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bo_duke99's (bo_duke99 on UKA) UKArchive
227 Archived submissions found.
Title
SALAD SPINNER POEM (posted on: 29-04-16)
zzzzzzzzzzzO.O

John could accept that he'd been in a coma it had taken a lot of explanation and proof but he could accept that almost two decades had passed that the old face in the mirror the old faces on his family were all real and to be accepted but when he asked for the salad spinner to be told no-one had them anymore and he then asked how they coped with the wet salad to be told it was fine and no-one used them he could not accept it ''why the fuck did we have one then why the fuck did everyone have one'' crying and shouting he could not accept it
Archived comments for SALAD SPINNER POEM
sweetwater on 01-05-2016
SALAD SPINNER POEM
Well It is the little things πŸ™‚ this made me smile I could imagine saying that ( minus the swearing though ) In fact I do actually need a salad spinner funnily enough. Sue.

Author's Reply:

shadow on 01-05-2016
SALAD SPINNER POEM
I remember salad spinners - never had one though, not civilised enough. And shaking the lettuce in a tea towel worked just as well. Nice poem!

Author's Reply:

gwirionedd on 08-07-2016
SALAD SPINNER POEM
This is really funny. Fave story for me.


Author's Reply:


IDS with light on (posted on: 28-08-15)
nnnnupnnnnn

in an ambitious dream I travelled through grounds of a school I once went to right behind my childhood home and found a new road, a back way out of town a great arched bridge of sooty bricks with ladders running all the way through the massive curve runged, steel and reliable bolted fast into place so I did it started climbing up and under the massive arc below the brick bridge all went well until I was nearing the apex needed to alter my heading get turned round so as not to have a Spiderman of a descent, facing down so crabbing my legs in and hooking arms under the ladder side I managed but the climb down got tricky on now cold slippery rungs Iain Duncan Smith below waiting his blue light flashing dark witch heart pulsing through official issue chest rent
Archived comments for IDS with light on
gwirionedd on 28-08-2015
IDS with light on
Blimey... Iain Duncan Smith infiltrating your dreams... did you wake up in a cold sweat?




Author's Reply:
he must be the monster that haunts my id, nastiest bogeyman around in any shared subconscious now I reckon...cheers for looking in and leaving a comment G

MrMarmite on 28-08-2015
IDS with light on
IDS will stop your benefits as it's obvious you're fit for work ! By the way he should be in court over the deaths of people deemed fit for work when they weren't alongside Tony Blair for war crimes !

Author's Reply:
feeling the heat Mr M, cheers for looking in and your powerful post in responsse

chant_z on 29-08-2015
IDS with light on
One h-ll of a dream I must say. That's an expensive chest I reckon. Last time in Britain Thatcher knicked 4 cigarettes from me ... That was bad.

Author's Reply:
dirty Thatcher fag snatcher eh, thanks for reading and sharing

deadpoet on 30-08-2015
IDS with light on
I have the weirdest dreams- but this is a proper nightmare. I know all about your IDS! This was funny.
Pia

Author's Reply:
really glad you enjoyed it Pia, IDS is a blight indeed - Greg


small chime (posted on: 28-08-15)
YjjjjjjOjjjjjjY

there is a flash in front of me as I startle a deer only five feet away it leaps the fence and I watch in detailed slow motion as a twist in the upper of two straight wires at the top of the fence catches a back leg drives into and punctures the skin the deer twists and the wire fishhooks in the hoof in trying to kick free in mid-air jams between the upper and lower wires the momentum will take the deer to the floor with that hoof trapped impotent to stop it I involuntarily flash my gaze to watch the deer's eyes closely as a look of comprehending panic seems to shoot between us I hope that the damage will be only flesh wounds that it'll hold still while I untangle it ...a great shudder of horror hits me as its neck bends stupidly on impact with woody roots in the ground beyond the fence on the glade's edge and alert life greys in an instant as I hold and then lose its gaze I walk to the fence and with one hand can turn the wires so that the now limp limb flops free
Archived comments for small chime
Mikeverdi on 28-08-2015
small chime
An emotional read for me, I would ask if it's true. I often see deer on my walks on the fringe of Dartmoor, for me it's always a privilege; and one I look forwards too. I thought the writing excellent, you covered it well.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Cheers for looking in and commenting Mike, found the aftermath and released that loose limb, couldn't help imagining the previous, being around wild fauna is awesome - Greg

gwirionedd on 28-08-2015
small chime
Poor old Bambi...



Author's Reply:
killed by the roots of a tree - cheers for reading and leaving a mark dude πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 28-08-2015
small chime
You have caught the whole heartbreaking story so well, all the information was there, and I did shed tears for the poor deer, whether true or not, it was so well done I couldn't help myself. Sue.

Author's Reply:
what a really touching comment Sue, as mentioned above I found the aftermath and was very moved and impacted by the scene, cheers as always for taking the time to read and provide great feedback - Greg

Weefatfella on 29-08-2015
small chime
 photo c673dadc-2d28-4407-9a21-a191bcf6d656_zpsp2y54f3y.jpg

Aye when yir times up, yir times up. A good emotive write Greg. Where I live, we have deer coming out of the woodwork. I met a huge stag once. Eye to eye we were. He honoured me with a second look before he dismissed me.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
cool stag story dude, like the dismissal at the end, thanks for looking in and really glad you enjoyed - Greg

deadpoet on 30-08-2015
small chime
Loved this-sorry it was taken out this way - I think you described it well and it is dramatic, the reader hoping for it to survive. Like WFF says- when you gotta go you gotta go.
Pia

Author's Reply:
Indeed Pia, nothing stills the scythe if it's swinging in your direction, as ever thanks for the read and great comment - Greg


be careful out there (posted on: 21-08-15)
whoANDhowwhoANDhowwhoANDhowwhoANDhowwhoANDhow

wind is blowing 'seeing as you asked be careful how you start poems' he says the voice is matter of fact then changes for the next bit an American drawl impersonated '"cool and dry, is the afterlife baby"' the tone is now delighted in strangled comic vocals '"I am six months old, dead (doing well to talk aren't I) and I am freezing"' he almost creases in the midst of both face and body hysterical gasps now produce 'and then' hard laughing 'hahh,hahaha,hah "something in dry humour" haaaah,ahahah,aaah,ahahah'
Archived comments for be careful out there
deadpoet on 22-08-2015
be careful out there
Dramatic- don't quite understand - but good-slightly desperate tone imo.that's fine.
Pia

Author's Reply:
Hi Pia, many thanks (as ever) for the read and taking the time to provide such a thoughtful comment - Greg


trump that (posted on: 14-08-15)
$$$$$$$3way$$$$$$$$

as I walked my dog today I got a strong sudden impression of her entering the presidential running with the catch line "dinner time all the time" with no backup to it whatsoever but because I know and love my harmless dog I'd vote for her I'd say
Archived comments for trump that
gwirionedd on 15-08-2015
trump that
I'm pretty sure that the USA has had dogs for presidents before... Dumb ones, yes, but not harmless...



Author's Reply:
agreed, and definitely not harmless :O) Cheers for looking in and taking the time to comment.


masterfully flown (posted on: 14-08-15)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_#

masterfully flown, understandably unknown and broken in the mist saw a film about a man who saw his friend fall to his death from a small airship blimpish and incongruous in a tree in the lush green of cloud forest just a few years ago his friend survived for a little while but died being carried to safety it sounds difficult to believe to hear his description of the sound the ground made when receiving his friend would put an end to any doubt
Archived comments for masterfully flown
e-griff on 14-08-2015
masterfully flown
Sorry to intervene.

Could you contact me on anthed2015@aol.com about the anth? Appreciate it.

JohnG

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 15-08-2015
masterfully flown
Ooh sounds a very unpleasant experience, very interesting poem though. Really shouldn't say this ( I feel a bit cruel to the men ) but I very much enjoyed reading it. Sue.

Author's Reply:
glad you enjoyed Sue, and sure it's not cruel at all ;o) - cheers,
Greg


some chance tomorrow (posted on: 31-07-15)
yesNOyesNOyesNOyesNOyesNOyesNO

there is just a small chance all of this is going to be fine this seeming ongoing degradation will be jump started by discovery of some great new way of being a made better tomorrow
Archived comments for some chance tomorrow
sweetwater on 01-08-2015
some chance tomorrow
We definitely need 'a made better tomorrow'. This poem beginning the way it does makes me feel I have just stepped into someone's conversation, very interesting write. Sue.

Author's Reply:
thanks Sue, really glad you enjoyed and the comment is much appreciated - Greg


try to be (posted on: 31-07-15)
bebebebebebebebebe

try not to be lonely always try to be free if at first you don't find a truly different someone persevere while inside knowing you taste freedom
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maypac (posted on: 03-07-15)
Mayweather Pacquiao

Manny grew up hungry in reality he seems to fight to be satisfied with himself and his achievements Floyd lived with his granma they was poor, she had lotsa loose wall covers and rugs in her house Bob Arum poses a question to the ether manufactures finality when he answers pacman adorns faded out flags
Archived comments for maypac

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tiny intricacies of indiscretion (posted on: 03-07-15)
6g-:-q9

poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem poem your dead and alive without love staying around the Lazarus of here now
Archived comments for tiny intricacies of indiscretion
deadpoet on 03-07-2015
tiny intricacies of indiscretion
your- possesive
you are-you're-
thang q for the read. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
:o) :o) :o)


the promise club's form of control (posted on: 29-06-15)
OH!

