini with vocals by robert plant
when the going gets tough the tough go vegan
'the power of tofu ' bu huey lewis & the new potatoes
i'm in the mood for damsons
sixty-eight vegans
i'm veganing for glory
stick to your vegans!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
ACOUSTIC GIG A BITE
sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun
but the sun don't come...
it is classic british bbq weather
the damp grey drizzle is almost unremitting
but at least the british are used to it
the turnout for the fundraiser is good
and people are undeterred
huddling in groups undercover
munching their way cheerfully
through plates of tasty vegan grub
burgers
couscous n green salads
cakes n muffins
soya milk tea
ah! such inclusiveness!
some even venture out into the drizzle
to check out the lovely community garden
allotments bursting with organic veg
the small orchard
the woodland area with a pond and bee hives
the shipwreck play area for kids
built out of cob and woven saplings
meanwhile in a little marquee beside the bbq
replete with midge bites
from the previous evening's rehearsal
and nursing a sore throat
fireseed provides the music
with no sense of irony whatsoever
proceedings start with 'sunny afternoon' by the kinks
'singing in the rain' would be more appropriate
i mix it up a bit
a few relatively familiar covers
('i'm only sleeping', 'america', 'high & dry')
alongside a few slightly more obscure ones
(the church and jack frost)
i debut the new 'all seeing i' songs
which lend themselves well to an unplugged rendering
despite bum notes aplenty
i get a positive reaction from the punters
and am plied with food by the organisers
while i do my thang
mrs f and hannah make some new friends
among the transition city brum crowd
and even get to explore the gardens
once the rain lets up a bit
a good time is had by all
garden gnome
but the sun don't come...
it is classic british bbq weather
the damp grey drizzle is almost unremitting
but at least the british are used to it
the turnout for the fundraiser is good
and people are undeterred
huddling in groups undercover
munching their way cheerfully
through plates of tasty vegan grub
burgers
couscous n green salads
cakes n muffins
soya milk tea
ah! such inclusiveness!
some even venture out into the drizzle
to check out the lovely community garden
allotments bursting with organic veg
the small orchard
the woodland area with a pond and bee hives
the shipwreck play area for kids
built out of cob and woven saplings
meanwhile in a little marquee beside the bbq
replete with midge bites
from the previous evening's rehearsal
and nursing a sore throat
fireseed provides the music
with no sense of irony whatsoever
proceedings start with 'sunny afternoon' by the kinks
'singing in the rain' would be more appropriate
i mix it up a bit
a few relatively familiar covers
('i'm only sleeping', 'america', 'high & dry')
alongside a few slightly more obscure ones
(the church and jack frost)
i debut the new 'all seeing i' songs
which lend themselves well to an unplugged rendering
despite bum notes aplenty
i get a positive reaction from the punters
and am plied with food by the organisers
while i do my thang
mrs f and hannah make some new friends
among the transition city brum crowd
and even get to explore the gardens
once the rain lets up a bit
a good time is had by all
garden gnome
Saturday, August 30, 2008
OLYMPIAN
i have taken the lumpen clay i was given
and moulded it into elegant form
my muscles are well toned
my physique is lean and hungry
i work hard to maintain a healthy mind and body
i eat only plant based foods
fruit and vegetables
nuts and pulses
wild herbs and berries
i decline to eat the flesh eggs or milk of animals
i rise at dawn to limber and stretch
i exercise for three hours a day
i cultivate an alert and controlled mental state
as my muscles and sinews strain for the starting gun
i focus only on victory
i filter out the merest inkling of defeat or negativity
i run through the whole race
over and over again in my mind
meticulously rehearsing each stage
the sprint to the first bend
the turn into the straight
the final bend
the gradual acceleration into the home straight
i run my own race
i do not let others put me off my stride
i visualise myself stepping onto the podium
arms raised aloft
as the gold medal is placed around my neck
i sit atop a mountain in thesaly
my motto: citius altius fortius
faster higher stronger
and moulded it into elegant form
my muscles are well toned
my physique is lean and hungry
i work hard to maintain a healthy mind and body
i eat only plant based foods
fruit and vegetables
nuts and pulses
wild herbs and berries
i decline to eat the flesh eggs or milk of animals
i rise at dawn to limber and stretch
i exercise for three hours a day
i cultivate an alert and controlled mental state
as my muscles and sinews strain for the starting gun
i focus only on victory
i filter out the merest inkling of defeat or negativity
i run through the whole race
over and over again in my mind
meticulously rehearsing each stage
the sprint to the first bend
the turn into the straight
the final bend
the gradual acceleration into the home straight
i run my own race
i do not let others put me off my stride
i visualise myself stepping onto the podium
arms raised aloft
as the gold medal is placed around my neck
i sit atop a mountain in thesaly
my motto: citius altius fortius
faster higher stronger
Friday, August 29, 2008
REJECTION
'the pain of knowing that you weren't quite good enough'
to steal a line from my own discography
today i have been doubly spurned
i am persona non grata
little davey no mates
my incisive line of questioning
will not be illuminating pan or armour
nor am i destined to be
the new camp pains support worker
at brum fiends of the erf
my fledgling environmental career lies in tatters
gatecrashed by young pretenders half my age
who have already amassed enough relevant experience
to see off this mangy panther...
now that's how yer fireseed could be feeling
the mangy panther sulking and licking his wounds
but what has experience taught me
if not the importance of equanimity?
do not let a setback break your spirit
for perhaps it is not a setback at all
but a useful stepping stone across life's rapids
que sera
whatever will bee will bee
this time i have not achieved my goals
i will not be going to wembley
but i have learnt valuable lessons
gandhi encouraged us to cherish the achievements of others
for as others flourish so do we
the success of others inspires us to better ourselves...
btw
almost forgot
i've got a gig this weekend at a barbie queue
yer fave blogger acoustic n intimate
unplugged n unfussed
at the martineau gardens edgbaston
in aid of transition city birmingham
there'll be one or two golden oldies
a smattering of new numbers
including 'icarus'
hot off the fretboard
and the odd cover or two
watch this space for a review
to steal a line from my own discography
today i have been doubly spurned
i am persona non grata
little davey no mates
my incisive line of questioning
will not be illuminating pan or armour
nor am i destined to be
the new camp pains support worker
at brum fiends of the erf
my carefully preped questions for mr cameraman
fall dejectedly by the wayside:
did ya marry her for her looks or her money?
how were the hols on yer father-in-law's yacht?
bet ya felt a right plonker about the bike n chauffeur incident?
(and that was just the friendly warm-up banter
before the cameras started rolling!)
worsemy fledgling environmental career lies in tatters
gatecrashed by young pretenders half my age
who have already amassed enough relevant experience
to see off this mangy panther...
now that's how yer fireseed could be feeling
the mangy panther sulking and licking his wounds
but what has experience taught me
if not the importance of equanimity?
do not let a setback break your spirit
for perhaps it is not a setback at all
but a useful stepping stone across life's rapids
que sera
whatever will bee will bee
this time i have not achieved my goals
i will not be going to wembley
but i have learnt valuable lessons
gandhi encouraged us to cherish the achievements of others
for as others flourish so do we
the success of others inspires us to better ourselves...
btw
almost forgot
i've got a gig this weekend at a barbie queue
yer fave blogger acoustic n intimate
unplugged n unfussed
at the martineau gardens edgbaston
in aid of transition city birmingham
there'll be one or two golden oldies
a smattering of new numbers
including 'icarus'
hot off the fretboard
and the odd cover or two
watch this space for a review
Thursday, August 28, 2008
MET A COGNITION
tonight
as on a thousand other nights
i am thinking about thinking
that most mysterious of processes
the constant forment of the mind
the product of the electrical impulses
that zap along our neural pathways
the cortex tick tocking along like a clock mechanism
or boiling away like a kettle on a hob
anais nin said we see the world not as it is
but as we are
in other words
the brain is a powerful filter
editing the information received
moulding
reshaping
distilling
distorting
as we correlate it
with pre-existing experiences and attitudes
unless that is
the input is totally incompatible
in which case we either choose to reject it
or assimilate it
hence gaining new insight
different intelligences come into play
verbal
spatial
aural
kinesthetic
musical
interpersonal
intra personal
tools that open up new angles on the world
spark our curiosity
suspend our wonder and mystery
encourage us to pose questions
play with ideas
make connections
seize opportunities
and generally
be right nosy parkers!
as on a thousand other nights
i am thinking about thinking
that most mysterious of processes
the constant forment of the mind
the product of the electrical impulses
that zap along our neural pathways
the cortex tick tocking along like a clock mechanism
or boiling away like a kettle on a hob
anais nin said we see the world not as it is
but as we are
in other words
the brain is a powerful filter
editing the information received
moulding
reshaping
distilling
distorting
as we correlate it
with pre-existing experiences and attitudes
unless that is
the input is totally incompatible
in which case we either choose to reject it
or assimilate it
hence gaining new insight
different intelligences come into play
verbal
spatial
aural
kinesthetic
musical
interpersonal
intra personal
tools that open up new angles on the world
spark our curiosity
suspend our wonder and mystery
encourage us to pose questions
play with ideas
make connections
seize opportunities
and generally
be right nosy parkers!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
ICARUS
icarus arced his feathered wings
and sprang from the ground in breathless flight
daedelus watched his precious son
scarcely concealing his delight
icarus
he loosed his bonds
he loosed his bonds
icarus
he danced above the sea
icarus reached to touch the clouds
riding upon a wave of joy
daedelus watched him in dismay
'you fly too high, oh foolish boy'
'know your place in the universe
respect the power of the golden orb
can't you see the wax will melt
can't you see you're bound to fall?'
icarus soared up heavenwards
ignorant of his father's words
daedelus gazed on powerless
as icarus circled with the birds
icarus
he flew too close
he flew too close
icarus
he fell into the sea
and sprang from the ground in breathless flight
daedelus watched his precious son
scarcely concealing his delight
icarus
he loosed his bonds
he loosed his bonds
icarus
he danced above the sea
icarus reached to touch the clouds
riding upon a wave of joy
daedelus watched him in dismay
'you fly too high, oh foolish boy'
'know your place in the universe
respect the power of the golden orb
can't you see the wax will melt
can't you see you're bound to fall?'
icarus soared up heavenwards
ignorant of his father's words
daedelus gazed on powerless
as icarus circled with the birds
icarus
he flew too close
he flew too close
icarus
he fell into the sea
Monday, August 25, 2008
PEACE & LOVE
banke holidaye mondaye
we take hannah to kenilworth castle for the arvo
kennelworth is a romantic civil war ruin
vandalised like so many other english fortifications
by cromwellian forces intent on discouraging uprisings
the place is full of history and herstory
constructed and embellished
by such mediaeval luminaries as king john
john of gaunt
and robert dudley
earl of leicester and unsuccessful suitor of elizabeth i
who turned her nose up
at the first potato brought into britain
ungraciously spitting it out of the window
into the castle court
what a fine sight the place must have been in its heyday
with the castle ramparts still intact
and its great mere flooded
to defend the western approaches
and keep the seige engines at a distance
it being banke holidaye
there are ranks of white tents
staffed by fine gentlemen and comely wenches
dressed up in mediaeval garb
they demonstrate contemporary artisanship
stained glass window making
and boiling up ink from ground oak apples
vinegar and rusty nails
a none-the-wiser woodle takes part in a kiddies' battle
as a member of salisbury's private army
the english send the auld alliance packing
with the french and the scots in disarray
some of the kids get a bit too excited
and start thwacking each other with their sticks!
afterwards there is a dramatic reconstruction
of a real attack on the castle
involving an attempt to abduct the earl of gloucester's wife
on the flimsy pretext of her being a suspected witch
soldiers in broad helmets and opposing colours clash
giving and gaining ground
grunting aggressively as they brandish their staffs
volleys of arrows arc menacingly through the sky
loud explosions echo around the ramparts
the air is thick with dense gunpowder smoke
the whole thing is very convincing and well done
as we excuse ourselves
before the grisly execution of the prisoners
a passing wag spots my sweatshirt
with its 'peace & love in the world' inducement
'now that's not the best thing to be wearing today, is it?'
he chuckles
we take hannah to kenilworth castle for the arvo
kennelworth is a romantic civil war ruin
vandalised like so many other english fortifications
by cromwellian forces intent on discouraging uprisings
the place is full of history and herstory
constructed and embellished
by such mediaeval luminaries as king john
john of gaunt
and robert dudley
earl of leicester and unsuccessful suitor of elizabeth i
who turned her nose up
at the first potato brought into britain
ungraciously spitting it out of the window
into the castle court
what a fine sight the place must have been in its heyday
with the castle ramparts still intact
and its great mere flooded
to defend the western approaches
and keep the seige engines at a distance
it being banke holidaye
there are ranks of white tents
staffed by fine gentlemen and comely wenches
dressed up in mediaeval garb
they demonstrate contemporary artisanship
stained glass window making
and boiling up ink from ground oak apples
vinegar and rusty nails
a none-the-wiser woodle takes part in a kiddies' battle
as a member of salisbury's private army
the english send the auld alliance packing
with the french and the scots in disarray
some of the kids get a bit too excited
and start thwacking each other with their sticks!
