3000 views, 150 followers, or as i prefer to call you; Readers.
i guess i should say thank you 🙂 so thank you 🙂
people blog for many reasons i’ve noticed. whether to express their wordplay or paint or fashion sense or jus to get things off their chest.
me?
i needed somewhere to compile my previously written poetry. it’s in notepads, memory sticks, floppy discs (remember them?), postit notes, envelopes, memory files etc.
a few days in and i was noticed by HelenValentina (check her out) who gave me my first award and the inclination to stick around a bit 🙂
i only ever meant to release poetry but as i searched the cupboards i started sharing thoughts in a bloggy way. i even started writing fresh poetry :).
i guess i get a bit insecure sometimes and feel the need to share whatever song i’m listening to as usually they matter to me and my history, or they explain in a way that i never could.
music and books have always been my release.
if you can’t be a rock n roll star, you may aswell be an unnoticed wordsmith i suppose.
good music is like poetry told by angels, even the rough stuff.
especially music that’s older than myself as it seems to have been around for ever.
and therefore closer to the gods.
Pink Floyd were the first band to knock me sideways. not dark side of the moon, my parents had that.
PinkFloyd in Pompeii. They played in an empty ampi-theatre, the acoustics are heavenly.
an orchestra couldn’t compete in scope and sound.
i felt like i was in space looking down on the ancients of Italy.
Echoes, a Saucerful of Secrets, Set The controls etc
Pink Floyd, Hawkwind, Black Sabbath, the Doors, Iron Maiden have influenced my poetry, so have the novelists Enid Blyton, JRR Tolkien and William Blake.
The first poem i ever read was probably the Jabberwocky.
The first Haiku i ever read is a book of Haiku by Basho and another guy.
it is the only style where i am strict with myself.
it must be 5-7-5 🙂
otherwise, all my other stuff, well, it does as it wants to 🙂
Monthly Archives: June 2013
out n about in Bedfordshire
some old fashioned graffitti;
a view across a large swathe of Bedfordshire. when i used to cycle this road everyday, i would sometimes see where it was raining, a slight blurry mist in the distance.
On the edge of Bumpy Lane, a track that may date back to Roman times.
my old daily school walk;
This stone was erected in the Festival of Britain year to mark the birthplace of John Bunyan 1628-1688
And last but not least, just on the otherside of the hill from the last photo, visible on the Bedfordshire skyline for maybe ten miles from certain hills; The Cardington Sheds.
or as us kids nearby called them, ‘the hangers’.
originally used to house airships, the sheds were the biggest british ones in their day, till the R101 took a nosedive somewhere and aeroplanes became more fashionable.
i watched them decay as a teenager, then Hollywood came along and made a few Batman and Santa films in one hanger. the other is currently being restored.
the smell of petrol induces indecision
my daughter is at my mum’s for the weekend, which means i can get the moped out.
i usually store it at my mums during the week as my area is thick with thieves.
why they’d wanna steal this piece of shit i don’t know but unless i’ve got eyes in the back of my head, the alarm goes off and the bike’s moved an inch.
so, while my sprog is at my mum’s, i keep the bike in the living room.
the problem is that it drips petrol, maybe a pint a week, so i have to put newspaper underneath to catch the drips.
last night it gave me a headache, hope i wasn’t too ‘far-out man’.
this morning the house stinks, it’s only a tiny leak, but this is only a tiny house.
the bike is between me and the telly, looking at me, like a skunk with the shits.
like a dog that eats Pedigree Chum for fun yet constantly secretes a nauseous green fetid cloud from it’s arse.
i should take the moped out, there are plenny of interesting places i mean to go back to, take the ipad as an overgrown camera to share my finds.
aroundabout and neither here nor there.
sometimes i don’t know what to believe.
mushrooms taught me that Anything is possible and i truly believe that.
but that doesn’t mean that everything is probable.
things that are beyond our comprehension are still tangible in thought and dream.
let’s look at astrology.
i never used to believe in astrology, i believe a lot of things spiritually that matter in materiality but astrology? surely the planets and stars and moons alignment as seen from this muddy planet are coincidental.
i still believe that; which leaves me with a problem.
when my brother was in prison ( the first time) he told me of a book that confused him.
johnathon cainers guide to astrology. picture sample above is of the moon chart for december’79.
i was confused and enlightened.
astrology is frowned upon by Christianity yet the three wise men followed a mystical star 😉
most people in the old days would have had a reading at their child’s birth.
i understand it as follows;
your starsign is pretty much what people perceive of you, that’s why Mystic Meg can be so general in her newspaper astrology.
your moonsign, a lot harder to find out unless you know your time of birth, a lot less general than just which month, is more about your inner you, the signs mean the same, such as gemini stereotypes in the moon chart can be more fickle or double edged than their sunsign counterparts.
pair your sun and moon signs to get a more detailed version, for instance my sunsign is Saggi, my moon is Gemi, (EightLeggedGemini) both never really finish what they start, put them together and that makes me a lazy bastard. thanks alot astrology.
bastard thing. i don’t believe it but it tells me about myself as if it’s spying on me
there’s ya venus n mars signs aswell but blah blah blah, it was a good read when i read it.
i was mainly interested in the moon stuff 🙂
PS. did you notice that”neither here nor there” is a double negative that sounds pretty cool.