toe the line to earn respect and climb a ladder without any ceilings they solemnly promise
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oils setup(side down) (posted on: 29-06-15)
U).O.(U

after certain groups had done with rightly dissing whaling via vested interest writings not last or least of their kind in 1920 or thereabout came American prohibition of alcohol desirous to some because it competed with dark drilled oils glugging into all the new cars G-MEN then leapt onto mary-j as you can extract oils for medicine even burn that shit in an engine like a Rockefeller reportedly said about way back then our oil business was set up long before that all came along
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wee biks (posted on: 26-06-15)
Y&Y&Y&Y&Y&Y&Y

sent here by a landlady not ready to take me after nightshift despite a booking and so in Richmond @ that London in a very run down hotel restaurant I smell hot fat note there's Weetabix on the table and a sign making clear other breakfasts are available I get yesterdays paper out of my bag to check the as yet unread back page craic when I'm stopped in my tracks insert headline here the front page screams
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out there one (posted on: 26-06-15)
lll

his stance was wrong and he knew it the lads had all said something then the captain had a word he now (as of this morning) knew what his wife thought so why stick with it an overcast day was occasionally brightened by flashes of sunshine through breaks in the cloud Dunnis straightened and bent his back a little to relieve the aching then shuffled rhythmically from foot to foot kicked some dust and small clumps of earth away with the toe of his right boot and spat off to his left hand side parted his legs and bent at the knee using his right hand he groped deep into his crotch and with a little difficulty due to his gloves managed to unstick his testicular sack which had become heat adhered to his inner thigh the relief was not only palpable to him it was audible to those closely around as he released a gasp of contentment at cool air rushing around his disengaged testes and an exclamation of ''aw yer get'' this mini-victory was followed by a second perhaps celebratory spit and he got back into position the very position that was the subject of universal debate and comment it seemed he had a very open stance with his back seemingly near parallel to the stumps behind him, and his bat held so crabbily that he sometimes presented the ridged back to the bowler he was wristy very flexible and adept at opening the face so that even from this unpromising beginning he could play as readily to the off side as the on his stance hadn't been a problem when he'd been a spinner who could bat a bit eighteen months spent fighting the yips and taking his frustration out on the other bowlers in the nets had turned him into a first choice main line batter he had come on this tour solely as a batter and that was definite because he'd told them he didn't expect to bowl and so they should be aware of that when deciding on who to take – they'd taken him anyway which had surprised him more than a little now an extension to his contract at the end of the coming summer which had seemed an impossibility a year ago seemed not only possible but likely as long as things went well and he could be consistent – the coach had been clear the difference between a front line batter and a bits and pieces man is consistency we won't have room for bits and pieces men come next year we're looking to win something and consistency will be the key over the last few months any failure to get past thirty on his part had given him yips of the brain he was determined that he would bat an hour against this bastard an hour at least there was no denying the lad was good he was really good but Dunnis didn't think it was right here they were just arrived and first in they get this so-and-so who no-ones ever seen before and he's turning it at near right-angles both ways which is pretty frickin unusual even over here at the far end the bowler was turning to start his approach tosses the ball up in the air a couple of times spinning it in the air as warning of what was to come Dunnis unmoved the lad was a right hander at the moment he was bowling round the wicket into the rough made by the bowlers feet at the other end Dunnis was a right hander as well the face of his bat was naturally turned to meet the flight and turn of the incoming ball well most of the time he thought hard about risk and removed a number of shots from his thinking decided two ways to score and what type of deliveries just to kick away three hours later he'd made a fifty but it had been less than pretty he'd definitely get a go again in two days but where was that rhythm and wind in his arms and wrists gone to?
Archived comments for out there one
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
out there one
This is a load of balls... πŸ˜‰



Author's Reply:
loads and loads, cheers for the read of this epic beast and the comment


the ringing bell - Something sets (part 5) (posted on: 12-06-15)
nnnnndddddnnnnnddddd

Tuesday I woke very late after a night of fitful dreaming and seemingly endless interruptions to rise and relieve myself. I am so well-conditioned to taking my previous position when returning to bed that I was several times returned to dreams that I wish I hadn't been - one in particular where I was tied up and could see the silhouette of a red Indian through the canvass of his tee-pee, enthusiastically sharpening knives (no more Texan bars for me). There was another dream, a very realistic but also ridiculous one where I boarded a train, but that then changed to a bus (but with a train conductor on it) and the bus went back and forth in time – we went back about 30 years I'd guess. The passengers were all issued some pre-decimal coins, but it was just enough to buy a newspaper, a sandwich and a drink at the other end while you explored and got nostalgic, and then we came home. It was so realistic that when I finally got up and dressed a little before lunch it was with the firm idea of seeing if I could source some cheap pre-decimal coins in case of a repeat journey (no joke, as I put my socks on I thought of a little flea market place I'd seen and I thought might have some). Once dressed I grabbed a little knapsack and put in some water I'd put in a glass screw top bottle, my wallet and the Westlake novel I'd bought, and headed out to see what the day would bring. I was very cheered up at the bunting and union flags becoming more and more apparent in shop windows, and down the main street, now the big day is approaching. I was making my way up fore-Bondgate and saw a queue coming out of the door of a little shop with light blue and white livery, and bearing the name of a well-known chain of bakers hereabouts. Thinking to get a pie or pasty as a light lunch, I was surprised that on joining the line and straining to hear those at the front of the queue, all they ever did was say a number. There was some further murmured talk, then they were handed a parcel and paid. Not wanting to stand out I feigned disinterest as I got into the shop and was able to see a bit more – the number you gave indicated how many bread-buns you wanted dipping in a great steaming vat of pork renderings; the further enquiries were as to whether you wanted pork (no-one) stuffing (everyone, me too) and pease pudding (some, not me this time). I said, ''two'' firmly and confidently when I arrived, watched very closely as they were dipped as seemed the normal custom, and then without waiting for enquiry said, ''with just stuffing'', as the dipped buns were plonked down open side up on grease proof paper. My transaction executed faultlessly I was provided my parcel, handed over a loose few coppers in payment, and stepped outside. There was a bin not far away, so positioned beside it I unwrapped and then took a bite of my first dip sandwich – inside a minute flat I had virtually inhaled both, as the soft sopping gorgeousness of the bread slipped down with the herby excitement of onion stuffing. As I wiped my hands and face as best as I could on the wrappings, my tasty breakfast had simply excited in me a proper hunger, but I was embarrassed to go back to the queue and the same shop, so made my way further up the street following the smell of frying chips. ___________________________________________________________________________ I will report now that Howes chip shop make the best chips I have ever tasted, brown and deliciously savoury and nutty without being overcooked – I'd say beef dripping could be the reason, but am not certain of that. As I enjoyed each hot potato morsel, and wondered which of my two simple little culinary treats today was the most enjoyable, I wandered about Bondgate and nearby to try and find my little underground route the other day. I want end to end, tried back Bondgate, and the back alleys behind my first explorations, but there simply was not any underground tunnel. Not far from the chip shop again, I saw a man with a clipboard come out of a closed and rundown looking little pub – ah, this was the Sun Inn that had formed part of my tales. Looking beyond him into the open door I could see tired seating and a bar with cracked and dirty glasswork behind, all covered in dust and cobwebs. I engaged him in conversation, and though he had a keen interest in local history he said, was not local to here so could not help with any explanation for the missing tunnel. I asked if he was looking at a refit or demolition job on the tired old Sun boozer, and he amazed me with his reply, ''Well, actually, it looks like we are going to dismantle it brick by brick, mark them all so we know what goes where exactly, and then take them to the local Beamish museum for the pub to be rebuilt precisely as it is standing here today''. As I looked beyond him again through that still open door to the tatty and dilapidated interior, I had to bite my tongue from telling him what I thought of that scheme which any fool could see was simply a monumental waste of time and effort. As you know there are still issues in Iceland and Scandinavian countries due to the recent global cooling trend – I'm told ice sheets on Greenland have been thicker than ever and never melt in summer now. Yet in this part of world they have money and time to painstakingly disassemble and reassemble this dirty dive, including every cobweb, flea-nest and fly-squash smear I bet. Leaving the pub and the conversation behind, I made my way to the head of the viaduct by climbing a small fence, and started to traverse at great height over the rutted and muddy path that ran the length of the crossing. I took in the views both ways, could see the town hall roof and part of the palace to my right, behind me steeples in the town and the great imposing white-cubiness of the one local tower block, and to my left the lower bridge across the river and gentle bend of the waterway itself making its way towards the town. At the far end I continued on a path the followed the old railway line for a many miles, with good occasional views through the trees down to the river valley below as it wound its way towards Durham, which I almost reached myself before turning round. It was evening when, about two miles away from reaching the viaduct again, I stopped off in a small pub called 'The Monkey' to eat and quench my thirst. As I happily munched my burger and chips, and drank pints of export strength lager, the barman shared a (perhaps tall) tale about the pub name – a previous owner had kept an ape, that used to haunt (as in frequent) the railway line and local footpaths. After it had died (many years ago) it was reported by many scared locals that the ape, or monkey, continued to haunt the same area, but now in a more spiritual manner (albeit still causing much mischief and distress). ___________________________________________________________________________ On the walk home after dinner I was very merry, so made by the extra kick in the export lager that I had been drinking, and did on several