afterwards there is a dramatic reconstruction
of a real attack on the castle
involving an attempt to abduct the earl of gloucester's wife
on the flimsy pretext of her being a suspected witch
soldiers in broad helmets and opposing colours clash
giving and gaining ground
grunting aggressively as they brandish their staffs
volleys of arrows arc menacingly through the sky
loud explosions echo around the ramparts
the air is thick with dense gunpowder smoke
the whole thing is very convincing and well done
as we excuse ourselves
before the grisly execution of the prisoners
a passing wag spots my sweatshirt
with its 'peace & love in the world' inducement
'now that's not the best thing to be wearing today, is it?'
he chuckles
Sunday, August 24, 2008
THE GLASS
'oh dear rain again' said bert
'good for the garden' said doris
'must sort out that problem with the car' said bert
'the exercise will do you good' said doris
'this house is chock full of nothing but useless old junk'
said bert
'time for a spring clean and a clear-out' said doris
'things ain't what they used to be' said bert
'and a good thing too' said doris
'you can't get the staff nowadays' said bert
'not if you pay them those kind of wages' said doris
'damn! missed the news!' said bert
'it'll be on again in half an hour' said doris
'mustn't grumble' said bert
'not too bad at all for my age' said doris
'not as well off as the neighbours' said bert
'better off than poor old beryl down the road' said doris
'it's a bit small for us' said bert
'own our own house' said doris
'we can only afford one holiday a year' said bert
'we had a lovely time in somerset last summer' said doris
'the grandchildren live 200 miles away' said bert
'they come and visit us once a month' said doris
'this government's done nothing for pensioners' said bert
'i'm glad they've tried to help out people with families'
said doris
'sorry, i've only got half a glass left to offer you' said bert
'enjoy it son!' said doris
'good for the garden' said doris
'must sort out that problem with the car' said bert
'the exercise will do you good' said doris
'this house is chock full of nothing but useless old junk'
said bert
'time for a spring clean and a clear-out' said doris
'things ain't what they used to be' said bert
'and a good thing too' said doris
'you can't get the staff nowadays' said bert
'not if you pay them those kind of wages' said doris
'damn! missed the news!' said bert
'it'll be on again in half an hour' said doris
'mustn't grumble' said bert
'not too bad at all for my age' said doris
'not as well off as the neighbours' said bert
'better off than poor old beryl down the road' said doris
'it's a bit small for us' said bert
'own our own house' said doris
'we can only afford one holiday a year' said bert
'we had a lovely time in somerset last summer' said doris
'the grandchildren live 200 miles away' said bert
'they come and visit us once a month' said doris
'this government's done nothing for pensioners' said bert
'i'm glad they've tried to help out people with families'
said doris
'sorry, i've only got half a glass left to offer you' said bert
'enjoy it son!' said doris
Saturday, August 23, 2008
TOUCHDOWN
mrs f and the woodle are home
we drive through the drab eastern suburbs to meet them
watching a huge jumbo jet dropping from the sky
and another soaring improbably upwards
flight
one of humankind's great nature-defying triumphs
one of those achievements we can hold up and say:
'look at us humans - aren't we the greatest!'
like the moon landing
heart transplants
in-vitro fertilisation
digital communications and the internet
virtual reality
the bird's nest stadium in beijing
technological wonders contrived by our big brains
we icaruses who fly too close to the sun
one of those jumbos carries mrs f and woodle
safely home from seoul via paris
unlike the poor devils who perished so horribly
at barajas airport the other day
where mrs f and i were a few years back
suffering nothing worse than a couple of delayed suitcases
after taking a wrong turning
and getting stuck in rush-hour traffic
we roll up to see hannah draped exhausted over a baggage trolley
her eyes barely open
after a month i've almost forgotten what she looks like
kids of course have a certain chameleon-like quality
changing from week to week
but h seems to have shot up
while staying as skinny as ever
her new fringe changes the shape of her face
making her look more oriental than i remember
or maybe it's just that my memory is ropy
and i've got used to looking at caucasian features
we drive through the drab eastern suburbs to meet them
watching a huge jumbo jet dropping from the sky
and another soaring improbably upwards
flight
one of humankind's great nature-defying triumphs
one of those achievements we can hold up and say:
'look at us humans - aren't we the greatest!'
like the moon landing
heart transplants
in-vitro fertilisation
digital communications and the internet
virtual reality
the bird's nest stadium in beijing
technological wonders contrived by our big brains
we icaruses who fly too close to the sun
one of those jumbos carries mrs f and woodle
safely home from seoul via paris
unlike the poor devils who perished so horribly
at barajas airport the other day
where mrs f and i were a few years back
suffering nothing worse than a couple of delayed suitcases
after taking a wrong turning
and getting stuck in rush-hour traffic
we roll up to see hannah draped exhausted over a baggage trolley
her eyes barely open
after a month i've almost forgotten what she looks like
kids of course have a certain chameleon-like quality
changing from week to week
but h seems to have shot up
while staying as skinny as ever
her new fringe changes the shape of her face
making her look more oriental than i remember
or maybe it's just that my memory is ropy
and i've got used to looking at caucasian features
hannah won't speak to me in english
she just produces funny little mouse-like squeaks
in response to my questions and comments
h and consequently mrs f have hardly slept on the flight
and are ready to hit the sack as soon as we get home
but bright and early this morning
the woodle is up and at em
hitting the ground running
full of the recharged energy of a five-year-old
back on form
but bright and early this morning
the woodle is up and at em
hitting the ground running
full of the recharged energy of a five-year-old
back on form
Thursday, August 21, 2008
GREED
as a small child
i grasped at everything within my reach
food
toys
household paraphenalia
flora and fauna
i claimed all those bright shiny objects as my own
oh i got most upset if another child coveted my playthings
or if an adult interseeded
i would howl and scream
kick and fight
i was indecent
unable to decenter
incapable of viewing the world from another perspective
as i grew older
i became a little more selective in my grasping
but still i coveted possessions
collections of football stickers
toy figurines
model aeroplanes
and i wanted people too
schoolfriends who amused or attracted me
or bought me access to new places or experiences
grown-ups who showed me enticing glimpses
of possibilities i hadn't dreamt of
handsome boys
pretty girls
pretty boys
handsome girls
as i reached my teenage years
the troll spiralled out of control
i craved maturity
respect
bigger toys
cars and guitars
i wanted female adoration
free love
the pleasures of the flesh
another notch on my bedpost
i gorged on youthful rebellion
the fashions
the music
the drugs
the politics
as my adult years rolled around
i was already on a slippery slope
a bigger salary
a better car
hipper more intelligent friends
a prettier wife
fancier holidays
still more exciting toys
rapacious
i wanted minerals and resources
i demanded bigger profits
better returns
i hatched campaigns
invaded countries
fought for control of whole continents
i was consumed by an impulse i could not resist
until one day
i climbed from my limosine
and stepped out onto the pavement
in front of a one-eyed beggar
who sat smiling angelically beside a mangy dog
the beggar winked at me and said:
'you can't take all that with you, you know'
i grasped at everything within my reach
food
toys
household paraphenalia
flora and fauna
i claimed all those bright shiny objects as my own
oh i got most upset if another child coveted my playthings
or if an adult interseeded
i would howl and scream
kick and fight
i was indecent
unable to decenter
incapable of viewing the world from another perspective
as i grew older
i became a little more selective in my grasping
but still i coveted possessions
collections of football stickers
toy figurines
model aeroplanes
and i wanted people too
schoolfriends who amused or attracted me
or bought me access to new places or experiences
grown-ups who showed me enticing glimpses
of possibilities i hadn't dreamt of
handsome boys
pretty girls
pretty boys
handsome girls
as i reached my teenage years
the troll spiralled out of control
i craved maturity
respect
bigger toys
cars and guitars
i wanted female adoration
free love
the pleasures of the flesh
another notch on my bedpost
i gorged on youthful rebellion
the fashions
the music
the drugs
the politics
as my adult years rolled around
i was already on a slippery slope
a bigger salary
a better car
hipper more intelligent friends
a prettier wife
fancier holidays
still more exciting toys
rapacious
i wanted minerals and resources
i demanded bigger profits
better returns
i hatched campaigns
invaded countries
fought for control of whole continents
i was consumed by an impulse i could not resist
until one day
i climbed from my limosine
and stepped out onto the pavement
in front of a one-eyed beggar
who sat smiling angelically beside a mangy dog
the beggar winked at me and said:
'you can't take all that with you, you know'
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
BLOG AT BEDTIME
just clocking off after a late session
working on a new one
'the fourth of july'
a stirring anti-war piece
an appeal for pacifism and gentleness
in the face of chisel-jawed militarism
oh it's a heart-rending tale
certain to yank the emotional strings
(if you'll pardon the pun!)
been having some fun with the arrangement
toying with spaghetti western ideas
military tattoo trappings
synthesised bugle horns
synchronised acoustic guitars
united in gleaming arpeggio
an electric rush
stopping short with a brief acapella section
which brings things to a hushed climax
the whole piece ebbing and flowing
like the river of life and death
i hope you'll appreciate it
when it eventually takes its place
in 'the all seeing i' pantheon
sweet dreams
the sweet dreamer
x
working on a new one
'the fourth of july'
a stirring anti-war piece
an appeal for pacifism and gentleness
in the face of chisel-jawed militarism
oh it's a heart-rending tale
certain to yank the emotional strings
(if you'll pardon the pun!)
been having some fun with the arrangement
toying with spaghetti western ideas
military tattoo trappings
synthesised bugle horns
synchronised acoustic guitars
united in gleaming arpeggio
an electric rush
stopping short with a brief acapella section
which brings things to a hushed climax
the whole piece ebbing and flowing
like the river of life and death
i hope you'll appreciate it
when it eventually takes its place
in 'the all seeing i' pantheon
sweet dreams
the sweet dreamer
x
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
365 DAYS
365 days ago today
a fireseed, his wife and their woodle
flew across the gobi desert and the siberian wasteland
to begin a new life in albion
knowing not what they would find
they had given away most of their worldly goods
save for clothes, books, computer and guitars
which charted a different route
aboard a container ship passing through the persian gulf
they had no jobs or school to go to
only a place to lay their heads
and the love and patience of a family
the woodle acclimatised quickly
slipping effortlessly into the school routine
fitting in with the other little herberts
by rapidly acquiring a brummie accident
the woodle's mother found it harder to acclimatise
the draughty autumn made her shiver
the winter chill dug deep into her bones
the spring gusts stung her cheeks
the damp summer congealed the blood in her veins
she busied herself looking after the woodle
she took solace in the realms of cyberspace
cementing new friendships
across counties and continents
until finally she earned her place in the sun
crossing continents once again
and what of our fireseed?
our quixotic adventurer?
more sure of what he doesn't want
than what he wants?
he cast around for a sense of direction
he castanet far n wide
following his intuition
sometimes feeling his way blindly in the dark
brushing off his critics
taking succour from his supporters
preparing the ground
laying the foundations
mangling his metaphors
looking out for lady luck
biding his time
waiting for them to come knocking
waiting for the fish to bite
waiting like a mangy panther
to spring into action
a fireseed, his wife and their woodle
flew across the gobi desert and the siberian wasteland
to begin a new life in albion
knowing not what they would find
they had given away most of their worldly goods
save for clothes, books, computer and guitars
which charted a different route
aboard a container ship passing through the persian gulf
they had no jobs or school to go to
only a place to lay their heads
and the love and patience of a family
the woodle acclimatised quickly
slipping effortlessly into the school routine
fitting in with the other little herberts
by rapidly acquiring a brummie accident
the woodle's mother found it harder to acclimatise
the draughty autumn made her shiver
the winter chill dug deep into her bones
the spring gusts stung her cheeks
the damp summer congealed the blood in her veins
she busied herself looking after the woodle
she took solace in the realms of cyberspace
cementing new friendships
across counties and continents
until finally she earned her place in the sun
crossing continents once again
and what of our fireseed?
our quixotic adventurer?
more sure of what he doesn't want
than what he wants?