106. new. human rights and wrongs
the horse has gone because we forgot to bolt the door.
children are starving while the rich they hoard their stores.
the merciless are laughing at the folk on down the hill
while the unfavoured are forced to swallow the bitter pill
of life that’s no life by the edge of the hedge.
human rights for all is the hypocrite pledge.
food in my fridge that can last for days
while they survive on a diet of blood and maize.
we should know better by now.
over five thousand years of the plough.
seed banks sit still for future use
while the west of the world grows obtuse.
(besides those that are destitute.)
29. Life Goes On
originally a longer piece, my laptop crashed during transcribing,, so i went with the flow and released it as a three liner, i must remember to update this fully.
The world turns, seas churn, volcanoes burn.
Earthquakes rupture the earth.
After death must come birth…
an unexpected book.
i’m reading a book.
well, unlike my usual self, three are unfinished.
this book, i’m only twentyseven pages in and i’m hooked.
it’s not about vikings or spirituality, nor is it like any other book i’ve ever read.
what caught my eye was the title;
“Rabbit Stew And A Penny Or Two. A Gypsy family’s hard and happy times on the road in the 1950s.”
By Maggie Smith-Bendell.
i like rabbit stew.
Gypsies are an intriguing people, i must admit i’m usually worried when they appear nearby though.
They deserve our empathy, they’ve been treated worse than any other race or creed, living alongside us and yet rarely welcome.
yet they’re British, or at least they are when it suits us (currently reading how her parents horses and menfolk were draughted for war, the women left to fend for the children with no way of moving their carriages.
No wonder they resent us nowadays.
there was a time when travellers were welcomed by the farmers, before machinery replaced them.
Gypsy accents are a strange thing, a melding of different shires and lands; irish gypsies, northern gypsies, anglian gypsies etc.
on the whole i think they have a colourful thoughtful way of talking, as do the welsh and irish people; and this comes across in the book, along with their own language.
the author Maggie Smith-Bendell has such a way of telling her memories, every sentence carries meaning for her and for us, i want to share the front cover of her and her family dotted about the beautiful romani wagon, but copyright this and that.
pissed off with propaganda (money maketh the myth)
i’m angry at how a lie can be called a myth. myth sounds innocent when a lie is never innocent.
i wish i had the bollocks to be a demonstrator.
Lynton Crosby helped the Aussie prime minister into his second term by using the “myth” that foreigners were gonna throw their kids from the boat so the aussies would save them.
they said the aussie prime minister got his second term due to the ‘myth’.
i jus heard that on telly. and that lynton is being paid by david cameron for his next uk campaign.
robin hood is a myth. merlin is a myth. Arthur is a myth. the welsh dragon is a myth.
a myth is an ancient idea that is expounded upon until it becomes integral to the area.
a myth is what the christian historians call an ‘uncivilised’ peoples spiritual/religious history.
there is no such thing as a modern myth, only propaganda and lies and smoke screens when the propaganda and lies are seen to be false.
every country around the world is growing in maturity, America and England are learning about their leaders, Scotland wants it’s own freedom, Even the Afghans managed to climb their own tallest mountain in 2009 after having never being allowed despite foreigners easily doing so.
The meek shall inherit the earth, when it is dust and bones. and they shall rebuild the best of what was. and some shall grow above themselves, saying they know best, as long as we trust them. we can reach the promised land.
fuck the promised land, all promises are empty, they nourish the man who starves until he see’s the oasis for what it is, a mirage.
random ramble, unwind the tangle.
it’s been a strange few months. not strange peculiar but strange different .
not in a Jabberwocky way either 🙂
sometimes i try to perceive the ways of tomorrow, by foresight, forethought and reasoning.
for instance i never thought i would have a child until later in life, being the loner that i am, i always preferred dog walking and exploring my home towns.
Bamb!!!
i’ve got an eight year old daughter now, haven’t been camping or serious bike rides in over two years.
i haven’t had a taxable job in the last 7 years since i became a single father.
so i’m pissed off with myself having never imagined being unemployed for so long.
my problem is that i’m too honest.
“why do you want to work for us?”
i reply with ”because nobody else wants to and i need money to reward my daughter.”
i’d laugh if it hadn’t come from my mouth.
i actually thought i’d become truly lazy so started volunteering for an animal charity shop.
Now, i’ve always believed that there is more good than bad in the universe and volunteering has proved me right.
you would think we sell second hand donations handed in by well wishers, clothes and books etc and you’d be right…
last week we were donated a Steif Teddy bear, Steif are worth £hundreds,
last week i sold a gold watch for a hundred that had been donated among more gold and silver 🙂
boy was i proud to have made the sale, the lady had only popped in to donate some carrier bags 🙂
but it made me think, there’s me donating maybe 12hours time a week and the odd book or no longer needed toy, but to donate gold watches and jewellery, and extremely rare collectible teddy bears, my faith in humanity is elevated a little.
reminds me of a quote in the Bhagavad or Upanishad…”among many men is a good man and among many good men is a great man. among many great men is a Great man.”
well that’s my version of the quote, it’s talking about Mahatmas (Great Souls).
the charity shop has really got me thinking; philosophically, spiritually and materially. which is important.
anyway, it’s time to cook dinner while my girl does the opposite of what i say 🙂
her bedroom looks like a Crayola factory’s exploded in there.
105. (new) The water vole.
Sunning itself on a jut of mud, it drops with a ‘plop’.
the water vole stole across the brook with nary a look.
feeling a way among stones and weeds
under the waterline the saltless brine
into it’s hole the water vole hides.
semi blind eyes watching
nose and ears twitching,
sensing excitement of a small dog on the hunt.
Has the day of Reckoning come?
EightLeggedGemini 