occasions take fright at 'monkey noises' in the trees and undergrowth, that on reflection were likely just wind or cats. The sun was low but still strong and warm and there was no breeze as I walked back over the high back of viaduct – I realised I was very pleased to see the welcoming little landmarks I'd noted and left behind only a few hours ago, this place has definitely grown on me. As I climbed the fence from the viaduct, instead of then gaining the roads and turning left down into town, I struck up to the corner where the dark Newton Cap pub had loomed at me a few times. Popping in I had a quick pint and watched a couple of men try and hook the bull ring through great long swings and arcs of the string – they were good, and got it a few times. On draining the last I bought three unopened bottled of Brown to take out, and headed down the hill to the little stone bridge that ran alongside the much higher viaduct. At the bridge I did a left, and skirting the stone pillar got to the foot of the bridge. I could see there was a narrowish ledge that ran at the bottom of the pillar at this side of the bridge, and that's where I'd seen the youths disappearing to the other day – I had no choice! It was difficult with a knapsack on, but I was able to edge my way along that narrow route and so find myself on the other side of bridge, on the riverbank between the bridge and viaduct where the river runs quite fast. This seemed an ideal place to top myself up with the brown ale that I'd got at the pub, so I emptied my knapsack and made a seat of it, and propped myself up against a stone wall to dip into my book and the bottles as I saw fit in the late evening birdsong and warmth. Inevitably I fell asleep and woke feeling pretty rubbish, I can tell you. I stood and circled a few times trying to get my directions, and then remembering my lift from Fred them other day, recalled that there was, not far away, a very steep bank that led to the marketplace. The daylight had gone, and even dusk was clinging on by a slender margin at this point - it seemed to become full dark with resplendent stars in the short time it took to pack up. In this deepening gloom I made my way along the riverbank, and though I will admit I should have been easily able to find my way to what was a single road to town, I couldn't find it. I stumbled about and in the now inky black night into and out of seemingly endless unexpected potholes and dark tangles of overgrown undergrowth, and was starting to lose all faith as I stepped into more bushes - I was fairly sure I hand't been torn to pieces by these brambles previously tonight as they seemed singularly unbroken and unblunted by any such previous visit. Then they give way and I am in clear air, and in front of me, just discernible in the available sliver of moonlight, a round brick entrance to some kind of tunnel or hole. Considering scrabbling around I heard very close by, seeming on top of me in fact, an unwelcoming and threatening hiss from (I assume) my previous swan attacker. Fear made me brave, and I ducked into the murky entrance and started to feel my way along. ___________________________________________________________________________ I had, by pure chance, a small torch almost as slim as a pen in one of the pockets of my knapsack and it was by that small light that and much feeling of occasionally wet stonework that I made my way in. The tunnel was well rounded with visible brickwork on the roof and walls, giving way to occasional patches of stone here and there on the walls (but not that good curved roof). The way veered left after about ten yards, when it straightened again I then counted 90 strides as I proceeded, but as they were small stumbling strides over a rutted muddy floor each was maybe only two feet in length. The reason I stopped counting at 90 steps was that the light in the tunnel changed and the air, while always breathable and with a noticeable but tolerable earthy tone to it, had freshened considerably. Turning off the small torch I could see a dim semi-circle of light up ahead, floating above waste height in the gloom. I was sure I could also hear voices, so perhaps made reckless by my drinking and dark night lost wanderings, I simply walked forward toward whatever that light might be. What it was, it turned out, was a kind of farmhouse split-door arrangement on the end of tunnel, with the top half swung open and bottom latched. Looking like timbers in a split barrel the shiny varnished wood in that half door looked attractive as I approached, and noticed that honest to god flaming torches, in iron holders, bolted to stone walls, were providing the light and delicately picking out highlights in the dark glossy wood. I'll admit that I was completely lost in the moment when I was startled to see that the infuriatingly staring youth from outside the Castle Lodge had appeared on the other side of the half circle of the door. I looked at him, with his blank looking eyes, and thought I had a good chance of making a quick getaway back the way I came, and half turned to go...I have never jumped as much in my life! There in front of me, behind me in the tunnel, definitely I reasoned having had to follow me into the tunnel the same way through those slashing brambles, was the ginger haired face, now with accompanying large lumpy body, that had first peered out of that second floor window. My arms were grasped by two pairs of strong hands, you will know from other such tales what happened next (and I could expect and anticipate it also once I'd calmed fears of imminent violation) – they took me further into the catacombs to meet their leaders. I was pleased to see Deirdre and Sam had more to them than just the domestic service setup, while they were undoubtedly in service to a notable, it was a limiting position, I felt, for people I'd come to know and like (and yes, for their foibles and failings too). So as I say, delighted for them, but am surprised that they're leading a pig cult locally - well Brawn cult really. They took me to a great fireplace, in a massively extensive but not high roofed brick and stone cellar space, and as we approached it I could see that on the crude mantle-piece of that ancient fire pit was a bell in a frame – a battered pewter looking silver bell. Closer examination proved it, here was a massive but otherwise perfect twin for the 'ringing bell' in the castle, which I now after some quick reckoning thought must be right above us. ___________________________________________________________________________ The great brick tunnels and extensive cellars are only known the to the staff who work in the great house above, and the entrances from the palace itself having been blocked up centuries ago, they simply let nature obscure the several local tunnel entrances. Nature had done a pretty damn good job I could tell them, but we had other matters at hand. It seems there are those involved in the cult who've always made sure a bloodline of their control and choosing was in place to work in the palace, and keep the dark hairy secret below it. These 'initiates' then work in the palace, but as they put it, they live down here, in service to Him! Let me introduce him – he is a massive, bigger than any horse or bull you saw, black haired full snouted, grunting and snuffling boar, they refer to 'the Brawn' or simply and reverently 'Him' (my capitals and theirs, every time they say it, desperate not to drop that sacred 'H'). 'Him' lies reclining on his left hand side in a room next to that with the fireplace, and with a wider tunnel to one end – there is food scattered around him on the floor, and if he shows any interest in a morsel all get most excited and encourage him to his eating. Despite his massive size, and he is twenty feet snout to tail I'd bet, he seems a fussy eater and little interested in the cabbage leaves and veg peelings about him for his delectation. I can see that Deirdre and Sam are disappointed in this, but their two helpers become very highly agitated in a distressing and shocking way. The stare-eyed-youth one started tearing at his own hair, and very successfully. The ginger haired face one took a paper clip from somewhere and started to score bloody red lines in his own forearm. Both almost sobbing in joined unhappiness. Sam took matters to hand, and striding to the chimney said, ''To 'ell 'oos up there, I'm clanging so Him'll eat right'', and he swung the clapper which was shinier than the bell. As I knew it would, that bell rang with a great chime of clarity that you would recognise anywhere – and which clear chime could manage to emerge into an upper chamber as a feebler but still clear tone I was sure. I guessed there was a shared chimney shaft running from this cellar fireplace up into that room above, where the bell was heard with no hand to ring it. I could see beyond to the boar as the bell rang, and a great daft, almost pissed-drunk look of silly ecstasy spread into the small pink eyes, Him's mouth falling open into a loose grin and expectant bubbly gurgles, one front leg twitching as if in a happy fit of giggles. Then they fell on it, Him, the Brawn - lovingly, gleefully, and thankfully it seemed, they crammed the good pig food laid all about the stone floors into that great tusky maw. The great boar has been kept and fattened and cosseted so it will only eat when this big twin sister of the haunted bell is rung 30 feet below, and that is the reason of the legend. ___________________________________________________________________________ Once fed Him sleeps a most contended sleep, and until you've heard a boar that must weigh over a thousand pounds snore in blissful contentment, you know not what snoring is. While I could barely retain my seat under the great vibrations of those snores, Sam and Deirdre seemed pleased by them, and the two dead eyed helpers were soothed and entranced by the noise to the point they knelt on the floor, swaying and humming in time. Sam told me the story as he knew it – the region, being temperate but little populated, had been a great stomping ground for wild pigs in medieval times and earlier, and on some notable occasion's great monster boars, brawns, had appeared. After a local squire had quarrelled with a duke from Northumberland over a great boar kill in the town, and a knight from an estate on a giant local hill had dispatched another monster to great personal acclaim, a feeling had grown for the brawn. The boars kept regular habits (there's a town called Brancepeth or 'Brawns Path' very near) and if you were savvy and kept your wits about you'd not get hurt off one – but great men could make capital from such a big kill, and this got to be resented. The feeling grew that it was good that these great beasts grew nearby, and so successful efforts were made to domesticate and breed the great line – and provide a bloodline of human domestics to serve it, to boot. Sam was most grave, having taken me into this confidence, he had to be sure that the secrets divulged would be safe. I looked at him, and as you know I always would, I said, ''I have a partner in this endeavour''. Sam, delighted for some reason, repeated back, ''I have a partner in this endeavour''. ''In that case Sam, I tell you that nothing I have heard today will ever be repeated by us''. He hugged me, I swear he did, and then he said, ''Come and have a brown ale with us''. We went through to the next room by the snoring pig and had our brown, but Deirdre or the boys never did join us for that bottle of brown ale but I was happy with Sam - just us. I write all this from the comfort of the next day back safely in my room, but we both know that in a certain type of garish modern novel I would now be in fear of being taken and fed whole into the tusky maw of that great pig of all pigs, seen as god and could be protector by the conspirators of this otherwise good town. Think its Sun worship that's the thing to worry about round here though...
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pug munters (posted on: 12-06-15)
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOiOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