he cast around for a sense of direction
he castanet far n wide
following his intuition
sometimes feeling his way blindly in the dark
brushing off his critics
taking succour from his supporters
preparing the ground
laying the foundations
mangling his metaphors
looking out for lady luck
biding his time
waiting for them to come knocking
waiting for the fish to bite
waiting like a mangy panther
to spring into action
FORM
some days i get up
and hit the ground running
i ease straight into gear
cruising through the day's tasks
like a well-oiled machine
ready for anything
bring it on, i say!
i clear the obstacles in my path
like a minesweeper
people are pleasant
they smile
stop and chat
say nice things
bestow compliments
i have time for stuff
i receive prompt responses to my emails
i get the job done
i get jobs done
i expect success
and i am successful
i jump on a bus straight away
i get lucky
i attract serendipity
i radiate positivity
i ooze confidence
i got that can-do feeling
i fly like a butterfly
sting like a bee
i got the wind in my sails
and an ocean of possibilities ahead
i'm on form
other days i get up
stumble
and land flat on my face
i stall
i can't get the clutch to bite
judder out of first gear
never even make it into third
i am a rusty old banger
ready for the scrap yard
stop the bus
i wanna get off!
obstacles spring up
blocking my path in every direction
people are stroppy n sarcy
they scowl
can't be bothered to give me the time of day
they carp and criticise
take me for granted
i rush around
sticky n sweaty
i am late for my appointments
more haste less speed
i make mistakes
then faff around for ages trying to undo them
i can't nail a plank
phone lines are engaged
servers are down
everyone has called in sick
or gone on holiday
i just about wing whatever i'm doing
then feel a pang of guilt
i expect failure
and success eludes me
the luck aint with me
i miss the opportunity
three buses come along all at once
just before i arrive at the stop
i radiate anxiety
sense the tightness in my shoulders
tiredness n stress consumes me
i got that can't-do feeling
i fly like a bee
and sting like a butterfly
i got no belief
no style
no composure
my form has evaporated
today i am bang on form
tomorrow?
well that's another day
and hit the ground running
i ease straight into gear
cruising through the day's tasks
like a well-oiled machine
ready for anything
bring it on, i say!
i clear the obstacles in my path
like a minesweeper
people are pleasant
they smile
stop and chat
say nice things
bestow compliments
i have time for stuff
i receive prompt responses to my emails
i get the job done
i get jobs done
i expect success
and i am successful
i jump on a bus straight away
i get lucky
i attract serendipity
i radiate positivity
i ooze confidence
i got that can-do feeling
i fly like a butterfly
sting like a bee
i got the wind in my sails
and an ocean of possibilities ahead
i'm on form
other days i get up
stumble
and land flat on my face
i stall
i can't get the clutch to bite
judder out of first gear
never even make it into third
i am a rusty old banger
ready for the scrap yard
stop the bus
i wanna get off!
obstacles spring up
blocking my path in every direction
people are stroppy n sarcy
they scowl
can't be bothered to give me the time of day
they carp and criticise
take me for granted
i rush around
sticky n sweaty
i am late for my appointments
more haste less speed
i make mistakes
then faff around for ages trying to undo them
i can't nail a plank
phone lines are engaged
servers are down
everyone has called in sick
or gone on holiday
i just about wing whatever i'm doing
then feel a pang of guilt
i expect failure
and success eludes me
the luck aint with me
i miss the opportunity
three buses come along all at once
just before i arrive at the stop
i radiate anxiety
sense the tightness in my shoulders
tiredness n stress consumes me
i got that can't-do feeling
i fly like a bee
and sting like a butterfly
i got no belief
no style
no composure
my form has evaporated
today i am bang on form
tomorrow?
well that's another day
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
THE KING AND HIS SUBJECTS
the king lay troubled in his reverie
bathed in cold sweat
'we have come on behalf of those who work'
said the first peasant
'we break our backs day after day in the fields
to keep the grain stores full'
growled a second stooping serf
'but so much of our grain is levied in taxes
that we can barely afford to feed our families'
'look at my starving children'
a third peasant grunted through his gnarled features
gesturing at the skinny waifs sitting at his feet
'i toil all day while they go hungry'
'enough!' cried the king
'this is a scandal
i will see to it that your taxes are reduced
no one will go hungry in my kingdom'
the men bowed and shuffled away
'we have come to represent those who pray' said the prior
'our magnificent house of god is crumbling to dust
for lack of attention'
'and our monastery will have to close its infirmary
for want of adequate funds'
protested a ruddy-faced monk
'and our church coffers are empty, your majesty'
the parish priest wailed
'an outrage!' cried the king
'how can this be so?
i will see to it personally
that the lord's houses want for nothing'
'your majesty is most generous'
the prior smiled obsequiously
as the three men bowed and left the king's chamber
'we have come on behalf of those who fight' said the knight
'we risk our lives to protect your kingdom
yet our men are without proper armour or weaponry'
'the castles that rise to england's defence are battered
and in need of repair'
a nobleman complained
'how can you expect us to raise armies
when we haven't the coins to pay our soldiers a living wage?'
spoke up a second baron
'you are not without reason' the king nodded
'the security of the kingdom must not be jeopardised
i will see to it that you have the necessary funds
with all due haste'
at last the king awoke trembling from his dark dreams
he had made excuses that had no justification
he had made promises he could not keep
the king crossed his bedchamber to the window
and peered out over the castle ramparts
where armies of serfs, warrior monks and nobles
were massing in the distance
the king pulled on his robe
and fled
for his life
bathed in cold sweat
'we have come on behalf of those who work'
said the first peasant
'we break our backs day after day in the fields
to keep the grain stores full'
growled a second stooping serf
'but so much of our grain is levied in taxes
that we can barely afford to feed our families'
'look at my starving children'
a third peasant grunted through his gnarled features
gesturing at the skinny waifs sitting at his feet
'i toil all day while they go hungry'
'enough!' cried the king
'this is a scandal
i will see to it that your taxes are reduced
no one will go hungry in my kingdom'
the men bowed and shuffled away
'we have come to represent those who pray' said the prior
'our magnificent house of god is crumbling to dust
for lack of attention'
'and our monastery will have to close its infirmary
for want of adequate funds'
protested a ruddy-faced monk
'and our church coffers are empty, your majesty'
the parish priest wailed
'an outrage!' cried the king
'how can this be so?
i will see to it personally
that the lord's houses want for nothing'
'your majesty is most generous'
the prior smiled obsequiously
as the three men bowed and left the king's chamber
'we have come on behalf of those who fight' said the knight
'we risk our lives to protect your kingdom
yet our men are without proper armour or weaponry'
'the castles that rise to england's defence are battered
and in need of repair'
a nobleman complained
'how can you expect us to raise armies
when we haven't the coins to pay our soldiers a living wage?'
spoke up a second baron
'you are not without reason' the king nodded
'the security of the kingdom must not be jeopardised
i will see to it that you have the necessary funds
with all due haste'
at last the king awoke trembling from his dark dreams
he had made excuses that had no justification
he had made promises he could not keep
the king crossed his bedchamber to the window
and peered out over the castle ramparts
where armies of serfs, warrior monks and nobles
were massing in the distance
the king pulled on his robe
and fled
for his life
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
THROUGH HER EYES
my dear mum
how have you been?
how are dad and little sis and grandma?
i was very sorry to miss the opening ceremony
we were on the coach to scotland
a few colleagues stayed behind to watch it
and they said it was an amazing spectacle
our china has done so well!
when i checked this morning
we were perched on top of the medals table
like a crane on a chimney
do you think we can keep it up?
how have you been?
how are dad and little sis and grandma?
what is the atmosphere like at home?
everybody must be so excited about the gamesi was very sorry to miss the opening ceremony
we were on the coach to scotland
a few colleagues stayed behind to watch it
and they said it was an amazing spectacle
our china has done so well!
when i checked this morning
we were perched on top of the medals table
like a crane on a chimney
do you think we can keep it up?
i miss you
and i miss your cooking
here we take turns to cook in our hall of residence
except for me of course
i don't cook
i just give the others tips!
zhong's spicy sichuan dishes are delicious
they keep us warm and glowing when the weather is cold
it doesn't feel like summer here
it's more like november in august
windy rainy stormy
the sunshine we kindly bought from jiangsu
has faded like old cloth
but i don't care
everything here is so different from our china
i have to stop myself from staring like little cousin feng!
the air is so clean and fresh
and there are grass and trees everywhere
but the thing i can't get used to is the peace and quiet
although we are staying in britain's second biggest city
it feels more like a small country town
nobody in the streets
no hustle and bustle
the buses and trains are almost empty
the cars drive quietly along like a little column of ants
and no-one ever uses their horn!
i think i shall have to change the way i drive when i get home
i must be more patient
people here are so funny
they are not as reserved as we are in china
they gesticulate and throw their arms about when they talk
they look you straight in the eye
and talk in loud voices
they seem very passionate
but they are also kind
sometimes complete strangers smile and say hello
i always feel a little embarrassed and taken aback
i don't know what to say
so usually i just bow and smile back
it's still difficult to start a conversation
or even respond
i am tongue-tied
but i think my ears are beginning to unblock themselves
yesterday when i was listening to my teacher
i noticed that the slippery stream of words
was broken by a few smooth rocks
stepping stones
guiding me across the deep water
you can't believe how pleased i was!
this has never happened to me with english before
the boys and girls here are very good-looking
seeing them face to face and close up
i can appreciate their round eyes and porcelain skin
they are so tall and big
like giants
but i think their food is sometimes a little too sweet
because there are many overweight people here
mum
i must sign off now
think of me
and remember that the same moon shines on us
i love you and i miss you
your loving daughter
r
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
HAWKE
your wings flutter in the wind
but your body remains still
your head alert
your eyes ever watchful
you hover above the bracken
shooting the breeze
sailing the updraughts
making it look so easy
perfectly balanced
on a narrow airy tightrope
sensing the biting point
silhouetted against the pale grey firnament
you are patient
you wait for that moment
that brief instant
when your unwitting prey will break cover
that window of opportunity
when your lightning strike
will most likely reep its rewards
watching and waiting
waiting and watching
now!
you plunge from the skies
dive-bombing the hillside
wings up
talons outstretched
eyes locked on their target
you disappear into the ferns
one second
two seconds
now you rise again
pheonix-like
talons empty
without recompense
cruising upwards
you fill your lungs
recompose yourself
climbing back onto your tightrope
head held high
undeterred
for you know
that your time will come
Monday, August 11, 2008
ONION
onion
ripped from the soil by your stalk
as i tear open your flaky skin
one by one i peel away your layers
ripped from the soil by your stalk
as i tear open your flaky skin
cut out and discard the rotten bits
you are violated once againone by one i peel away your layers
your pungent vapour
stings my eyes with tears
i look inside you
but you never reveal your heart
Sunday, August 10, 2008
TIRED STONES
we drag them along
our stones
we elaborate grand designs for them
quarry them from the rockface
cut them to size
hoist them up the hill
up that steep steep incline
ah we suffer for our stones
we push
we pull
we pant
wipe the sweat from our brows
curse the blisters and callouses on our hands
and sometimes we falter
lose heart
lack the strength to keep going
some of those stones fall inevitably by the wayside
the mountain is just too rocky or steep
the burden is just too much to bear
the sacrifice too great
our comrades desert us
and the stone becomes a tired stone
perhaps one day it will be retrieved
recovered and dusted off
for the same project
or another grand plan
or perhaps it will simply be left
to be weathered by the wind and rain
to be stumbled upon
by the inquisitive eyes
and wild imaginations
of future generations
our stones
we elaborate grand designs for them
quarry them from the rockface
cut them to size
hoist them up the hill
up that steep steep incline
ah we suffer for our stones
we push
we pull
we pant
wipe the sweat from our brows
curse the blisters and callouses on our hands
and sometimes we falter
lose heart
lack the strength to keep going
some of those stones fall inevitably by the wayside
the mountain is just too rocky or steep
the burden is just too much to bear
the sacrifice too great
our comrades desert us
and the stone becomes a tired stone
perhaps one day it will be retrieved
recovered and dusted off
for the same project
or another grand plan
or perhaps it will simply be left
to be weathered by the wind and rain
to be stumbled upon
by the inquisitive eyes
and wild imaginations
of future generations
Saturday, August 09, 2008
SHOCK AND AWE
i wake up to shock and awe
blinding flashes of purple flame light up the darkness
deafening explosions perforate the ear drum
women and children cower in bunkers
flag-waving families laugh and cheer
tearful grandmothers leave their villages
on the backs of trucks
for the first time
for the last time?
ecstatic couples embrace
hearts bursting with pride
a battallion of stiff-faced young men marches through town
a thousand choreographed dancers twirl in unison
a column of tanks winds its way along a dirt track
a fleet of limousines whisks its luminaries into the stadium
the torch is lit
the touchpaper is ignited
the games begin
the battle commences
they gun for glory
they shun defeat
there will be joy and heartbreak
victor and vanquished
the superpower asserts its status
defiant
as the eyes of the world look on
blinding flashes of purple flame light up the darkness
deafening explosions perforate the ear drum
women and children cower in bunkers
flag-waving families laugh and cheer
tearful grandmothers leave their villages
on the backs of trucks
for the first time
for the last time?
ecstatic couples embrace
hearts bursting with pride
a battallion of stiff-faced young men marches through town
a thousand choreographed dancers twirl in unison
a column of tanks winds its way along a dirt track
a fleet of limousines whisks its luminaries into the stadium
the torch is lit
the touchpaper is ignited
the games begin
the battle commences
they gun for glory
they shun defeat
there will be joy and heartbreak
victor and vanquished
the superpower asserts its status
defiant
as the eyes of the world look on
Friday, August 08, 2008
PANORAMIC
what do these three things have in common?