having had a dream where people referred to each other and many concepts and things almost exclusively as mug punters in long detailed conversations I dream-listened into then the next day I found myself using the phrase addictively and happily in place of idiot responding to rudeness to describe some homeless with regard to the wider populace about firemen, police and those who govern us saw mug punter music on tv buskers with mug punter instruments in the street while never completely used out of context think I stretched it, today a bit
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the ringing bell - Sunday, now on (part 4) (posted on: 08-06-15)
DDDDDDooooooiooooooDDDDDD

Sunday I woke very late on Sunday, thirsty for a drink after my meaty evening meal which I'd followed by red wine in the company of my domestic-warmth-droid when I'd got home. Having applied coffee, scrambled eggs on toast and half a gallon of water to the situation I then took a very long leisurely bath with radio 3 at high volume, dipping into a Perishers annual (they were on holiday so the metaphysical philosophy of the crab pool was at hand). It was into the afternoon before I strode out into the park adjacent the castle grounds, to explore a little and hopefully uncover some landmarks or items of interest to add local colour to my report on my visit (which will be written regardless of any publishers promise). I passed through an old iron gate, turned left then after a few hundred feet I stepped off the path and walked over the open grass under the great high windows of the palace. After a few minutes I reached a small dark pond almost concealed in a grove of woods right in the shadow of the palace. I went to the pond-side and was watching the sunlight in the water reflected through breaks in the trees when a swan glided serenely but intently in my direction. Arriving it reared immediately out of the water with wings raised, hissing most threateningly so that I turned tail and departed downhill away from the pond. I wander in the park for a bit and find a hollow tree that a man could fit in, and so try it – the tree itself was still sprouting a few scrubby green shoots at it's top, but in main it was just a trunk about 10 feet height that had been foreshortened at some time past. This event was likely also the cause of a large hollow rent in the centre of what was large girth of wood, suggesting a tree of great height before it's calamity. Standing inside it I tried to not notice insects or get the ick, and was interested to see if I could commune with, and find out the previous trunk mutilating and stature diminishing fate of, the once great tree – I couldn't. Passing over a small beck I climb a fence into a small scrubby patch of woodland running alongside a small stream, that cuts through occasionally steep banks as I begin to make my way further in. After a few yards I stop to marvel at a small glade with huge fungus within - great red toadstools two feet high or more with football-size white spotted crowns, and a few great leathery ones 'loaf of bread' sized with an unsettling sheen to their nobbly skins. There is a flash in front of me as I startle a deer only five feet away – it leaps the fence and I watch in detailed slow motion as a twist in the upper of two straight wires at the top of the fence catches a back leg, drives into and punctures the skin. The deer twists and the wire fishhooks in, the hoof in trying to kick free in mid-air jams between the upper and lower wires, the momentum will take the deer to the floor with that hoof trapped. Impotent to stop it I involuntarily flash my gaze to watch the deer's eyes closely as a look of comprehending panic seems to shoot between us - I hope that the damage will be only flesh wounds, that it'll hold still while I untangle it...a great shudder of horror hits me as its neck bends stupidly on impact with woody roots in the ground beyond the fence on the glade's edge, and alert life greys in an instant as I hold and then lose its gaze. I walk to the fence, and with one hand can turn the wires so that the now limp limb flops free. In a moment I will climb over to find no pulse, and will inspect and photograph the massive fungal bloom, but will save sharing the joyless and long minutes I spent by that now grim scene. ___________________________________________________________________________ Deirdre had invited me to have 'Sunday dinner' with her and her husband, but said that they took it at around 5pm having to dispense their domestic duties first. I had recovered sufficiently from the ordeal of witnessing a death to tell of it to Sam, the husband, as he led me down to the little cosy area next to the main downstairs kitchen where they took their meals. He was most sympathetic, and assured me that he would make sure the carcass was collected and hung while it was fresh, so that it could be butchered and the death would not be as needless and idiotic as it had seemed to me in the park that afternoon. While I had been alone with Sam we had conversed freely and well, so when Deirdre came in and he turned his head to look at her I was a little surprised to a see a large grey hearing aid behind his ear (with a match on the other side to make the pair, I found on checking). As dinner progressed I observed that he seemed to lip read his way to comprehension a deal of the time, and while this had been fine when he'd been giving me his full attention, he had greater difficulty when having to try and monitor two pairs of moving lips. Sam's difficulty was compounded by his wife's persistently ongoing habit of conversing with you through the side or back of her head whilst considering something else entirely. This led to great difficulty as she enquired individually if he wanted some of every dish on offer – and after a habitual delay to establish her meaning, he always said yes, he would like some. They'd have dinner every Sunday, I thought, and I got the feeling he probably ate everything he was offered every Sunday or Deirdre wouldn't be cooking it, so was this back of the head re-confirmation of each item on the menu some kind of cruel routine on her part? The back and forth seemed endless as Sam confirmed separately that he did indeed want roast beef (well done and lovely), Yorkshire pud, roast potatoes, roast parsnip, mashed potatoes, mashed parsnip, mashed turnip, boiled carrots, boiled beetroot, garden peas, mushy peas, broad, green and butter beans, leeks, cabbage, cauliflower cheese, broccoli, gravy and 'choppy up' (a delicious finely chopped white salad with vinegar and mint sauce). His plate was a towering, glistening, mouth-watering pile of Sunday dinner loveliness, and as I waited expectantly for my round of enquiries was a little disappointed when Deidre simply said, ''help yourself'' as she began to stock her own plate. I hadn't wanted her to serve me, but her not doing so made the little performance with Sam seem all the more baffling. I'd been given a bottle of darkly Brown Ale with dinner, and having been initially confused to be given a half glass with a pint bottle, followed Sam's lead and soon got the hang of keeping a head on the thin but addictively savoury beer by constant little top ups. That there was little talk during the almost full hour of our mealtime together was largely due to the quality and great tastiness of the wares on offer, with a bit of butter here, and a few more minutes to brown there, making for a superb and satisfyingly massive Sunday dinner. Having been sure to be effusive in my praise, and reassured that Sam had felt moved to provide me half a crate (six bottles) of Brown to help me pass the evening, I made my goodbyes. That night I continued to perfect my top-up technique whilst introducing 'ardoo' to the burgeoning joys that is Sunday night telly, 'All Creatures' seeming perfect round here. _________________________________________________________________________ Monday I spent the morning writing up my interviews more fully at the little table in the window, while a great celebration of Greig took place courtesy of my little transistor radio. I reached eleven o'clock having only taken toast and coffee, but having made a good three hours of inroads into my workload, and so felt in need of something substantial to eat as a reward. Following a tip and some (good, simple and effective) directions from Sam I headed off past the viaduct and the unwelcoming pub I'd passed the other day, and down the steep bank – almost at the bridge I took a left to then follow the riverside path. In around half an hour (no more I'm sure) I'd walked to a beautiful small village called Escomb, which contains within the central village green a most remarkable Saxon church, built with stone from the then ruined local Roman fort and boasting the oldest stained glass windows in Europe. I took lunch and a lesson in local history from the barman in the welcoming Saxon Inn, and having consumed my Ploughman's Platter and six admittedly very rapid pints of Scotch bitter, I made my way most happily back along the riverside path by the water-meadows. I had not realised how uneven the path had been on my way here, and nearly came a cropper a few times and even almost took a plunge in the river on my way back, but came to no harm. As I was getting back onto the little road at the end of the path that would lead me to the main steep road and back up to the dark looming pub and the town, I came across a very large motorised caravan stationary in a little car park area by some picnic benches. Next to the caravan was a great pile of rubbish, but containing splintered bits of wood frame and tattered cushions, carpets and loose furnishings in an untidy jumble of a pile. Inside the caravette (as I think they are called) I could see into the open main entrance door and also through an interior door (the size of the thing!) to clean new furnishings, ''must have had a refit and getting rid of the old set-up'' I thought, and was made angry to my slight surprise. ''That's nice, have you no shame'', I asked sharply of the woman standing by the open door and she stared slack mouthed back at me. Seeming to make a decision she then said, ''I've got all brand new stuff'' in the most patronising of voices as I am now beginning to walk off away to the road. I retort over my shoulder, ''Dumping what you no longer need as you now have new stuff is not OK if you have even the smallest amount of civilisation about you - agreed?'' She did answer in the affirmative with an almost shrieked, ''Agreed'', but I am very sad to say this was followed by many and various curses and denigrations against my person, behaviour, personal habits and intentions – and what had I done to deserve it, I ask you? As I approached the point where the road would turn and take me up into town, I was surprised and intrigued to see youths taking a dangerous short cut way under the bridge... ___________________________________________________________________________ I walked back down Bondgate towards the market place, and not far from the bottom I entered a large green fronted newsagent and stationers that had caught my eye a few times since my arrival. There, along with all the main UK papers and periodicals, I found a selection of cheap paperback books and a treasure trove of discounted 'couple of months out of date' magazines. I bought a comic novel by someone called Westlake, got stocked up on several overseas boxing titles for a very reasonable price, and also bought several re-issued compendiums of weird cartoon strips and short stories from the 1950s, with names such 'Strange Tales', 'Tales of Suspense' and 'Journey Into Mystery'. Starting to lose the good glow of my recent refreshments, I returned to my lodgings with my additions to the little library and stretched out on the couch for a bit of a read. Somehow, despite the variety of my available entertainments, I slipped off into a sleep that lasted until tea-time. Rising and washing my face, I dragged a comb through my hair and set off on a brisk walk to wake me up, taking the 'Kingsway' that ran parallel with the main street as I headed uptown. Passing the backs of shops on one side and terraces of good town houses on the other, I noted a large (Victorian I guessed) three storey