1) a domestic wind turbine
2) a photo opportunity in the arctic
3) a bike ride to work through the london rush-hour
accompanied by a chauffeur...
that's right
david cameraman
young tory pretender to the crown
today in a downtown cafe
it is mr cameraman i am here to discuss
or rather the possibility of your fave blogger
taking part in a tv interview with the would-be pm
to quiz him on matters eco
over a gigantic americano
courtesy of aunty beeb
patrick the producer asks me for my take on our man
which is it?
genuine commitment to the welfare of the planet
or convenient rebranding?
green to the core
or greenwash?
i say that i'm afraid dc is optional add-on
often answering them himself
as if articulating an internal dialogue
but i learn nothing of his ideas about the programme
after half an hour or so of q & a
he takes a phonecall
it's friday evening
and someone wants him back in londinium
pronto
he asks to be excused
the train to marylebone awaits
he says he will be in touch next week
am i the man he's looking for?
i'm left none the wiser...
1) a domestic wind turbine
2) a photo opportunity in the arctic
3) a bike ride to work through the london rush-hour
accompanied by a chauffeur...
that's right
david cameraman
young tory pretender to the crown
flaunting his supposed green credentials
dave take a bow...today in a downtown cafe
it is mr cameraman i am here to discuss
or rather the possibility of your fave blogger
taking part in a tv interview with the would-be pm
to quiz him on matters eco
over a gigantic americano
courtesy of aunty beeb
patrick the producer asks me for my take on our man
which is it?
genuine commitment to the welfare of the planet
or convenient rebranding?
green to the core
or greenwash?
i say that i'm afraid dc is optional add-on
rather than core business model
(it's the economy stupid!)
p spews out questionsoften answering them himself
as if articulating an internal dialogue
but i learn nothing of his ideas about the programme
after half an hour or so of q & a
he takes a phonecall
it's friday evening
and someone wants him back in londinium
pronto
he asks to be excused
the train to marylebone awaits
he says he will be in touch next week
am i the man he's looking for?
i'm left none the wiser...
Thursday, August 07, 2008
THE ART OF RIBBING
why did the toilet paper roll down the hill?
because it wanted to get to the bottom
[ed: groan!]
i heard that one told by a precocious 6-year-old
in the circus tent at glastonbury
it tickled hannah
but when she tried to retell it to her grandma
it came out as:
why did the tissue paper roll down the hill?
yep
the woodle has deafen-it-ly inherited
her dad's ability to mangle a good joke:
a man goes to the doctor and says
'doctor doctor
i've got some cream up my bottom!'
[ed: bottoms again?!]
and the doctor says...
'don't worry
i've got a strawberry for that'
er...i mean...oops!
i lived with a guy once in bilbao
nick hasset by name
who had a god-given ability
to remember n retell a joke
perfect delivery and comic timing
not only in english but also in spanish
i don't know what it is with me
but my brain don't work like that
i enjoy a good tale
a witty joke
as much as the next man or woman
but try as i might
i cannae even remember me own lyrics and poetry
never mind anyone else's line in patter
quotations?
nah
plots of films?
hopeless
anecdotes?
forget it!
there must be an art to it
an art to performance in real time
a way to overcome the curse
of the clumsy guitarist
the forgetful vocalist
the punchline-pranging comedian
i dunno
i don't seem to be able to string it together
perhaps it's just a case of letting go
putting a little more of the right brain into it
or maybe simply a case of perfect makes practice
because it wanted to get to the bottom
[ed: groan!]
i heard that one told by a precocious 6-year-old
in the circus tent at glastonbury
it tickled hannah
but when she tried to retell it to her grandma
it came out as:
why did the tissue paper roll down the hill?
yep
the woodle has deafen-it-ly inherited
her dad's ability to mangle a good joke:
a man goes to the doctor and says
'doctor doctor
i've got some cream up my bottom!'
[ed: bottoms again?!]
and the doctor says...
'don't worry
i've got a strawberry for that'
er...i mean...oops!
i lived with a guy once in bilbao
nick hasset by name
who had a god-given ability
to remember n retell a joke
perfect delivery and comic timing
not only in english but also in spanish
i don't know what it is with me
but my brain don't work like that
i enjoy a good tale
a witty joke
as much as the next man or woman
but try as i might
i cannae even remember me own lyrics and poetry
never mind anyone else's line in patter
quotations?
nah
plots of films?
hopeless
anecdotes?
forget it!
there must be an art to it
an art to performance in real time
a way to overcome the curse
of the clumsy guitarist
the forgetful vocalist
the punchline-pranging comedian
i dunno
i don't seem to be able to string it together
perhaps it's just a case of letting go
putting a little more of the right brain into it
or maybe simply a case of perfect makes practice
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
JUGGLING ACT
economists juggle scarce resources
politicians juggle their constituents
china juggles its population
the planet juggles its ozone and its co2
politicians juggle their constituents
china juggles its population
the planet juggles its ozone and its co2
parents juggle their children and their me time
novelists juggle their protagonistsartists juggle their muses
songwriters juggle their melodies n lyrics
rock stars juggle their groupies
dogs juggle their bones
philanderers juggle their mistresses
fashionistas juggle their wardrobes
slugs and snails juggle their sexuality
gardeners juggle their pyracanthas and hydrangeas
the woodle juggles her teddies
i juggle with the art of living
the woodle juggles her teddies
i juggle with the art of living
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
KINGS
jon and i are ushered into a cramped kitchen-sitting room
to wild applause
we are presented with ornamental tibetan necklaces
tokens of appreciation from our chinese friends
the heavy amber stones
the baubles n beads
dangle from our necks
we are bade to sit down at a long table
laden with exotic dishes
dumplings filled with carrot and mushroom
bean and radish and pepper salad
cauliflour with shitake mushrooms and red chillis
cabbage braised in soy sauce
vegan fare for me
gluten-free for jon
my glass is filled and refilled with red vino
multiple bottoms up ensue
i am asked to make a speech
i'm hopeless at speeches
under the influence of the vino
i mumble a few clumsy words of thanks
then sit down again
chinese pop plays from a laptop
the melacholy tone of a bowed stringed instrument
cutting through the music
the formalities over
they decide to let their hair down and play hot potato
a guy with a towel wrapped around his head
bangs a dish with a wooden spoon
as a pack of tissues is frantically passed around
the forfeit is to sing for the crowd
naked without a guitar
i do 'tiny diamond'
then a tongue-in-cheek 'god save the queen'
the chinese girls sing sad and beautiful traditional songs
with a melancholy lilt
others listen with glazed faraway eyes
it takes me back to korea
and the late night norae bahng
i am touched by the group's hospitality
i am privileged to be entertained tonight
by these lively eastern visitors
to wild applause
we are presented with ornamental tibetan necklaces
tokens of appreciation from our chinese friends
the heavy amber stones
the baubles n beads
dangle from our necks
we are bade to sit down at a long table
laden with exotic dishes
dumplings filled with carrot and mushroom
bean and radish and pepper salad
cauliflour with shitake mushrooms and red chillis
cabbage braised in soy sauce
vegan fare for me
gluten-free for jon
my glass is filled and refilled with red vino
multiple bottoms up ensue
i am asked to make a speech
i'm hopeless at speeches
under the influence of the vino
i mumble a few clumsy words of thanks
then sit down again
chinese pop plays from a laptop
the melacholy tone of a bowed stringed instrument
cutting through the music
the formalities over
they decide to let their hair down and play hot potato
a guy with a towel wrapped around his head
bangs a dish with a wooden spoon
as a pack of tissues is frantically passed around
the forfeit is to sing for the crowd
naked without a guitar
i do 'tiny diamond'
then a tongue-in-cheek 'god save the queen'
the chinese girls sing sad and beautiful traditional songs
with a melancholy lilt
others listen with glazed faraway eyes
it takes me back to korea
and the late night norae bahng
i am touched by the group's hospitality
i am privileged to be entertained tonight
by these lively eastern visitors
Monday, August 04, 2008
MAPPA MONDAY
where south is west
west is north
and north is east
where europe is africa
and africa is europe
where jerusalem is the epicentre of the world
where england is mapped out in cathedrals
where the beasts and creatures of travellers tales
crawl fantastically from the vellum
a freakish camel
a curious rhinoceros
a siren on a rock
bat-eared and foot-headed men
west is north
and north is east
where europe is africa
and africa is europe
where jerusalem is the epicentre of the world
where england is mapped out in cathedrals
where the beasts and creatures of travellers tales
crawl fantastically from the vellum
a freakish camel
a curious rhinoceros
a siren on a rock
bat-eared and foot-headed men
hermaphrodite and mandrake
unicorn and phoenix
sphinx and griffon
the land of gog and magog
sodom and gomorrha
the pillars of hercules
where death and judgement day are all-pervading
where paradise lost is encircled in a ring of fire
where christian morality trumps geography
where death and judgement day are all-pervading
where paradise lost is encircled in a ring of fire
where christian morality trumps geography
Sunday, August 03, 2008
SUNDAY PRAYER
this is a prayer for the near and the distant
for family and for society
for the old and the young
for the beautiful and ugly
for the healthy and the diseased
this is a prayer for the good and the bad
for the sinner and the saint
for the rich and the poor
for the powerful and the downtrodden
this is a prayer for mankind
and for the beasts of the field
for the male and the female
for us and for them
for you and for me
this is a prayer without conditions or attachments
with no small print
may your suffering be relieved
may your pain be soothed
may your burden be eased
may your weariness melt away
may peace and calm and serenity
flow through your mind
may altruistic love flow through your heart
and may you be truly happy
for family and for society
for the friend and the stranger
for the fellow countryman and the foreigner
this is a prayer for the born and the unbornfor the old and the young
for the beautiful and ugly
for the healthy and the diseased
this is a prayer for the good and the bad
for the sinner and the saint
for the rich and the poor
for the powerful and the downtrodden
this is a prayer for mankind
and for the beasts of the field
for the male and the female
for us and for them
for you and for me
this is a prayer without conditions or attachments
with no small print
may your suffering be relieved
may your pain be soothed
may your burden be eased
may your weariness melt away
may peace and calm and serenity
flow through your mind
may altruistic love flow through your heart
and may you be truly happy
Saturday, August 02, 2008
CONTROL
dear nonny mouse
thank you for your kind offer
but i have a confession to make
for when i told you i receive five readies
every time a reader leaves a comment
i was just joshing
nah!
blogging royalties remain a distant dream
unless anyone fancies making a small donation
in which case
offers to my comments box please!
until that time
i blog for free
i post for nothing
i seek no financial remuneration
i blog for the love of blogging
for the interactivity the medium allows
for the creativity it fosters
for the buzz of occasionally resonating
with one of you dear readers
[ed: if ya throw enough mud
some of it will stick!]
alighting like a butterfly
on that word or phrase
that metaphor or rhyming couplet
that makes you chuckle
intrigues you
adds something to your day
or gets you thru the night
'the effect of the communication
is the response you get'
so say the neurolinguistic programmers
nlp places the onus on the writer or speaker
to adjust the massage
till the audience responds in the way intended
in other words
nlp cultivates acuity
to nonny mouse
and perhaps you
i unwittingly come across as dissatisfied
freaked by a world out of my control
this is not the massage i wish to convey
but perhaps a trait in myself that i need to analyse
the desire to be in control
to exercise power
to attain mastery
to assert dominance
to hold influenza
thank you for your kind offer
but i have a confession to make
for when i told you i receive five readies
every time a reader leaves a comment
i was just joshing
nah!
blogging royalties remain a distant dream
unless anyone fancies making a small donation
in which case
offers to my comments box please!
until that time
i blog for free
i post for nothing
i seek no financial remuneration
i blog for the love of blogging
for the interactivity the medium allows
for the creativity it fosters
for the buzz of occasionally resonating
with one of you dear readers
[ed: if ya throw enough mud
some of it will stick!]
alighting like a butterfly
on that word or phrase
that metaphor or rhyming couplet
that makes you chuckle
intrigues you
adds something to your day
or gets you thru the night
'the effect of the communication
is the response you get'
so say the neurolinguistic programmers
nlp places the onus on the writer or speaker
to adjust the massage
till the audience responds in the way intended
in other words
nlp cultivates acuity
to nonny mouse
and perhaps you
i unwittingly come across as dissatisfied
freaked by a world out of my control
this is not the massage i wish to convey
but perhaps a trait in myself that i need to analyse
the desire to be in control
to exercise power
to attain mastery
to assert dominance
to hold influenza
the search for importance
permanence
omnipotence
omnipotence
stoking delusions of grandeur
destined to end in frustration and disappointment
born out of fear
humankind's evolution tells the tale of control
from stone age cave dweller
to modern denizen of real and virtual worlds
learning first to live in harmony with nature
red in tooth and claw
then later attempting to transcend it
until it bites back
our friend nonny mouse is right
when (s)he tells us to let go
to revel in the mess
to cherish and marvel at the untamable
the uncontrollable unpredictability
of the vast
writhing
undulating
cosmos
humankind's evolution tells the tale of control
from stone age cave dweller
to modern denizen of real and virtual worlds
learning first to live in harmony with nature
red in tooth and claw
then later attempting to transcend it
until it bites back
our friend nonny mouse is right
when (s)he tells us to let go
to revel in the mess
to cherish and marvel at the untamable
the uncontrollable unpredictability
of the vast
writhing
undulating
cosmos
Friday, August 01, 2008
ENTROPY
i am a hamster in a wheel
a maintenance man on call 24/7
whose work is never done
even as i wipe away the dust
more tiny particles gather imperceptibly
recovering the same surface
as i emerge from the shower
and apply the crystal deoderant
to my clean wet skin
the losing battle recommences
against the onrushing microbacterial hoardes
i shave my cheeks smooth
visit the hairdresser to tame my overgrown locks
and immediately the hair sprouts back
albeit slightly thinner lanker and greyer than before
even as my healthy sun tan glows
it is fading away
even as i roll up my yoga mat
my muscles tendons n sinews disalign
tie themselves into new knots
i floss the plaque from between my teeth
i empty my alimentary canal
and more gunge rots between my molars
more shit prepares to hit the fan
i respond to an email in my in-tray
delete a few more
and immediately others take their plaice
i record a song
upload it to mice pace
strive to finish the album
and hey presto
another ditty is jostling for attention
a new album demands to be recorded
i deliver another lesson
a new one is waiting to be planned
i learn a new fact
look up an entry in wikipedia
and it is already out of date
irrelevant
superceded
meanwhile an old fact is erased
from my overstretched memory
i purchase a brand new laptop
and it is already old
half its value wiped off at a stroke
i fill by belly
satisfy my curiosity
sate my carnal desires
answer my urges and cravings
but all in vain
for immediately they regroup
reassemble
recharge themselves
wiping out my gains
like cockroaches
or sci-fi metal monsters
uncrushable
undefeatable
insurmountable
i kid myself
that the nagging will go away
all will be well once i've done x
when y is over
or once z is out of the way
who am i trying to fool?
even as i write this post
even as you read it
the content will be used up
out of date
yesterday's papers
old hat
ancient history
forever consigned
to the trash can of existence
a maintenance man on call 24/7
whose work is never done
even as i wipe away the dust
more tiny particles gather imperceptibly
recovering the same surface
as i emerge from the shower
and apply the crystal deoderant
to my clean wet skin
the losing battle recommences
against the onrushing microbacterial hoardes
i shave my cheeks smooth
visit the hairdresser to tame my overgrown locks
and immediately the hair sprouts back
albeit slightly thinner lanker and greyer than before
even as my healthy sun tan glows
it is fading away
even as i roll up my yoga mat
my muscles tendons n sinews disalign
tie themselves into new knots
i floss the plaque from between my teeth
i empty my alimentary canal
and more gunge rots between my molars
more shit prepares to hit the fan
i respond to an email in my in-tray
delete a few more
and immediately others take their plaice
i record a song
upload it to mice pace
strive to finish the album
and hey presto
another ditty is jostling for attention
a new album demands to be recorded
i deliver another lesson
a new one is waiting to be planned
i learn a new fact
look up an entry in wikipedia
and it is already out of date
irrelevant
superceded
meanwhile an old fact is erased
from my overstretched memory
i purchase a brand new laptop
and it is already old
half its value wiped off at a stroke
i fill by belly
satisfy my curiosity
sate my carnal desires
answer my urges and cravings
but all in vain
for immediately they regroup
reassemble
recharge themselves
wiping out my gains
like cockroaches
or sci-fi metal monsters
uncrushable
undefeatable
insurmountable
i kid myself
that the nagging will go away
all will be well once i've done x
when y is over
or once z is out of the way
who am i trying to fool?
even as i write this post
even as you read it
the content will be used up
out of date
yesterday's papers
old hat
ancient history
forever consigned
to the trash can of existence
Thursday, July 31, 2008
SLUGGING IT OUT
i lie flat on my stomach
prostrate on the garden lawn
the evening perches on a perfect cusp
between warm and cool
little breezes skip playfully over the hedges
replenishing the still air
my eyes hover inches above a carpet of clover
arms by my sides
slowly i raise my chin above the mat
lift my toes off the ground
feel the pleasant tension in my abominables
my chin strains higher
stretching my abs n chest n neck mussels
i hold the pose for as long as i can
then relax
sensing the pleasurable release
but as i lower my chin to the ground
i notice that i am not alone
level with my eyes
a couple of feet away
a slug has begun to make its intrepid way across the clover
spurning the safety of its shady flower bed
perhaps its goal is the succulent green leaves
sprouting from the far side of the oval lawn
i am its only obstacle
a mountainous impasse
a considerable inconvenience to my slug friend
who slithers slowly forward
until we are practically eyeball to eyeball
a slug's eye view of the world!
never before have i examined a slug so up close n personal
it is a couple of inches in length
chocolate brown in colour
with a paler orangey underbelly
its two sets of antennae wave around manically
is it a boy or a girl?
a hermaphrodite?
how does one check the sex of a slug?
funny how i've always had a certain empathy with snails
but precious little with slugs
i wonder whether they are biologically different
apart from the obvious
snails always seem so fragile
their houses so crushable
slugs?
just slimy and rather ugly
fit for nothing better than to be snipped in half
by the gardener's shears
but today i have respect for the slug's predicament
after some procrastination
and much antennae waving
my new pal abruptly turns tail
and heads back towards the flower bed
from whence it came
as for me
i roll over onto my back
in a very unsluglike way
and rock gently backwards into a shoulderstand
the blood rushes to my head
a different perspective
no clover
no slugs
just my feet
silhouetted against the vanilla sky
now i am sitting at the escape hatch
my legs dangling out of the aeroplane
i launch myself into the void
without a parachute
falling
falling
falling
a shape flashes past
a seagull's wings edged in golden sunlight
then
nothing
only
the
onrushing
clouds
prostrate on the garden lawn
the evening perches on a perfect cusp
between warm and cool
little breezes skip playfully over the hedges
replenishing the still air
my eyes hover inches above a carpet of clover
arms by my sides
slowly i raise my chin above the mat
lift my toes off the ground
feel the pleasant tension in my abominables
my chin strains higher
stretching my abs n chest n neck mussels
i hold the pose for as long as i can
then relax
sensing the pleasurable release
but as i lower my chin to the ground
i notice that i am not alone
level with my eyes
a couple of feet away
a slug has begun to make its intrepid way across the clover
spurning the safety of its shady flower bed
perhaps its goal is the succulent green leaves
sprouting from the far side of the oval lawn
i am its only obstacle
a mountainous impasse
a considerable inconvenience to my slug friend
who slithers slowly forward
until we are practically eyeball to eyeball
a slug's eye view of the world!
never before have i examined a slug so up close n personal
it is a couple of inches in length
chocolate brown in colour
with a paler orangey underbelly
its two sets of antennae wave around manically
is it a boy or a girl?
a hermaphrodite?
how does one check the sex of a slug?
funny how i've always had a certain empathy with snails
but precious little with slugs
i wonder whether they are biologically different
apart from the obvious
snails always seem so fragile
their houses so crushable
slugs?
just slimy and rather ugly
fit for nothing better than to be snipped in half
by the gardener's shears
but today i have respect for the slug's predicament
after some procrastination
and much antennae waving
my new pal abruptly turns tail
and heads back towards the flower bed
from whence it came
as for me
i roll over onto my back
in a very unsluglike way
and rock gently backwards into a shoulderstand
the blood rushes to my head
a different perspective
no clover
no slugs
just my feet
silhouetted against the vanilla sky
now i am sitting at the escape hatch
my legs dangling out of the aeroplane
i launch myself into the void
without a parachute
falling
falling
falling
a shape flashes past
a seagull's wings edged in golden sunlight
then
nothing
only
the
onrushing
clouds
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
AROUND THE BLOCK
i sit down once more at my argos computer desk
in the poky L-shaped box room
filled with too much stuff
unhinged cupboards
overburdened shelving
overstuffed bookcase
a big fat laser printer perched on a cheap coffee table
mischellaneous guitars n pedals scattered around
a dusty keyboard with plastic ivories that never get tinkled
a wobbly music stand
an ungainly mike stand
little containers of keys n coins n busynesscards
walls covered in flyers n postcards n maps n legends
all the clutter i am destined to live with
i sit down and begin to write
a rite to perform
a wright ready to put the world to rights?
or maybe write a few wrongs
but what do i write?
sometimes it aint so easy writing to order
writing to earn one's blogging crust
a crust paid for by you dear readers
who keep me in blogging clover
you who earn me my online commission
you might not have realised
but i get a pound for every art of living hit
another pound for a hit to my fireseed profile
(a quick click on the pink all-seeing eye)
a fiver whenever you hang around here
for more than a desultory couple of seconds
(on the assumption that you're actually reading the aol
rather than searching for porn or online betting or something)
ten quid if you leave a comment
a ten quid bonus if one of my little posties gets five comments
unfortunately like winning the lottery
this is a once in a blue mooner
[ed: never say never]
fireseed:who asked you?
i'll say whatever i want
it's my blogge!
so writing to order
is it a skill?
a knack?
a walk in the park?
well
i'd say the 10% inspiration 90% perspiration motto
holds pretty true
sometimes ya gotta work hard to summon the muse
sometimes ya gotta defy the muse
[muse: i will not be defied]
wanna bet baby?
i guess there are blogs and there are blogs
it's like writing a song
oftentimes i sit down with a preconceived idea
a bee in my bonnet
at least a title
ready to bang out a cyber soliloquy
and i'm away
composing
improvising
often rambling
usually editing
then there's the other times
when i'll sit down with nothing to say
like sharing a park bench
with a complete stranger
'mmm...what nice/awful weather we're having'
no inspiration
no motivation
not an original thought in my head
to be honest this can be a little scary
the weight of expectation
pushing down on fireseede's narrow shoulders
[muse] nothing to say fireseed?
pull yerself together you egit!
there's a whole universe of inspiration out there
if you'd only bother to open your eyes
just look through any window
what do you see?
fireseed: i thought i told you...
the crucial thing is to avoid making excuses
the worst one being
i aint gonna turn up for blogging today
cos i aint got nothing to say
i'm just gonna roll over and have a lion
'i haven't got where i am today
with that attitude reggie'
cj's right of course
there's always a way of unblocking the flow
if you wanna walk
you gotta get up and make the first step
if you wanna paint
you gotta slap some oil on the canvas
get yer brush dirty
if you wanna songwrite
you gotta start humming
or whistling
or strumming
or tinkling
or tapping out a rhythm
if you wanna blog
you gotta start typing
the rest will come
we are conduits
to a great force
let it do its work
and may the foreskin be with you...
in the poky L-shaped box room
filled with too much stuff
unhinged cupboards
overburdened shelving
overstuffed bookcase
a big fat laser printer perched on a cheap coffee table
mischellaneous guitars n pedals scattered around
a dusty keyboard with plastic ivories that never get tinkled
a wobbly music stand
an ungainly mike stand
little containers of keys n coins n busynesscards
walls covered in flyers n postcards n maps n legends
all the clutter i am destined to live with
i sit down and begin to write
a rite to perform
a wright ready to put the world to rights?
or maybe write a few wrongs
but what do i write?