stone building with an open door - I saw a sign declaring opening times to what on closer inspection turned out to be a library. I entered and was directed by signage up a wide staircase to the first floor, and the quite large and well stocked Library itself. I entered and passed a large slightly raised island by the door, where an inevitably bespectacled lady librarian (librarianess?) was flipping open and ink-stamping inside the front of each of a great pile of books, shrinking and growing on either side of her. Not wanting to see if my local library card would (as it should) be accepted for a lend here, I did not make any enquiry of her as I passed into the library but could feel the side of my face under the close scrutiny of her 'under-glass' gaze as I went by. The selection on offer in terms of non-fiction was wide and varied and I spent a fair bit of time picking up this book and that, reading snippets and facts or taking in various illustrations and glossy photographs within the bound pages. The shelves here, over to the left of the 100 foot wide room as you entered, were large and there were no windows on the side of the room, so I was very much lost within the shelves with nothing to distract and remind me of the wider, moving, world beyond these walls. Moving to peruse the (crime thriller laden) shelves of the fiction I was now moving between long rows of high wooden shelving with few breaks between, although occasional chairs were dotted about for resting in as you considered the merits of a possible loaner. Walking around I then began to get a strange sense of being in a different room, but one that somehow occupied the same space, exactly. In this 'other place' room there are an endless array of bookcases and wardrobes taller than a man set together in labyrinthine mazes, occasionally breaking out into little seated areas with a table, or a kettle and toaster. I imagined myself wandering the maze of the room, knowing that I wanted to make the far end and never to retreat in defeat by going back the way I'd come – I love that 'other' room. ___________________________________________________________________________ Leaving the Library I passed the football ground, and remembered how I'd taken quite a fright on Saturday afternoon as I concluded my interviews – there'd been a great excited cheer from thousands of invisible voices. The two old codgers I'd spoken to last, and was bidding goodbye to, had been pleased at my surprise and one had explained, ''yer get a great roar across the town from the old Kingsway ground when the two blues get a one''. I walked past the footer ground and round the corner, and as Sam had promised, I found that I by entering through the cricket ground (no play today) I could approach and explore the football ground, which had a common boundary with the cricket field. I'd had great fun tramping the terraces and was climbing up into the old but still tidy stand when an old grey haired man with a greatcoat and glasses, and one shoe built up considerably, collared me and escorted me off the premises – still I'd had a great hour and he couldn't take that away. Approaching six now I head towards the main street, and on the corner enter the darkly wooded and shiny glassed most welcoming interior of Rossi's cafe. This must have been the hot place in town when drinking coffee was a cool beatnik novelty, attracting the arty and trendy, and those with a need to be seen. Those days were well in the past, but I still enjoyed a tasty ham sandwich and very slow coffee, savouring again details of the 'no mas' Leonard-Duran fight in one of the out of date boxing magazine which I had brought with me. On leaving the cafe I turned right and headed up the street, past a Halford's on the corner and a shut but still reeky fishmongers. I discounted drinking in The Mitre as it looked tired and ready for a refit, and seeing a group of loud big handed men shoving each other as they entered the next pub up (I didn't catch the name) I also decided against that one. The Station Hotel looked promising - rich glossy tiling outside, and a welcoming dark and cosy look as I peered through the window. I stayed for precisely one pint of (very well kept, I must say) McEwan's Export; partially my decision was informed by the cow byre of a toilet I was forced to use, but also by the behaviour I observed in two of the patrons inside. I am sure I have seen people everywhere play with beer mats, and I will also say that not only have I seen many of them torn up in my view, but that in distracted moments I have also torn them up absent mindedly. But it is only in this town that I've seen people eating beer mats! A well set intelligent eyed youth with a fully shaven head was sitting at a table with an exceedingly tall and frizzy-mop-hair skinny hippy. On the table were the remnants of several torn beermats bearing the distinctive red Export colouring- as I watched I saw them each carefully put in their mouths small pieces of cardboard that didn't even match the beer mats that were strewn on the table – so here was snack they'd prepared earlier! Ending up in The Wear Valley one pub up, I was happy and settled when a man about my age stomped angrily in, wearing an 'Elmer Fudd' style fur hat, complaining that the weatherman said it would be a very frosty and cold night but it was red hot. Removing his hat from a visibly sweating head he ordered a pint of lager- while the barman poured it he pointed out gently that the sun hadn't gone down yet, so it won't be frosty until much later. Taking his pint, glowering discontentedly at the barman for pointing this out, he retreated. ___________________________________________________________________________ He engaged me in conversation not long after he'd sat and plonked his great hairy headpiece on the table next to his beer, and he turned out to be good company with a very good handle on the historical, both of a local and more worldly type. Having sunk several pints in the Valley, he advised we should move up the street to the next pub where we might meet some of his usual cohorts, and which would certainly be livelier. So decided we crossed over the railway bridge straddling the tracks that had brought me into town, and in happy conversation we arrived at the timbered front of The Green Tree. Entering I noticed the cardboard eating drunks sitting under the window, engaged in what I took as a round of joke telling (they were certainly laughing a lot), and that made me think. Having got our deeply dark and nutty pints of Bass Best bitter, I followed my companions lead and sat under the window in some empty seats just beside the 'card-munchers'. While my oppo took a toilet visit, I fell into listening to their chatter – the taller one made some comment about feeling tip-top, which prompted his purposefully balded and big handed mate to pipe up enthusiastically in response, ''Tip-top, tree tops, bottle tops, top of the pops, double drops'', and at that they absolutely pissed themselves in shaking delight. Once they'd recovered a little, and me made confident through beer and company, I leant into them and said. ''I've a joke'', meaning to try a one I'd thought of when walking home the other night. They looked pleased and the taller told me to go on, so I gave it to them. ''Why did Darth Vader go to Whitby to buy a false eye made of local black stone, and a suit of armour'', I paused for great comic effect before hitting them with it, ''because he wanted to make a jet-eye knight'' – again they slip into great gales of laughter, I was much pleased. A few hours later in the night my good humour was suddenly ended when a slippery eyed type sitting near the unlit fire made a comment, in plain earshot, about a nice pair of 'nancy boys' sitting under the window, where only my newfound friend and I now remained. I am not given to leaping to violence, but this was the limit, and I was considering a sharp retort when the seat next to me emptied and great verbal displeasure was expressed. This was rapidly followed by my drinking companion sharply lifting the offender to his feet by his collar, and then planting a straight right on him that sent him stumbling backward. Pursued, he was then given a repeat dose just as the door to the bar was opened, and so he staggered back under the weight of the blows past a surprised patron holding the door. I heard a rising clamour of voices filtering from the other room through the shared bar, until I caught a glance of another blow being landed on the still retreating dirty slanderer. Finally the door from the corridor burst open, and the battered man fell into the room to the floor. A flighty looking, extravagantly smoking blonde woman said, ''Columbo, aren't you going to help?'' to the man in a raincoat (with a serious expression I think I recognised) beside her. Considering the man on the floor and my friend with still clenched fists coming through the door, nonchalantly he replied, ''Looks like he's done alright, that little shit wants no more''. ___________________________________________________________________________ The night ran long but with no more real incident other than much imbibing, including of Irish whiskey, and my companion and I ended up singing together as we stumbled back down that oh so straight main street past the tower of the four clock-faces. I turned left in step with him just before the junction by the cafe, but my friend suddenly remembered my destination and so was directed 'down the backs' toward the marketplace. Using a blue tower at the rear of the Co-op to guide me, I made my way down the dark alleys in what felt to be the right direction, but with an uneasy feeling. I got a peculiar sense of the air becoming gloopy, and having some strange compulsion to look back I could see two clock towers over the town, where only the tower with the four clocks should be. Below the new clock tower, which seemed to be near the station, was a queer hunched castle newly dominating the night skyline beyond the wasteland behind the main street. Looking forward and to the right again to try and clear my senses I am horrified as the landscape in front of me changes visibly under my gaze, and a third clock tower emerges, and underneath a strange great monster of a building – a geomoetrists uneasy dream with strangely added angling at corners, and suddenly truncated lines, seeming to create an overall great difficulty in seeing or comprehending it 'as a whole'. As I struggle to take in this latest image the air freshens and the world returns to normal, visions before me and aft disappear and shadowy imprints of buildings against the night sky appear as I know and expect they should, to my great relief as I was spooked considerably. Encouraged that now I can seem to discern my way, I make my way in the direction I know will take me down to the marketplace, and my lodgings. I am confident that I must be close to or on the Bondgate road that should be last of my journey when suddenly my feet fall away beneath me. ''Murder'' I cry in my sudden confusion, and am much relieved when instead of clean air to drop into, I find my feet making contact with worn sloping stone steps. I do not regain my balance and half stagger into an underground tunnel at the bottom of the maybe 12 feet flight of the stairs. I take in my surroundings, with just dirt below my feet and brickwork seeming to run over my head, I know that my destination is ahead of me at the end of this unexpected underpass. I have decided to press on and am a few strides in, and beginning to think I can see steps rising ahead of me, when two very loud and explosive sneezes are heard that make my blood cold. There then follows a low long rumbling growl of massive power that goes through me, hurrying me in the again thickened air up the worn steps at the other end. I stumble blindly for a few steps gasping for air and calm after my underground sojourn, the air freshens again and it seems that stars and a moon suddenly jump into place in the sky - I can now see the final clocktower of the night up ahead, at the other end of the marketplace. ________________________________________________________________________
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just let (posted on: 05-06-15)
roomatthe'in'