sometimes it aint so easy writing to order
writing to earn one's blogging crust
a crust paid for by you dear readers
who keep me in blogging clover
you who earn me my online commission
you might not have realised
but i get a pound for every art of living hit
another pound for a hit to my fireseed profile
(a quick click on the pink all-seeing eye)
a fiver whenever you hang around here
for more than a desultory couple of seconds
(on the assumption that you're actually reading the aol
rather than searching for porn or online betting or something)
ten quid if you leave a comment
a ten quid bonus if one of my little posties gets five comments
unfortunately like winning the lottery
this is a once in a blue mooner
[ed: never say never]
fireseed:who asked you?
i'll say whatever i want
it's my blogge!
so writing to order
is it a skill?
a knack?
a walk in the park?
well
i'd say the 10% inspiration 90% perspiration motto
holds pretty true
sometimes ya gotta work hard to summon the muse
sometimes ya gotta defy the muse
[muse: i will not be defied]
wanna bet baby?
i guess there are blogs and there are blogs
it's like writing a song
oftentimes i sit down with a preconceived idea
a bee in my bonnet
at least a title
ready to bang out a cyber soliloquy
and i'm away
composing
improvising
often rambling
usually editing
then there's the other times
when i'll sit down with nothing to say
like sharing a park bench
with a complete stranger
'mmm...what nice/awful weather we're having'
no inspiration
no motivation
not an original thought in my head
to be honest this can be a little scary
the weight of expectation
pushing down on fireseede's narrow shoulders
[muse] nothing to say fireseed?
pull yerself together you egit!
there's a whole universe of inspiration out there
if you'd only bother to open your eyes
just look through any window
what do you see?
fireseed: i thought i told you...
the crucial thing is to avoid making excuses
the worst one being
i aint gonna turn up for blogging today
cos i aint got nothing to say
i'm just gonna roll over and have a lion
'i haven't got where i am today
with that attitude reggie'
cj's right of course
there's always a way of unblocking the flow
if you wanna walk
you gotta get up and make the first step
if you wanna paint
you gotta slap some oil on the canvas
get yer brush dirty
if you wanna songwrite
you gotta start humming
or whistling
or strumming
or tinkling
or tapping out a rhythm
if you wanna blog
you gotta start typing
the rest will come
we are conduits
to a great force
let it do its work
and may the foreskin be with you...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
CATHAY
old cathay
slumbering leviathan
awakening giant
inscrutable oriental
yellow peril
one child nation
olympic hostess
cultural revolutionary
market socialist
carbon emissionary
factory of the whirled
now is your moment
as you come to the fore
as you prepare to take centre stage
your red flags fluttering proudly in the breeze
behind the choreography
your preeminence frightens us
your 1.3 billion outnumber us
your eastern promise woos us
your almond eyes seduce us
your staccato tongue confuses us
your elegant calligraphy beguiles us
your human rights and wrongs confound us
your embroidered silk charms us
your peeking duck makes us drool
we see you in stereotype
or is it monotype?
we ignorant westerners
what do we really know of you?
slumbering leviathan
awakening giant
inscrutable oriental
yellow peril
one child nation
olympic hostess
cultural revolutionary
market socialist
carbon emissionary
factory of the whirled
now is your moment
as you come to the fore
as you prepare to take centre stage
your red flags fluttering proudly in the breeze
behind the choreography
your preeminence frightens us
your 1.3 billion outnumber us
your eastern promise woos us
your almond eyes seduce us
your staccato tongue confuses us
your elegant calligraphy beguiles us
your human rights and wrongs confound us
your embroidered silk charms us
your peeking duck makes us drool
we see you in stereotype
or is it monotype?
we ignorant westerners
what do we really know of you?
Monday, July 28, 2008
VOX POP
just when i think i've tracked down
pretty much all of the best sixties material
the other day i come across a lil something in the local library
a hollies compilation seedy, dontcha know?
now a couple of things have always put me off the hollies
firstly their name
which conjures up images of pretty boys singing fluff
like the tremeloes or herman's hermits
(for some reason i've always erroneously linked them
with the truly dreadful 'glad all over'
actually by the dave clark five)
and secondly some of their seventies output
which receives most radio play
treacly middle of the road fare like 'the air that i breathe'
and to a lesser extent 'he aint heavy, he's my brother'
which rips off 'the long and winding road'
a mccartney song i've never dug
but to be honest i was largely ignorant
of the boys' mid-60s heyday
when their inhouse songwriting triumvirate
of messrs clarke
graham nash (later of crosby, stills & ... fame)
and tony hicks
really came into their own
now in a lot of ways
this stuff is the antithesis
of classic mid to late sixties stuff like jimi hendrix
rock it definitely ain't
looking for a purple haze?
forget it!
these lads (with the exception of our friend gnash)
weren't into psychedelic drugs
always preferring a pint of ale down the local pub
which eventually caused a fatal rift
between gnasher and the others
however their summer of love output
has many of the trappings of the era
and the more i think about it
these guys had an awful lot in common with the byrds
which makes it all the more mysterious
why it's taken me so long to get into them
for a start there were five of them
like the byrds
instead of the usual beat group quota of four
(the byrds of course weren't a beat group at all)
alan clarke was ironically the gene clark figure
restricted to some of the lead singing duties
and shaking his hips and tambourine
gnasher was analagous to david crosby
his fairly inconsequential rhythm guitar contributions
more than compensated for
by that lovely soaring tenner voice
and how about tony hicks as a young jim mcguinn?
no don't laugh!
easily the most accomplished player in the group
with his jangling twelve-string rickenbacker work
chet atkins licks
and ability to add unusual folk instrumentation
like the dulcimer and banjo
(a bit of a brian jones / george harrison too!)
but the most obvious comparison?
the magical three-part harmonies of course
which surely equal the byrds and surpass even the beatles
of course the analogy with the byrd bros has its limitations
the hollies were never as experimental or iconoclastic
as their transatlantic cousins
the manc boys always followed the trends
rather than being in the vanguard
at heart the hollies were a 'pure pop' group
always on the look out for a catchy song
not particularly worried if someone else had written it
as long as it was memorable
and displayed a remarkable lack of ego
often content to write the b-side
while topping the charts with 'i'm alive'
or 'look through any window'
but as we arrive in the heady climate of the 1966-67 season
that brief 'toppermost of the poppermost' zenith
when dylan, jimi, los beatles
los byrds, los stones, los kinks et al
were churning out brilliance on a daily basis
the hollies also get into their stride
coming up with some fantastic a-sides
it's a difficult choice
but if i have to pick only one
'carrie anne' just eases out its predecessor 'on a carousel'
two catchier pop ditties it is impossible to find
the beatles were doing strawberry fields forever
lucy in the sky
a day in the life
the hollies?
it may have been the spring of 1967
but they just carried on exactly as before
synthesising their 3-minute pop symphonies
so what about carrie anne?
well it kicks off with an unusual calypso intro
guiros and tropical sounding percussion
almost acapella
before diving into the first verse
the subject matter is the classic boy meets girl
but with a twist
as the narrator's sweetheart grows up
she loses interest in him
and sadly goes off the rails
the boy can't understand it
and pines for her
clark, thicks and gnash each sing a verse
in their similar-sounding voices
then everything reaching a climax
in the exquisitely catchy chorus
harmonic nirvana surely attained
as our boys plead in unison:
'hey carrie anne
what's your game now?
can anybody play?'
and we sing joyously along
(never has doing the washing-up been so much fun!)
if you are unmoved by this song
you are made of musical stone
an unusual calypso instrumental played on steel drums
breaks up the choruses
and as if all this is not enough value for your money
our heroes round things off
by chucking in a truly gorgeous 3-part harmony outro
reminiscent of but actually predating
the kinks 'waterloo sunset'
altogether a work of rare beauty
if you haven't heard it
go out and get it
now!
pretty much all of the best sixties material
the other day i come across a lil something in the local library
a hollies compilation seedy, dontcha know?
now a couple of things have always put me off the hollies
firstly their name
which conjures up images of pretty boys singing fluff
like the tremeloes or herman's hermits
(for some reason i've always erroneously linked them
with the truly dreadful 'glad all over'
actually by the dave clark five)
and secondly some of their seventies output
which receives most radio play
treacly middle of the road fare like 'the air that i breathe'
and to a lesser extent 'he aint heavy, he's my brother'
which rips off 'the long and winding road'
a mccartney song i've never dug
but to be honest i was largely ignorant
of the boys' mid-60s heyday
when their inhouse songwriting triumvirate
of messrs clarke
graham nash (later of crosby, stills & ... fame)
and tony hicks
really came into their own
now in a lot of ways
this stuff is the antithesis
of classic mid to late sixties stuff like jimi hendrix
rock it definitely ain't
looking for a purple haze?
forget it!
these lads (with the exception of our friend gnash)
weren't into psychedelic drugs
always preferring a pint of ale down the local pub
which eventually caused a fatal rift
between gnasher and the others
however their summer of love output
has many of the trappings of the era
and the more i think about it
these guys had an awful lot in common with the byrds
which makes it all the more mysterious
why it's taken me so long to get into them
for a start there were five of them
like the byrds
instead of the usual beat group quota of four
(the byrds of course weren't a beat group at all)
alan clarke was ironically the gene clark figure
restricted to some of the lead singing duties
and shaking his hips and tambourine
gnasher was analagous to david crosby
his fairly inconsequential rhythm guitar contributions
more than compensated for
by that lovely soaring tenner voice
and how about tony hicks as a young jim mcguinn?
no don't laugh!
easily the most accomplished player in the group
with his jangling twelve-string rickenbacker work
chet atkins licks
and ability to add unusual folk instrumentation
like the dulcimer and banjo
(a bit of a brian jones / george harrison too!)
but the most obvious comparison?
the magical three-part harmonies of course
which surely equal the byrds and surpass even the beatles
of course the analogy with the byrd bros has its limitations
the hollies were never as experimental or iconoclastic
as their transatlantic cousins
the manc boys always followed the trends
rather than being in the vanguard
at heart the hollies were a 'pure pop' group
always on the look out for a catchy song
not particularly worried if someone else had written it
as long as it was memorable
and displayed a remarkable lack of ego
often content to write the b-side
while topping the charts with 'i'm alive'
or 'look through any window'
but as we arrive in the heady climate of the 1966-67 season
that brief 'toppermost of the poppermost' zenith
when dylan, jimi, los beatles
los byrds, los stones, los kinks et al
were churning out brilliance on a daily basis
the hollies also get into their stride
coming up with some fantastic a-sides
it's a difficult choice
but if i have to pick only one
'carrie anne' just eases out its predecessor 'on a carousel'
two catchier pop ditties it is impossible to find
the beatles were doing strawberry fields forever
lucy in the sky
a day in the life
the hollies?
it may have been the spring of 1967
but they just carried on exactly as before
synthesising their 3-minute pop symphonies
so what about carrie anne?
well it kicks off with an unusual calypso intro
guiros and tropical sounding percussion
almost acapella
before diving into the first verse
the subject matter is the classic boy meets girl
but with a twist
as the narrator's sweetheart grows up
she loses interest in him
and sadly goes off the rails
the boy can't understand it
and pines for her
clark, thicks and gnash each sing a verse
in their similar-sounding voices
then everything reaching a climax
in the exquisitely catchy chorus
harmonic nirvana surely attained
as our boys plead in unison:
'hey carrie anne
what's your game now?
can anybody play?'
and we sing joyously along
(never has doing the washing-up been so much fun!)
if you are unmoved by this song
you are made of musical stone
an unusual calypso instrumental played on steel drums
breaks up the choruses
and as if all this is not enough value for your money
our heroes round things off
by chucking in a truly gorgeous 3-part harmony outro
reminiscent of but actually predating
the kinks 'waterloo sunset'
altogether a work of rare beauty
if you haven't heard it
go out and get it
now!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
BLOG OF ALL THINGS
a hot sweaty july day
fireseed stays inside in the shade
a productive day of music-making
in the l-shaped box room of a quiet empty house
painstaking work on melancholia
despite the usual technical glitches
(misfiring monitor speakers
interference on the microphone)
and the technical shortcomings of the artiste
(fumbling guitar technique
inability to sing in tune
failure to reach the high notes)
the song and arrangement take shape
(courtesy of countless takes and overdubs)
a ghostly synth fades in
sweeping across the stereo
a calm sad voice gently begins to sing
accompanied by a lone finger-picked acoustic guitar
playing a dear prudence-style descending pattern
falling from d to bee flat
some wistful strings casually float in
then tail off
for the second chorus
a second voice joins the first
now angelic three-part harmonies
are announcing the middle eight
(ya can't beat those harmonies)
along with more wistful strings
in the shortened final verse
the harmonies rise higher
until the last chorus sounds like a bunch of children
then suddenly it's the coda
an ironic cyclic chord progression repeats and fades
this recording is typical of the way i work these days
akin to painting oils on a canvas
or writing on a word processor
i start with a rough arrangement in my head
some but not necessarily all of the lyrics
put down some kind of rhythm track
like sketching an outline in pencil
and then start layering on sound
adding flesh to the bones
applying paint to the canvas with a palate knife
working it in with brush strokes
until i'm satisfied
hopefully it'll be on mice space pretty soon
for your pleasure...