the heatwave has you in bits indulge more in African hits elements of truth inferred in a not-so travel journal try and let the blue sky just let it, that's why
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deadpoet on 06-06-2015
just let
roomatte'in'? I don't know what that means?

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the ringing bell - Into the weekend (part 3) (posted on: 05-06-15)
munuomnuomnnnunm

Spent a good bit of time just wandering silent and largely unthinking on the driveway outside of the castle walls after that most strange interlude in my day, until suddenly I am left startled by the image of a pink, bristly pig head bursting into my mind's eye. This bringing me 'to' from my deep lack of thought, I turned to find a male youth of about 20 eyeing me both warily and knowingly. Shockingly to me he does not waver in his gawping consideration of me even when I have fixed a stare on him for some time, looking him right in his face he is still unashamed to stare full at me without any flinch or concern! We stayed for a while, but I tired of holding the same intellect-less gaze I'd seen in the first red haired face at the window (I am counting eyebrows so you'll allow me red-haired-face). I walked away from him on the drive outside the walls, toward the park proper, and heading to the far side looked down at a steep sloped walled garden running down towards the river at the bottom of the hill. Occasional greenhouses were scattered around, and polytunnels as well as heaters and long thick hoses that kind of concertinaed and were of unknown purpose (to me at least). While the landscape of the park grounds next the castle (where deer roam free) was a rich and verdant green and strikingly lush looking, the land within the high brick walls of the garden looked kind of grey and worn out. Certainly any greenery was sparse, and what there was growing, such as a few cabbages near me, looked like they had been picked at and worked over so all but that which was needed to keep the plant alive and growing had been scavenged away. The contrast between the healthy parkland and the decrepit looking garden was in my mind as I headed out to the town in the afternoon sunshine, and I am not sure of my direction but I came upon a small shop which sold me some fresh sliced ham, a large pork pie and some tomatoes. I also bought a couple of bottles of red wine which I was pleased to see they stocked, and having taken directions to get me back whence I came I headed off with my supplies in a pair of aged and battered carrier bags which had been supplied by the shop. Having been directed to the 'head of the road, to then drop down onto the market place' I found myself at a junction by the top of a steep bank with a slightly unwelcoming looking pub on the corner. I could see the top of the town hall away down the other way, and this steep bank with the pub on the corner and a bridge at the bottom, and there straddling the river between the two was a great railway viaduct with about 10 arches I'd reckon. Having explored a little and found an easy way onto the viaduct, I made note and returned home with my 'wine and vittles' most gratified. There I wiled a long evening drinking wine, munching as I fancied on what was available, and either watching tv or reading through a great collection of Giles annuals I'd seen on the bottom of a bookcase in the bedroom. When I've done with these I noticed the Perishers as well, oh happy days indeed. ___________________________________________________________________________ Saturday I woke early on Saturday, and held a few pre-arranged meetings in the castle with locals who'd experienced 'the bell' – I want to try and spend a fair bit of time within earshot (or better still eye-line) of the bell just in case there is an event while I'm here. Previously circumstance has delivered me to the strangeness I've been lucky (?) enough to experience. Having foreknowledge of what to expect here I would kick myself most severely if I didn't give myself every chance of observing, or at least being privy to, anything that might happen. All of the people I spoke to, six in total and a mix of ages and sexes but all adult, and all were adamant about what had occurred and that no hand had rung the bell. A pair of older gentlemen who'd experienced 'the bell' together spoke to me separately. While I expected their stories to match (they had foreknowledge too) I was a little creeped out at how genuinely scared and on edge they both were, independently, to be back in the environs where they'd had their brush with the inexplicable. Most impressed I noted up with particular interest the details of those two old geezers, but also made sure to capture all the details with care as such word of mouth first hand testimony can have great power on the printed page (he said dropping a big hint) – I sent a postcard (first class) to Jenkins from the publishers to call me on a local telephone box number tomorrow at 4, and then we'll see. I left the castle again after my interviews completed, and swapping my notes for a jacket and my wallet I exited the cobbles in front on my white house and did a left down the hill. After a few hundred feet there was public footpath sign leading off from the pavement, so being in a free mood in the (very) late afternoon sunshine I headed off to see what I'd find. I followed a footpath by fields that gave views of the golf course, and a good chance to gawp at the great houses that dotted the hill that ran down and up into town, and which I'd stepped off to head onto this path. There was a goodish upward incline so I got my back into the walk, and at the end I crossed an old railway line made into a path and found myself by a busy-ish road with an open public house on the other side; guess the rest. The squat stone of the pub, with its red signage and beer garden looking over open fields to a view of a famous old observatory (Wright's of Byers Green, I am told), was a welcome place of rest and relaxation after a good twenty minute stomp up here. The wheat in the fields is good and yellow now, and as I sat I was a little tranced out observing the swallows zoom and swoop and drift and dive over the field. The clever V of their fast progress and sharp repeat was deeply transporting, and I made a game of trying to watch the same bird until almost cross eyed I laughed out loud and gave up. I'd drunk most of my pint of fizzy, summery lager and there was a wind starting to come up as clouds gathered on the small town away to the right of what I knew as Westerton now. As I stood to go indoors that intelligent breeze tickled, caressed, stroked and manoeuvred the surface of the wheat field mesmerically as I walked slowly backwards, sad to lose an instant. ___________________________________________________________________________ Inside I found that meals were being served in the bar, so I got a seat in the bay window at the front and settled in with my pint to check out the menu. It took me two minutes flat to decide, as they had chilli on the menu (you see it quite a lot these days, despite most people not being able to stand spicy food). The middle aged waitress came over in her white shirt and black skirt and took my order, and after I'd ordered chilli and confirmed I knew it was spicy she offered me rice, chips or 'half-an-half'. I asked for rice and she wrote it down, and then turned on leaving to ask me in an encouraging voice, ''are you sure you don't want half chips, most do?'' I said that I really liked chilli and rice, but not content she kept trying to convince me, ''You get the same amount of rice, and you get pretty much a full portion of both you know?'' I thanked her greatly but said I was sure I couldn't manage chips and just the rice was fine. As I waited I remembered when we were last together, me and you and more than 100,000 people headed for central London to March for Jobs. Fat lot of good it's done us so far, they don't listen and they just get worse and the only silver lining is that if the unions could get Callaghan run out of Downing street, they'll deal with mi'Lady when the time comes. I overheard someone in the pub here say that the new lad going to the NUM post, Scargill, the blue eyed boy they were calling him, he's been up campaigning. The other talk in the pub was of the 'Ripper', who could ''ride his bike up here and slash yer if he wanted'', as someone claimed until a pub droll pointed out Sutcliffe had just got life, and they didn't let lifers go on bike rides much. Another man sitting at the end of the bar with a serious expression on his face spoke up, ''Remember they checked Jimmy Saville to see if his bite fit any on the girls'', he turned in his chair and addressed a now expectant group of what I took as regulars, ''well they won't tell me if he matched, but I heard it's definitely more than one set of bite marks, so more than one biter. When did they get the chance, if they weren't with the Ripper when he did it?'' There was a loud murmur and several side conversations broke out as my food arrived. ''I put a few chips on, just so they wouldn't go to waste an that like'' said the waitress laying out the food and smiling. Starting to happily wolf it down I realised it was a bland chilli that could pass for Bolognese , I remembered your little trick to add some kick and asked if they had any Branston pickle – it was brought without question and I added a good couple of dollops to liven up my dinner. As I was enjoying the last of the chips I overheard a very strange conversation between two Scotsman who'd sat at the far end of the window from me – one was spaced out, speaking as if in a trance and he said he's, ''got a funny bag with a bit of Ireland (?) in it that's got insects (?) on it for getting the blue-bloods in Blackpool, and the egg-heads on the down''! __________________________________________________________________________ I left the warmth of the pub after a good refuelling session and a bit more ear-wigging at the bar – caught nothing as strange as what I've reported above, but certainly got a good feel for what's on people's minds, and was reassured pub culture is alive and well here. I must admit I'd tried some foreign pilsner lager I've not had before and I found myself a bit drunk as I headed out of the front entrance into the now late evening, but still strong sunshine. The wind had dropped and without thinking I turned right out of the pub and headed down the hill as I would if I was going home from my local. When I got the bottom of the incline I saw that where the road climbed again it had been cut between a great outcrop of living rock, with the craggy scars of the open wound visible looming and almost overhanging on each side as cars passed through and up the hill. This was not what I would have seen if I had just left my local, and shocked me into taking stock carefully before making my next move. I remembered that I had crossed an old disused railway line, and looking across the road I could see a stile leading over a fence, and in the distance the stone arch of a railway bridge. Great, I thought, I'll head over there and get onto the bridge, and then find the path I came up on – it all seemed so easy, until I'd crossed the road and climbed over the stile, that is. The other side was a jungle of brambles and nettles, but the stile indicated this was the way and 30 feet away you could see a path, but it was the in between which was the hard part. A green raised pipe carrying who knew what passed over the space between me and the path on stilts about six feet high – wanting to not touch the pipe with my hair so ducking a little as I passed under, I got nettled on the nose and one eyelid by a true monster among the species. This caused me to greatly increase speed and decrease care so a disproportionately great deal more nettling's and bramble wounds were incurred in the last ten feet to the path. I will not recall the language I coloured the air with during the painful last of this little journey, but I will say that I was able to recover myself within a few minutes. Pausing to inspect the many bumps on my hands from the nasty hairs of mine green enemy, I looked away from me up the hill to a little stone animal shelter, with narrow entrances in the front. It looks most exceedingly rudimentary, and therefore old, although seeming in a good state of repair from my viewpoint a few hundred feet away - something was bothering me about the look of it, the slim entrances on the front reminded me of something – I got it. It reminds me of a picture I saw which was reportedly taken from a helicopter and showed mount Ararat with what was said to be the remains of Noah's Ark emerging from shale and snow. The story goes they could never find their way back to get another shot - pity they didn't take me along with my legendary blood hounds sense of direction. From the photo they did get, the rectangular markings on the Ark are brought to my mind most strongly as I look on the little animal shelter on the hill here, just up from that great roadscar in the rock. ___________________________________________________________________________ I didn't dawdle long and as I made my way to the bridge was very pleased that a check of my clothing and trousers showed that while the nettles had ravaged my skin, the brambles had not made a permanent impression. I walked alongside a little steep sided beck as I made my way to that arched bridge, quietly impressed by its size and execution against the scrubby gorse-bush specked landscape. Getting to the eaves I heard chatter from above and was sure that the footpath I'd crossed earlier ran down the old rail line that crossed over the top of that bridge. I stood in the shadow of the stone curve and looked beyond to a tempting expanse of green, but I am not tempted as it is unkempt and not reminiscent of a golf course at all, so was sure I'd find nothing to aid me in recovering my directions that way. Having waited and considered for a few moments, and made impetuous by the agitating combination of liquor and plant toxins, I decided to try and scramble up the side of the bridge to the path – it was very overgrown, true, but I was hot with the need to act. I picked a side (the right as I looked, with the road away behind me) and hopped the fence to take three purposefully rapid, very high kneed, strides up the 15 or so feet of quite a steep incline – then I got stuck. I don't mean I had to consider a new way from that I'd planned, I don't mean I had to retreat and start again, I mean I was stuck and could not move forward or back due to myriad clutching stickleback-serpent bits of blackberry bush now encaging me. Knowing me you will know I pressed on, but when I arrived at the top it was with the brambles having made a most significant impression on me indeed, and also my clothing – I was scratched and bleeding, with my clothes made ragged, and my senses a bit scrambled. Seeing a man about twenty feet ahead of me on the path to my right, I fell into step behind him but was soon lost in a little daze as I recovered myself and looked out over rolling fields to my left hand side – then my blood ran cold. The man had disappeared from the path in front of me, just seemed to have vanished into thin air – this again sent me scurrying within myself in contemplation, and I took in little of my surroundings until I came to a break where the path crossed a narrow road. Deciding roads had more civilisation to them than the path, I did a left (my internal compass was sure I had to head back that way) and followed the road up a most wonderful slowly curved incline. I looked back across to my left to the town, and the various significant landmarks stood out like little illustrations made to seem prominent in a children's book or map. The Palace, Town Hall and Viaduct catching the eye, the recently built white elephant tower block not quite ruining the effect due to its white sheen - how long would that last? Looking to my right I could see a little row of old cottages, that seemed to somehow look back at me, consider and dismiss me even. As I tried to reason with this feeling my eyes fell on a scrubby little wood sitting on top a steep little hill nearby. Even though I was certain that wood was recent, and sitting on an old mining slag heap or similar, I had the firmest impression of people looking from it to this hill, Sun worshipping. Actually bowing, prostrating and showing religious obedience to the Sun like pagans, from before memory. _________________________________________________________________________ I followed the road to its apex, and descended the other side passing a cross road that did indicate one road would take me back to town. Given I'd found a new wind in making good untrammelled progress up this road, and thinking to explore a little, I decided to descend to the bottom of the hill and to come back and use the road if no riverside path was found. The road itself bent sharply and descended as steeply as any coastal descent I've seen, so that two cars that passed me trying to get up the hill cut out as they were in too high a gear, and had to be carefully hill started with a great smelly complaint from the clutch. This, and the need not to get mown down by cars trying to make the descent, helped to distract me thoroughly from my recent stinging mis-adventures. I got to the bottom and was resting on the bridge that crossed the stony looking river below, when a grey haired man of about fifty or so emerged from the other side of the road on the far side of the bridge and immediately headed in my direction, waving a greeting as he approached. ''Hiya, how yer deein' marra, alright an' that? Canny night an' that, nippy out the sun like'', and with that he was arrived and standing four feet from me, taking me and my state in – and as you can imagine it was not a good state. He stood there for a moment, his mouth nearly opening a few times as he made small noises almost of distress, as if struggling with some great unsayable truth, until finally he spoke, ''Do you know anything of Roman history?'' he asked. Thinking I knew where he was taking the conversation I said I was aware of the history, and the excavations of a fort being begun nearby, when he held up a single palm to silence me. ''The Pontifex Maximus maintains Pax Decorum, by sacrificing a man each time we break the river with a new bridge or crossing over'', he smiled, ''Varius Avitus was a priest of Baal, became Pontifex Maximus and made sun worship the new religion, he gave us Sunday''. I was considering running when he continued, ''Are there sacrifices to the bridges here I wonder? Will dark dedications to the great be made by this bridge, and at the next upriver?'' Thankfully he left after that. I headed back uphill to that road I knew could take me back to town – I was most of the way there and daylight was running out when, on a little humped bridge, a brown curly haired man pulled over in a blue mini and offered me a lift up the hill. Fred, as he was called, was a nice friendly type, and we got to talking fishing so I didn't notice that we was taking me to the wrong clock tower, and I ended up in mid-town. I didn't tell Fred of the confusion, from the foot of the 'four clocks' where I'd been dropped I followed my nose up the street, past a packed chip shop, to a clean and new looking burger bar. Some kids made the space invaders machine near the door ping and crash, while I watched the flames lick around my dinner plate sized burger as it sizzled on the open grill. Having confirmed that I wanted all the salad and the relish (sweetcorn I think) I was handed what proved to be the largest, tastiest beef burger I have ever eaten (maybe ever will). ___________________________________________________________________________
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the ringing bell - Thursday (part 1) (posted on: 01-06-15)
I)''(I