this evening
after the sun has varnished behind the house
i get down to an awesome yoga and meditation session
in the back garden
among the flowers and bees and butterflies
insects crawl on my mat
and i have to be careful not to accidentally crush them
some of them are eager for a piece of me
but i maintain my serenity
ah! the poses feel really good tonight
i even try a few unusual ones
not attempted since the classes in korea
doggy position
one leg stretched straight out backwards from the knee
opposite arm stretched out forwards from the elbow
strange insects buzz by
plump wood pigeons swoop through the sky
heavy-legged bumble bees alight on flowers
it's one of those days
when i suddenly realise i've made a quantum leap forward
how far i've come since the dark days of mid-winter
when i felt so stiff and old
when my weight had ballooned to thirteen stone plus
from eleven and a half in korea
(now it's back down to a healthy twelve and a bit)
one of the wonderful things about yoga
is that the competition is against yourself
i.e. there is no competition
no winning
no losing
no limit to how far one can go or improve
another wonderful thing is the self-control it develops
the mindfulness
i think i'm finally beginning to feel the results of this now
still far from being in control of my emotions
but the mindfulness is starting to act as a check
beginning to intervene in stressful situations
tapping me on the shoulder
and saying 'take it easy old son
and take it easy on him/her too...'
right
that's all folks
tomorrow we're on the subject of perfect pop
until then
nighty night!
f
x
fireseed stays inside in the shade
a productive day of music-making
in the l-shaped box room of a quiet empty house
painstaking work on melancholia
despite the usual technical glitches
(misfiring monitor speakers
interference on the microphone)
and the technical shortcomings of the artiste
(fumbling guitar technique
inability to sing in tune
failure to reach the high notes)
the song and arrangement take shape
(courtesy of countless takes and overdubs)
a ghostly synth fades in
sweeping across the stereo
a calm sad voice gently begins to sing
accompanied by a lone finger-picked acoustic guitar
playing a dear prudence-style descending pattern
falling from d to bee flat
some wistful strings casually float in
then tail off
for the second chorus
a second voice joins the first
now angelic three-part harmonies
are announcing the middle eight
(ya can't beat those harmonies)
along with more wistful strings
in the shortened final verse
the harmonies rise higher
until the last chorus sounds like a bunch of children
then suddenly it's the coda
an ironic cyclic chord progression repeats and fades
this recording is typical of the way i work these days
akin to painting oils on a canvas
or writing on a word processor
i start with a rough arrangement in my head
some but not necessarily all of the lyrics
put down some kind of rhythm track
like sketching an outline in pencil
and then start layering on sound
adding flesh to the bones
applying paint to the canvas with a palate knife
working it in with brush strokes
until i'm satisfied
hopefully it'll be on mice space pretty soon
for your pleasure...
this evening
after the sun has varnished behind the house
i get down to an awesome yoga and meditation session
in the back garden
among the flowers and bees and butterflies
insects crawl on my mat
and i have to be careful not to accidentally crush them
some of them are eager for a piece of me
but i maintain my serenity
ah! the poses feel really good tonight
i even try a few unusual ones
not attempted since the classes in korea
doggy position
one leg stretched straight out backwards from the knee
opposite arm stretched out forwards from the elbow
strange insects buzz by
plump wood pigeons swoop through the sky
heavy-legged bumble bees alight on flowers
it's one of those days
when i suddenly realise i've made a quantum leap forward
how far i've come since the dark days of mid-winter
when i felt so stiff and old
when my weight had ballooned to thirteen stone plus
from eleven and a half in korea
(now it's back down to a healthy twelve and a bit)
one of the wonderful things about yoga
is that the competition is against yourself
i.e. there is no competition
no winning
no losing
no limit to how far one can go or improve
another wonderful thing is the self-control it develops
the mindfulness
i think i'm finally beginning to feel the results of this now
still far from being in control of my emotions
but the mindfulness is starting to act as a check
beginning to intervene in stressful situations
tapping me on the shoulder
and saying 'take it easy old son
and take it easy on him/her too...'
right
that's all folks
tomorrow we're on the subject of perfect pop
until then
nighty night!
f
x
Saturday, July 26, 2008
FLASHBACKS
i remember the first time
i tasted tofu
soft white cubes of insipid blancmange
scooped from a dish
belonging to a chap named malcolm
in a kitchen in surry hills
i remember the first time
i saw a swallowtail
catching the sunlight
as it fluttered gently over the walls
of a mediaeval fort in south korea
i remember the first time
i went to primary school
holding my mother's hand tightly
as we walked along audley road
to meet the headmaster
i remember the first time
i kissed a girl
the intoxication
the enveloping darkness
in the back row of the movie theatre
i remember the first time
i read about thermonuclear destruction
some time during the cold war
the shock
the horror
the nightmares
i remember the first time
i saw a human corpse
slowly burning and crumbling
as the bahng lassi kicked in
among the smoke and the ash
on the banks of the ganges in varanasi
i remember the first time
i met my wife
her demureness
her embarrassment
when i thought she was taiwanese
i remember the first time
i cradled hannah elisabeth in my arms
the first time i gazed
at this tiny wrinkled wriggling little creature
gasping for air
drinking in life
wrapped up tight in a white blanket
i remember the first time
i noticed signs of ageing
sensed my impermanence
the day i detected a subtly receding hairline
framed in the mirror
of a nottingham bedroom
how i cried that day
i remember the first time
i heard rem's murmur
bursting from a ghetto blaster
as andy p gavin r n i
walked home along the beach to our campsite
at canet plage
the summer of 1986
i remember the first time
i posted something on this blog
unsure of what to write
how to write it
or who was gonna read it
now how could i forget
i tasted tofu
soft white cubes of insipid blancmange
scooped from a dish
belonging to a chap named malcolm
in a kitchen in surry hills
i remember the first time
i saw a swallowtail
catching the sunlight
as it fluttered gently over the walls
of a mediaeval fort in south korea
i remember the first time
i went to primary school
holding my mother's hand tightly
as we walked along audley road
to meet the headmaster
i remember the first time
i kissed a girl
the intoxication
the enveloping darkness
in the back row of the movie theatre
i remember the first time
i read about thermonuclear destruction
some time during the cold war
the shock
the horror
the nightmares
i remember the first time
i saw a human corpse
slowly burning and crumbling
as the bahng lassi kicked in
among the smoke and the ash
on the banks of the ganges in varanasi
i remember the first time
i met my wife
her demureness
her embarrassment
when i thought she was taiwanese
i remember the first time
i cradled hannah elisabeth in my arms
the first time i gazed
at this tiny wrinkled wriggling little creature
gasping for air
drinking in life
wrapped up tight in a white blanket
i remember the first time
i noticed signs of ageing
sensed my impermanence
the day i detected a subtly receding hairline
framed in the mirror
of a nottingham bedroom
how i cried that day
i remember the first time
i heard rem's murmur
bursting from a ghetto blaster
as andy p gavin r n i
walked home along the beach to our campsite
at canet plage
the summer of 1986
i remember the first time
i posted something on this blog
unsure of what to write
how to write it
or who was gonna read it
now how could i forget
Thursday, July 24, 2008
ANNIE BURSARY
once more into the breach dear friends
once more
oh my faithful bloggers
you happy few
you band of brothers and sisters
you who loyally follow the torturous meanderings
endure the irritating foibles
of this here blogge
while other men and women lie idle in their beds
oh i wish you well
i take my hat off to your perserverence
i raise my glass to your comradeship
tonight this post i dedicate to you
had i art of living loyalty card to offer you
i would grant it
freely would i bestow art of living nectar points
quench your thirst with art of living ambrosia
furnish you with autographed art of living photographs
exclusive art of living gift vouchers
50% off art of living discounts
(buy one art of living
get one free!)
but a lass i am
a man of limited means
so i can only endeavour to reward your fidelity with:
words of whizzdom
poetic lice sense
multi-storeys
tall tails
stream of conches-ness...
tonight i return to a silent empty house
the woodle and her mum have flown the nest
departed to the land of morning calm
leaving mrs f and i to celebrate 9 yrs of wedded bliss
while six thousand miles apart
i while away an enchanted evening in the botanical gardens
picnicking on the lawn
at an outdoor performance of henry v
as i watch i wonder:
did king tone i find inspiration here for his dodgy dossier?
even as sheikhs-peer's anti-war message
slipped miserably off his radar?
once more
oh my faithful bloggers
you happy few
you band of brothers and sisters
you who loyally follow the torturous meanderings
endure the irritating foibles
of this here blogge
while other men and women lie idle in their beds
oh i wish you well
i take my hat off to your perserverence
i raise my glass to your comradeship
tonight this post i dedicate to you
had i art of living loyalty card to offer you
i would grant it
freely would i bestow art of living nectar points
quench your thirst with art of living ambrosia
furnish you with autographed art of living photographs
exclusive art of living gift vouchers
50% off art of living discounts
(buy one art of living
get one free!)
but a lass i am
a man of limited means
so i can only endeavour to reward your fidelity with:
words of whizzdom
poetic lice sense
multi-storeys
tall tails
stream of conches-ness...
tonight i return to a silent empty house
the woodle and her mum have flown the nest
departed to the land of morning calm
leaving mrs f and i to celebrate 9 yrs of wedded bliss
while six thousand miles apart
i while away an enchanted evening in the botanical gardens
picnicking on the lawn
at an outdoor performance of henry v
as i watch i wonder:
did king tone i find inspiration here for his dodgy dossier?
even as sheikhs-peer's anti-war message
slipped miserably off his radar?
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
NUMBERS (PART 3)
no-one came to answer the door
larrakin stepped back from the porch
craning his neck for signs of life behind the curtains
after a while he walked round the side of the house
and peered over the fence
'lisa!'
'i'm not interested larrakin
i don't want your money'
'that's not why i'm here
can't i just talk to you?'
since the big draw
one by one
in subtly different ways
larrakin's relationships with people had all changed
looking back
everything seemed so blissfully simple
there had been good stuff and bad stuff
the good times and the fallings out
but there was pretty much a level playing field
a commonality that had glued everyone together
kept everything from unravelling
but now all that had gone
a gulf had opened up between larrakin and the others
a gaping chasm that framed every conversation
every meeting
every interaction
a faultline traced in a long line of zeros
envy
emotions that larrakin had barely comprehended before
now loomed large
it was johnno who had hurt him the most
when larrakin mentioned the bungalow by the sea
'no thank you larrakin
i don't want any of your bigshot fucken money!'
johnno's reaction had shaken larrakin
he understood and he didn't understand
he was angry and he was sympathetic
he thought of lisa
she was the one person he hadn't heard from since the draw
it was lisa who had helped him win the money
and it was lisa who would help set him free
'this is totally mad larrakin!'
they trudged across the sand
dragging the heavy sacks behind them
until finally they collapsed out of breath in the twilight
and lay silently watching the rippling sea
'are you really sure you wanna do this?'
'i just want my old life back lisa
i just want things back the way they were
before all the crap came along...'
one by one
they emptied the sacks
tipping the contents into a big pile
'a toast to the good old days!' lisa laughed
they flicked their lighters
and watched the paper flare into flame
lighting up the beach
'to the future!' shouted lisa
'to the future!' echoed larrakin
larrakin stepped back from the porch
craning his neck for signs of life behind the curtains
after a while he walked round the side of the house
and peered over the fence
'lisa!'
'i'm not interested larrakin
i don't want your money'
'that's not why i'm here
can't i just talk to you?'
since the big draw
one by one
in subtly different ways
larrakin's relationships with people had all changed
looking back
everything seemed so blissfully simple
there had been good stuff and bad stuff
the good times and the fallings out
but there was pretty much a level playing field
a commonality that had glued everyone together
kept everything from unravelling
but now all that had gone
a gulf had opened up between larrakin and the others
a gaping chasm that framed every conversation
every meeting
every interaction
a faultline traced in a long line of zeros
envy
greed
resentment
guiltemotions that larrakin had barely comprehended before
now loomed large
it was johnno who had hurt him the most
when larrakin mentioned the bungalow by the sea
'no thank you larrakin
i don't want any of your bigshot fucken money!'
johnno's reaction had shaken larrakin
he understood and he didn't understand
he was angry and he was sympathetic
he thought of lisa
she was the one person he hadn't heard from since the draw
it was lisa who had helped him win the money
and it was lisa who would help set him free
'this is totally mad larrakin!'
they trudged across the sand
dragging the heavy sacks behind them
until finally they collapsed out of breath in the twilight
and lay silently watching the rippling sea
'are you really sure you wanna do this?'