Thursday: I may have chosen the wrong weekend to make my visit. It's not every day that an heir to the throne marries, and this event was being given the full pomp and circumstance across the airwaves and media. It seems to have excited everyone in this part of the world, the part where my investigation (ha, I still always think to myself) is to be centred, to return home whence they spawned. I'd made my second and last change onto the train that would deliver me to my destination, and on the following journey I was subjected to half an hour of chattered inanity from a pair of young women with particularly dullard sounding yokel-Geordie accents. ''A canat reckun al get yused to gannin Princess Diana though but, s'Lady-Di an that''. There were various iteration and repeats of this basic phrase and premise, executed by both female participants most nasally, then mooted, mulled over and repeated ad idiom through the journey.    I stared determinedly out of the window, including during a seemingly very long and definitely very dark tunnel. During my fixed window staring I noted many little ramshackle sheds of varying size and colour, some quite ambitious but all made out of a standard of materials Stig-of-the-dump would likely disdain. As I noticed more and more I got to quietly wondering what these many sheds were used for, and had quickly come up with some silly and amusing thoughts. This distraction along with the easy-rhythm clacking of the tracks was enough to help me escape the Godot merry-go-round of that still happening conversation, for a little while... When after that dark tunnel we flashed back into daylight I noticed in another of the strange small sheds there was a man in the doorway, I saw in his hand a large grey bird and could discern more behind him in the shed. I had an answer, and in triumph murmured aloud, ''Pigeon huts''. I was startled instantly when one of girls whose conversation I'd been trying to drown out bent across the aisle from her seat facing me on the other side, and semi-hissed in my face, ''kreeeez, man''. I nodded, returned to staring out of the window while my heart beat too fast, and wondered what had just happened – I am glad to report that I had recovered sufficiently when we arrived at my station to have imagined a great jean wearing bird called the 'kreez-man' and so named for its cry (in much the same way as the pee-wit). When on disembarking I asked directions to the marketplace, and my heart fell at the realisation that everyone here had the same dull nasal twang as my train companions. The market-place, however, would be easy to find as it was left at Charlie Browns then about 400 yards straight down what was once an old Roman road, and was straight as an arrow. ___________________________________________________________________________ I suppose now is a good time to give some background as to what has brought me here, as I know you'll be wondering. I am here partly as investigator, partly documenter, and trying to be wholly sceptical in a good open minded 'wanting to see' way. I've made a number of visits to a number of places, and for a number of reasons, but some of my jottings and asides on the stranger elements of my experiences have captured a most steady attention from some with strongly specialist interests. Therefore it is that this time, for the very first time, I am to explore a strange event by invitation, and with forewarning of what I am to expect no less. I received a letter a while ago outlining that there was an event the writer wished me to look at, but with no details being provided I simply put it into the 'perhaps pile' and thought no more about it. I wish to be clear, I did not reply to the letter...less than a month later I received a second letter containing details of the events, multiple instances with dates, names of those who'd experienced the phenomenon including reassurance that I could talk to more than one of those so named – in short everything I would have asked for had I sent a detailed list of requests as a response to that first letter, this was really quite amazing to me. Under such positive auspices and omens I determined to go, and made arrangements to visit a mainline railway station and purchase advance tickets so as to get the best value – I know that many people simply call up, but I am still fearful of things getting lost in transit and also of giving a stranger my Access card details, so cash at the station and dealings with a person it was to be. The tickets I got were for almost two months hence, but for a relatively reasonable cost I could travel to complete my investigation of the 'strange bell' – I am also considering the 'silent bell' as a name, you will understand why. The letter I received was from a lady who worked as domestic staff in a grand residence with rather an unusual and noteworthy inhabitant. It was due to the profile of the master of the house, and an incompatibility of 'anything mumbo-jumbo' with his position and role in society, that stories of the phenomenon had been largely suppressed. While those involved in experiencing the events were left unfettered and untroubled afterwards, seemingly free to converse about their experiences and theorise as to what had happened, a cold hand stayed any attempts to document or publicise the stories – so they stayed as just stories told locally, and not to too many it seems. My lady correspondent detailed that in the residence she lives and works in there is a great room with a great fireplace, and above that fireplace is a small-ish silver bell that hangs from a yoke and can be rung by holding a string that dangles below the dome of the bell. It seems that very occasionally the ringing bell is heard, and in the room it is heard coming from none can see the bell rung or even vibrate, even when in the same room none can see the hand the rings the bell, though none are ever looking at it when the ringing happens. ___________________________________________________________________________ I must have been passed by four buses as I made my way down that oh-so-straight main street. The Woolworths had suitcases laid out in a display just inside the many wide open doors, and I very happily spied some with wheels on the bottom. As I'd caught my first train earlier there'd been a fellow who'd boarded after me, and I'd taken my seat and watched as he strode down the platform pulling behind him a not large case that had wheels on the bottom. In 'case' you haven't seen one you stand them on end like a playing card, an ingenious gizmo pops the handle out, and you can then pull it along on little wheels. I was struck by the sight of this man pulling one along now, and was struggling to recall what it reminded me of, where I'd seen something like that before, and then like a lightning bolt it hit me – a line of aeroplane stewardesses on ''Whicker's World'', all in the same bright costumes, and all pulling those dinky little cases behind them. Just as this realisation hit and tickled my brain, the man himself pulled open the door to the carriage and came in with his case trundling obediently behind him – I laughed right out loud. It was a combination of the memory and the timing of his arrival, along with the absurdity of his being a man and having one of those stewardess cases, that caught me perfectly and I really chortled one out. Well this caused several other people in the carriage to notice, and as I turned and watched his reddening neck moving away from me down the carriage he was accompanied by a little wave of travelling sniggers. The rolling tide of quiet mirth broke again into a general (me too) guffaw as he arrived at an empty seat, dropped the handle most deftly, then spun the case into the overhead rack, and all with only one hand. As I have said previously, I manage to maintain a very good poker face when about in the world, but in these private writings I must be open and confess to occasional imaginary terrors and moments of needless panic I am sometimes wont to subject myself to. I must also confess the happy pleasures that the good fates sometimes visit upon me, and will state I enjoyed the shared humour of this moment with my fellow humans most warmly. Despite admiring much in the way of architecture on my short journey down the main street, I will admit I was rather flustered with the exertion of carrying my luggage when I arrived at the main town square with a great, most grand town hall at the centre. As I made my way down the side of the marketplace square which doubled as a bus exchange, I passed most warily a sunken public convenience – I would not spend my penny in that dark burrow of tiles, especially as my destination was at hand. It took quite some time to get over to the side of the road where the gatehouse stood. Despite continuing traffic behind me, as soon as I stepped onto the little area of cobbled street between the white painted houses that approached the arched clock tower the sounds of the world seemed to fall away, and a gentle and easy quiet took over. I could hear the little squeak of my right shoe's burst sole as I continued on under the archway of the gatehouse clock tower and through the open gates onto the wider drive beyond, and hopefully a greeting and some directions to my specific lodgings among the several white dwellings I'd passed inquisitively a moment before. ___________________________________________________________________________ Just on the other side of the gate tower a silver haired woman appeared and swept me up, delivering me a quick tour of my lodgings just outside of the gatehouse as I dropped off my bag. It has been arranged for me to stay at one of the grace and favour church cottages that run alongside the cobbled driveway to the magnificent and ornate gatehouse and clock tower - I had seen flowers tumbling in the little gardens in front of the rather quaint houses as I approached the road to cross it. She chattered happily as we headed back under the noble arch that formed the gated main entrance under the clock tower of light sandy coloured stone made gatehouse. As we'd passed under I glanced back up at the clock face. The faded teal colour seemed to almost hum vibrantly with (or against) the gold of the numbering and bleached orange umber tones of the stonework, now being accented in a strong beaming shaft of sunlight from between passing clouds. I was listening and considering , and didn't think I could discern any ticking noise or sense of a mechanism. ''That came later'', announced my guide without turning or looking at me, ''T. Robinson, man of Rokeby, for Bishop Trevor in the mid-18th – nicely done I think with a bit of panache – this is yours, and you have your own key''. She held my key for me, looking at me this time but unnervingly unlocking the door with another key she was clearly going to retain – she pierced the little crooked metal wound of the Yale lock with needle threading accuracy, while her face was turned to me expectantly eyeing the proffered key for me to accept. Taking the key I fear I half bowed at her in a moment of quiet confusion - she certainly looked suddenly most delighted with a shining amusement in her eyes. There is a lot of room for me in the house, and I have mainly used only four rooms – my bedroom, the bathroom and kitchen being obvious (I can feel you pulling a face, I can manage more than tea and toast) I am pleased to say I also have a cosy little sitting room. It has a comfortable chair as well as a sofa just about long enough to curl up on, and a neat little fold up table with two upright (hard backed, lord be praised) chairs under the window to catch the light. I'll admit I was very tickled to find it has a television in the corner, and have watched some most excellent highlights of the wonderful last test match in Leeds. Best of all an upright gas fire with a lovely large blue gas bottle connected by an orange hose in the back – this provides the most wonderful heat and atmosphere of an evening. I visited the local cinema tonight and watched the most excellent 'Empire Strikes Back' - on returning and reflecting on it over a whisky, I have now christened my little fire R2-E2 in memory of the little robot in the film. The name is meant to represent 'I do heat you', but I admit it seems more of a stretch to hear the intended meaning in the original, as I repeat it to myself. __________________________________________________________________________
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the ringing bell - Friday (part 2) (posted on: 01-06-15)
h...^...h