'i just want my old life back lisa
i just want things back the way they were
before all the crap came along...'
one by one
they emptied the sacks
tipping the contents into a big pile
'a toast to the good old days!' lisa laughed
they flicked their lighters
and watched the paper flare into flame
lighting up the beach
'to the future!' shouted lisa
'to the future!' echoed larrakin
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
IN THE NIGHT GARDEN
dusk slowly settles over the gardens like dust
blanketing the sweeping lawns
the rioutous flower borders
blanketing the sweeping lawns
the rioutous flower borders
the broad-leaved plants
the stocky tree trunks
which all begin to fade imperceptibly
into the all-consuming darkness
courting couples slip quietly away down winding paths
tired children are kissed and carried home
peacocks strut away out of view
peacocks strut away out of view
the cries of the parakeets tail off
the buzzing of insects becomes fainter
exotic scents mingle in the warm evening air
lavender and orchid
iris and buddleja
frangipani and rhododendron
honey locust
fountains burble away quietly
continuing their murmuring timeless soliloquy
at the edge of a flower border
beside the aviary
beneath the twinkling stars
a curious bronze figure stands motionless
tiny round head perched on a long thin neck
it stares straight ahead unmoving
its wings stunted and malformed
the buzzing of insects becomes fainter
exotic scents mingle in the warm evening air
lavender and orchid
iris and buddleja
frangipani and rhododendron
honey locust
fountains burble away quietly
continuing their murmuring timeless soliloquy
at the edge of a flower border
beside the aviary
beneath the twinkling stars
a curious bronze figure stands motionless
tiny round head perched on a long thin neck
it stares straight ahead unmoving
its wings stunted and malformed
as if the sculptor lost heart or was in a rush
broad spatula-like feet anchor the long spindly legs
suddenly an eye blinks and rotates 360
the creature twitches robotically into life
its turquoise head cautiously turns
suddenly an eye blinks and rotates 360
the creature twitches robotically into life
its turquoise head cautiously turns
it cranes its slender neck
peers suspiciously around
then bending its long wader-like legs
it steps gawkily out of the border
onto the path
and strides jerkily away into the enveloping gloom
peers suspiciously around
then bending its long wader-like legs
it steps gawkily out of the border
onto the path
and strides jerkily away into the enveloping gloom
Monday, July 21, 2008
NUMBERS (PART 2)
the show was set to start
larrakin disdained all the theatrics and studio glitz
but as the big draw was about to begin
he always felt that tight feeling in his stomach
the onset of an adrenaline rush
like standing in the theatre wings just before a performance
larrakin imagined
just then there was a loud knock at the window
'get the tinnies out mate!' johnno grinned as he lolloped through the door
as the cold beer anesthetised the back of their throats
larrakin's mind was elsewhere
back at coogee as an orange sun melted into the horizon
a smooth sea-washed pebble in his hand
as lisa's laughter calmed his protestations
and he stood behind the mark
larrakin tossed a pebble
'11' lisa called out
johnno was saying something in the background
larrakin threw another pebble
'18' lisa laughed over johnno's distant voice
larrakin chucked two more pebbles
they landed almost right next to each other
'22'
'26'
larrakin could vaguely hear johnno swearing
what was he doing there at the beach?
'33'
his last pebble
'44'
'mate! mate! fuck mate! can you hear me?'
johnno's face zoomed into focus
he was shouting at the top of his voice
shaking larrakin's shoulders
staring into his eyes
'yer bloody magic numbers - they came up mate!
they bloody came up!'
larrakin rubbed his eyes as if waking from a dream
and stared at johnno
'you have hit the jackpot, my boy
you have just won yourself fifteen million bucks!'
the phone hadn't stopped ringing
johnno was an effective messenger and news travelled fast
at first it was the familiar faces
digger
surfer mick
lenny
monkey
mum
aunty pat
sis
cousin rich
even rozza finally broke the long silence
but then other calls started coming in
from people larrakin hadn't seen for years
brief messages of congratulations and promises to keep in touch
after a while larrakin turned on the answerphone
he was already starting to feel uneasy
most of the conversations had a phoney tone to them
it was like people were keeping their distance
unsure of what to say
almost as if there had been a family bereavement
rather than larrakin scooping the jackpot
this wasn't how it was meant to be
larrakin thought to himself
despite larrakin's objections
johnno had taken it upon himself
to organise a celebration party at his place
pretty much everyone was there
and a few others besides
mum and sis and aunty pat gave larrakin a big hug
'i hope it makes you happy, son' mum said
'don't forget us!' sis laughed
'i'm already looking forward to that holiday in bali' aunty pat winked
johnno was life and soul
cheerfully furnishing guests with cold tinnies
and topping up everyone's half-empty glasses
larrakin wore a glazed smile
he was starting to feel a bit dazed by the whole thing
now johnno was clinking glasses to propose a toast
'to larrakin' johnno grinned
'to larrakin' the voices chimed in unison
larrakin disdained all the theatrics and studio glitz
but as the big draw was about to begin
he always felt that tight feeling in his stomach
the onset of an adrenaline rush
like standing in the theatre wings just before a performance
larrakin imagined
just then there was a loud knock at the window
'get the tinnies out mate!' johnno grinned as he lolloped through the door
as the cold beer anesthetised the back of their throats
larrakin's mind was elsewhere
back at coogee as an orange sun melted into the horizon
a smooth sea-washed pebble in his hand
as lisa's laughter calmed his protestations
and he stood behind the mark
larrakin tossed a pebble
'11' lisa called out
johnno was saying something in the background
larrakin threw another pebble
'18' lisa laughed over johnno's distant voice
larrakin chucked two more pebbles
they landed almost right next to each other
'22'
'26'
larrakin could vaguely hear johnno swearing
what was he doing there at the beach?
'33'
his last pebble
'44'
'mate! mate! fuck mate! can you hear me?'
johnno's face zoomed into focus
he was shouting at the top of his voice
shaking larrakin's shoulders
staring into his eyes
'yer bloody magic numbers - they came up mate!
they bloody came up!'
larrakin rubbed his eyes as if waking from a dream
and stared at johnno
'you have hit the jackpot, my boy
you have just won yourself fifteen million bucks!'
the phone hadn't stopped ringing
johnno was an effective messenger and news travelled fast
at first it was the familiar faces
digger
surfer mick
lenny
monkey
mum
aunty pat
sis
cousin rich
even rozza finally broke the long silence
but then other calls started coming in
from people larrakin hadn't seen for years
brief messages of congratulations and promises to keep in touch
after a while larrakin turned on the answerphone
he was already starting to feel uneasy
most of the conversations had a phoney tone to them
it was like people were keeping their distance
unsure of what to say
almost as if there had been a family bereavement
rather than larrakin scooping the jackpot
this wasn't how it was meant to be
larrakin thought to himself
despite larrakin's objections
johnno had taken it upon himself
to organise a celebration party at his place
pretty much everyone was there
and a few others besides
mum and sis and aunty pat gave larrakin a big hug
'i hope it makes you happy, son' mum said
'don't forget us!' sis laughed
'i'm already looking forward to that holiday in bali' aunty pat winked
johnno was life and soul
cheerfully furnishing guests with cold tinnies
and topping up everyone's half-empty glasses
larrakin wore a glazed smile
he was starting to feel a bit dazed by the whole thing
now johnno was clinking glasses to propose a toast
'to larrakin' johnno grinned
'to larrakin' the voices chimed in unison
Sunday, July 20, 2008
NUMBERS (PART 1)
larrakin had been playing the numbers for years
without ever winning a cent
all of his mates and rellies played
his best pal johnno swore by the numbers
'i tell ya larrakin - i got a feeling
this week is gonna be our lucky week!'
everyone had their own way of choosing the numbers
from the sublime to the ridiculous
rozza always started with the number of women he'd slept with
and then worked upwards and downwards in tens
except lately there wasn't a lot of upwards left
digger had a mini hand-held machine containing the 49 tiny numbered balls
and chose the first six that popped out
johnno openly scorned the others' methods
he didn't consider himself to be superstitious
and refused to dwell on such niceties
always circling six numbers as quickly as possible at random
larrakin was the only one who religiously stuck to the same numbers
11, 18, 22, 26, 33, 44
johnno thought this was hilarious
'you're a superstitious little bugger, ain't ya larrakin!'
'aw leave me alone johnno
they're just me numbers, mate...'
what larrakin didn't tell the others
was where his numbers came from
if truth be told he was too embarrassed
one sunday evening a couple of years back
larrakin had taken lisa down to coogee beach
it had been a balmy early summer's day
and they had sat on the shore eating a picnic
knocking back a few tinnies
staring out over the breakers towards wedding cake island
as the gulls squawked and swooped looking for titbits
and the hazy orange sun slowly melted into the horizon
lisa had suddenly smiled and jumped up
taking a piece of driftwood and drawing a grid in the sand
'what ya doing?' larrakin asked scratching his head
'you'll see' lisa said
'come and help me find some stones'
after they had collected half a dozen small pebbles
lisa drew a mark in the sand and motioned at the grid
'come on larrakin
i'm going to help ya choose some lucky numbers'
'but ya don't even play the mumbers, lis'
'so what? you haven't won anything so far, have you!'
lisa pointed at the sand chessboard
neatly divided into seven rows and columns
crouching down she wrote a one in the top left square
and a forty-nine in the bottom right
'there are yer numbers larrakin
come here and stand behind the mark
are you ready to throw?'
larrakin always smiled to himself when he remembered that evening
standing on coogee beach bathed in orange sunlight
throwing pebbles like a kid
of course the beach numbers had never come up
not even one of them
but there was something special about larrakin's numbers
and he had never changed them since
not long after that evening at coogee
larrakin had been out for a stroll
and accidentally bumped into lisa and rozza
sitting together on a park bench kissing
none of them had said anything
and since that day he hadn't seen or spoken to lisa
though he knew that rozza wasn't seeing her any more...
it was saturday night
and just as he always did
larrakin switched on the big draw...
(tbc)
without ever winning a cent
all of his mates and rellies played
his best pal johnno swore by the numbers
'i tell ya larrakin - i got a feeling
this week is gonna be our lucky week!'
everyone had their own way of choosing the numbers
from the sublime to the ridiculous
rozza always started with the number of women he'd slept with
and then worked upwards and downwards in tens
except lately there wasn't a lot of upwards left
digger had a mini hand-held machine containing the 49 tiny numbered balls
and chose the first six that popped out
johnno openly scorned the others' methods
he didn't consider himself to be superstitious
and refused to dwell on such niceties
always circling six numbers as quickly as possible at random
larrakin was the only one who religiously stuck to the same numbers
11, 18, 22, 26, 33, 44
johnno thought this was hilarious
'you're a superstitious little bugger, ain't ya larrakin!'
'aw leave me alone johnno
they're just me numbers, mate...'
what larrakin didn't tell the others
was where his numbers came from
if truth be told he was too embarrassed
one sunday evening a couple of years back
larrakin had taken lisa down to coogee beach
it had been a balmy early summer's day
and they had sat on the shore eating a picnic
knocking back a few tinnies
staring out over the breakers towards wedding cake island
as the gulls squawked and swooped looking for titbits
and the hazy orange sun slowly melted into the horizon
lisa had suddenly smiled and jumped up
taking a piece of driftwood and drawing a grid in the sand
'what ya doing?' larrakin asked scratching his head
'you'll see' lisa said
'come and help me find some stones'
after they had collected half a dozen small pebbles
lisa drew a mark in the sand and motioned at the grid
'come on larrakin
i'm going to help ya choose some lucky numbers'
'but ya don't even play the mumbers, lis'
'so what? you haven't won anything so far, have you!'
lisa pointed at the sand chessboard
neatly divided into seven rows and columns
crouching down she wrote a one in the top left square
and a forty-nine in the bottom right
'there are yer numbers larrakin
come here and stand behind the mark
are you ready to throw?'
larrakin always smiled to himself when he remembered that evening
standing on coogee beach bathed in orange sunlight
throwing pebbles like a kid
of course the beach numbers had never come up
not even one of them
but there was something special about larrakin's numbers
and he had never changed them since
not long after that evening at coogee
larrakin had been out for a stroll
and accidentally bumped into lisa and rozza
sitting together on a park bench kissing
none of them had said anything
and since that day he hadn't seen or spoken to lisa
though he knew that rozza wasn't seeing her any more...
it was saturday night
and just as he always did
larrakin switched on the big draw...
(tbc)
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