FRIDAY I would say I was up with the lark, but am unsure what type of (fledgling?) bird was making that noise which sounded like it was coming from my attic. I was tucked in tight under a good old traditional bedspread-blankets-bedsheets arrangement lying on my right hand side, and in the too-early just before daylight listened to that regular high pitched squeak noise for a seeming age. Despite having the World Service playing at a low murmur on my little portable radio (as always) all I could concentrate on was the grating certainty of that small plaintiff squeaked noise. Eventually made restless with frustration I turned over to my left hand side, with great effort under the tight (but welcome on what seemed a frosty dawn) bedsheets and coverings, and joined by a great groan turning to outraged shriek from the bedsprings. When all had subsided I was lying on my other side and considering that if I did slip off into sleep my dreams would change, knowing that if you want to continue dreams after a night-time pee you should always lie back in the same position. I then realised the noise had stopped, and all I could hear was the welcome burbling of an educated voice broadcasting to the whole wide world. The regular small squeak, most annoyingly timed so as to coincide with my breathing perfectly had ceased after I had turned over, amazing and inexplicable! As I lay there considering the possibilities I was drifting back into sleep absent the annoying certainty of that noise, and had semi-concluded that the fledgling had fallen fatally from its nest precisely as I turned over and thus any noise had been completely unnoticed by me. Any squawk, flap or thud completely overwhelmed by the must-be-apocalypse-of-the-accordions cacophony that accompanied me manoeuvring 180 degrees through my axis of least resistance over a two and half foot space. I did gladly drop back off to sleep in what was definitely a cold dawn that clouded my breath, and seemed to have frosted the inside of the glass window panes I noticed in the last moment before I was helpless to dreams – and what dreams they were. Driven doubtless by my thoughts on the timely precision of the squeaky chicks conjectured death, and the programme about traditional English nursery rhymes that had started on the radio just as I floated off, I dreamt of a strange universe of supernatural slapstick and coincidence. In this realm, which I viewed as I willed (including through time and all walls) good forces and the evil would interfere in earthly affairs with much enthusiasm using paranormal powers, but would conceal this from mortals by use of coincidental natural events to hide their interference. When evil was pushing a lorry over onto the car of two good souls, it would make sure to cause a minor road accident and make to look frayed those straps which snapped in the gleeful frenzy of deathly sorcery. Where frogs were once dropped to make a soul know greatness and goodness was at hand, so a clever wind would be made another time so as to show an inquisitor how it could be done natural. And so on, hidden hand acts of malice or good motive obscured behind clever unnatural manipulations, with enchanting words and tunes (from the radio) in the background as I viewed these most magic deeds. __________________________________________________________________________ The next morning I made myself a sandwich of a couple of rashers of bacon and a fried egg, from the basic but sufficient provisions that have been kindly left for me in the fridge and larder of the little kitchen. There was a good deep earthen-wear bread bin in the pantry, so what was a fresh loaf when I arrived should last the bit less than a week I intend to stay. With root vegetables and potatoes, big lumps of two types of cheese, some salad veg and plenty of eggs, the bread and coffee and tea and plenty of powdered milk I was well set - and there was the town on my doorstep if I wanted to eat out. As well as my little breakfast, last night I'd made myself a toasted sandwich of cheese and onion in one of the machines designed especially for the job. I'd most happily munched my toasted sandwich in the warm company or little 'ardoo' last night, and was most content today burying my face in the soft white buttered folds of this morning sandwich and the yokey crispy sweet-and-saltiness within (always ketchup, never brown even if I am this far north). At 10 there was a sharp knock on my door, and my welcomer from last night popped her head in the door just as I was finishing my coffee as the last of breakfast, taken at the little table in the window which was catching the morning sun most pleasantly. After yesterday's events I was little surprised when Deirdre (as I would learn she is called) immediately then turned her head to consider the lit and warming presence of R2-E2 while wishing me a 'good morning' through the back of her head. ''You got it going then'', she said with perhaps something hinted in the tone of her voice, I wasn't sure - was I not meant to use the fire, did they resent the gas bottle being run down? ''Oh yes, he's definitely a smart little droid'' I said playfully, and received in return a darkly scowled expression as she then swivelled her face back to be directed towards mine. As promised I was taken into the Castle proper and shown a wing called 'Scotland', ''though none are sure why'' I was informed, but was suspicious and doubted that immediately. The 'palace' is a grand place of high ceilings and great rooms, with a fine collection of high art mainly from the Iberian peninsula and biblical in subject, but most excellent nonetheless. Deirdre as my guide was obviously warmly proud of the place, and it seems her and her husband's families have both been here for generations, in domestic service to the noblemen cum clerics who've lived here since medieval times in semi-rural splendour. After an enjoyable hour or so wandering great flagstone floors and admiring antiquity after portrait after irreplaceable tapestry, and occasionally perching on various ancient seating, we eventually arrive to a high room ending in a grand staircase, with fireplace on one side. While keeping attention on the lady talking to me I take in wood panelling, stone floor edges and red carpet running throughout, with outcrops such as the one we were moving onto next to the fireplace replete with two deeply upholstered chairs of undeniable ancientness. We settled in and I got the first serious, satisfying, details of the bell that brought me here. __________________________________________________________________________ ''It is in this great room, part of the original and main part of the castle buildings, that the bell stands and is heard to ring'', from her large throne like chair on the other side of the unlit fire she indicated the bell on the fireplace. As outlined in her letter to me, the bell hangs from a yoke in a little wooden frame on the mantelpiece. It is about 4 or 5 inches in height, and a small frayed piece of string (original Deirdre assures me) hangs down from the clapper which is a shiny silver in contrast to the beaten and scuffed almost pewter look of the bell itself. It was the unpromising look of the bell's exterior that caused me to be so surprised when it rang clear and crisp, although quiet it was such a sharp perfect tone that I was sure it would be heard even faintly a long distance from here, within the house and buildings. I was equally sure that anyone who knew that tone would not mistake it, and anyone who had it repeated to them to confirm a previous unseen ringing could similar tell it was the same – it had a very distinctive and clear character, so while subtle it surely would be hard to mistake. Deirdre then told me tales running back hundreds and hundreds of years, of people of varying standing in life being in or around this room and hearing the bell ring, but with no hand ever seen to ring it, no vibration of the bell to see as it rung (if such thing can be seen). ''There were early instances, well known to us but never spoken of widely due to staying hand of the church, where people were only feet from the bell when it rang out'', Deirdre eyed me hard after divulging this particular tit-bit of new bell-information. ''They would turn to find the room empty, or not a soul within 20 feet who could have rung it ''. Deirdre was much warmed to her topic, and I liked the version of her that always looked at you as she spoke, in slightly hurried and spit fleck punctuated punchy sentences. ''It is said that none have ever seen the bell rung, but many have heard it'' she leaned toward me a little, ''but I suspect one may have seen and paid a cold price for it''. She then told a story from a good few decades ago about a man named James (or Jimmy) who's surname and some details she has asked me to keep discreet, but I am free to report he ran the Sun Inn pub hereabouts and was bringing whisky to the 'palace' one morning. ''The cook had clearly dropped the bottle she used for cuinary purposes'' said Deirdre, with the same delighted expression on her face and illuminating her eyes as I'd seen yesterday. This Jimmy from the Sun Inn had apparently passed on the whisky and was departing past the fireplace where the bell stood, when it rang out loud and clear. The domestic who Jimmy had handed the whisky to appeared at the top of the stairs, and said that Jimmy was stood abreast the fireplace white as a sheet. He is said to have shouted, ''I was looking right at it and no hand rang that bell'' and then run straight out of the castle grounds to his pub. ''They found him at opening time, stiff and dead on the floor, eyes staring, 30 years old''. ___________________________________________________________________________ After receiving further chilling detail I left Deirdre's company and wandered out of the main entrance and through the walled gates into the gravelled entranceway by the gatehouse. Next to the gatehouse and clock tower, within the grounds of the castle itself, there is a large three storey double fronted building of the same sandy coloured stone that is the imposing and sturdily well-set Castle Lodge. It has striking but faded wooden window frames and door timbers, and is very much of a piece with the main 'palace' building while also being sympathetically in harmony with the adjacent and I think later-built gatehouse. I was watching the reflection of a tree in the small leaded panes of the large bayed ground floor windows when great joyous cataclysms of music by brass instrument emerged from what I now noticed was an open upstairs 3rd floor window. This loud, but most harmonious refrain continued and I was sure I was starting to make out a familiar tune, when a lightly warbling voice joined in with what I now recognised was an old Astaire number, still accompanied by those oh-so-loud-and-warm throbbing and crescendos of what must have been a great brass band. Transported I stood there in the warm sunshine of the sometimes cloudy day, a whirl of strange surrounding and weird tales within my not yet settled person, when another window opened on the second floor right above me as the air suddenly became thick. First a red haired head emerges, it's owners face looking disgusted at me with the tiny eyes not showing the least glimmer of warmth or intelligent recognition of my looking back at them. I am observed for a few fleeting seconds while the music continues, and just as I expect something to be said or, well, noise to emerge from that ginger head it is withdrawn and I stand reflecting now. The strangeness of the eyes and lack of any greeting were very disconcerting to me given we were, to my quickest guess, probable near neighbours for the duration so far, and remainder of my short (but seeming longer momentarily) local stay. Then a few seconds later a new head emerges, this one an older man with brilliantined grey hair and slim moustache, pencil black in sharp contrast to the silver sheen on his pate. He narrows his eyes, and then with a most delicately achieved little execution of the 'look left and right, then beckon' needed to universally and silently bring another into confidence, says to me in a slightly hammy educated accent, ''You can't call this dead can you? Listen''. Then he intones the following, looking at me most significantly through still narrowed eyes, ''legless I am and drunk no more this Irish Stew be back in captivity safe beyond the good light's door''. Using his thumb to upturn the end of his nose in a piggish impression, he then bellows ''Animal Farm, Animal Farm'' and disappears, slamming the window behind him. ___________________________________________________________________________
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sunner (posted on: 15-05-15)
~O~

remember the gentle felt of a sunlit morning only as it happens to my closed eyelids winter to sunner, rebuilt
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deadpoet on 15-05-2015
sunner
This is just how I feel in Spring- when the sun gains power and the Wintry grey mood disperses. Well said in a few simple words. Did you mean "felt" or "feel"?

Author's Reply:
thanks for taking time to read and the great comment, much appreciated, and 'no un'intended use of felt πŸ˜‰


nombres mumbles (posted on: 17-04-15)
mmmhmmmrmmhmrmhmmhrmhmmhm

searched for the word calculator on the web got four hundred and sixty eight million results in nought point two two seconds if there'd been enough matches the total it could have returned in one full second was 2127272727.27 try and read that without moving your lips
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Nomenklatura on 18-04-2015
nombres mumbles
Ha, playful and intriguing.

Author's Reply:
many thanks, really glad u enjoyed

deadpoet on 18-04-2015
nombres mumbles
I tried to calculate myself and got lost in space. Search engines are amazing. Great ditty..

Author's Reply:
amazing indeed, thanks a lot for reading and the great comment

Pronto on 19-04-2015
nombres mumbles
Ha ha, I loved it. Wittish and twittish most amusing .

Author's Reply:
cheers Pronto, really glad you enjoyed it - Greg


was E. Howard Hunt (posted on: 17-04-15)
;;;;OO;;;;;;;

was E. Howard Hunt also DB Cooper one of three tramps just off Dealey Plaza prolific prize author who beat Gore Vidal looked like smoking dude you saw in Garry Trudeau cartoon strips of never-ending wit maybe commited regicide of the Ceannιidigh for sure he was a Watergate plumber check out these things see what strange it brings
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Nomenklatura on 18-04-2015
was E. Howard Hunt
I liked this, reminded me a little of some of Dom DeLillo's obsessions. Liked the use of the Irish spelling. I'm a great fan of myth, not such a great fan of conspiracy theories.
Good poem.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the read and kind comment, will these theories become modern myth in centuries to come (maybe a bit prosaic if they do ;o) - cheers, Greg


my mime made mine (posted on: 13-04-15)
j|i|nx|O|ji|n|x

once with a very sore throat that prevented speech I got inebriated on special local cider that, like screwed your mind made lights flash at noise and in the midst of this weird shit I realised that with other imbibers I could share a strange pre-talk language of look here insinuations don't care shrugs an array of subtle grimace or smile, with eyebrow raises covering most eventualities final triumph being when by mime alone myself and buxom from here agreed to pull our chairs behind a curtain to make truth of my last mime
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Bozzz on 14-04-2015
my mime made mine
Re the buxom, evidently cider inside her too. A rather frequent type of alliance and very aptly described at that. Bravo! Yours aye...David

Author's Reply:
Indeed and agreed, many thanks for the read and great comment David - Greg


aeon-fibre (posted on: 13-04-15)
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvYYYYuYYYYvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

carbon which makes us and all organic things we know of is poisoned from the beginning kills all it's creations from the inside from inception being as it is the second burn of the true fire starlight of the real universe we can't see but is there unperceivable among the dark matter
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in that commie evermore (posted on: 10-04-15)
JllnxnllL

I know it's only dreams but why not write of the English Cuba the little island just beyond Ireland, but more northward always linked to Russia for evermore seems strange, is stranger nothing but black and white photos apparently able to escape it's sticky magnetism you can visit only by small boat you can stay, but expect things to be kinda bleached out queerly faded and obscured towards the edges there's little choice in the way of food but booze there is little boats will take you to tinier isles where everyone queues for 9am the hour of legality to get stocked up for the day on "bottles, pills and bottled thrills" departing expect bureaucracy moveable tidal walls or problems with previously unseen definitely small aeroplanes or hover-items needed to leave the islands this is a dream
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Dengle the cheat (posted on: 03-04-15)
*#@u@#*

one man on holiday maybe middle class definitely English reflecting on a boring life not enjoying his own heavily suppressed personality worn on the sleeve 'toe the line' views breakfast with him take a walk to mountain foothills he's both dreaded and hated but is decided to do going so far as talking at length about plans for it to a friend before he departed today is asked to referee water polo between the drunk Irish and some pilled up English during which his performance and pantomime loud asides seem to reveal bitter racism and prejudice Dengle acts most irrationally in his role as referee almost causing a riot between previously friendly youth cheat is shouted in accents varied toward Dengle's departing back he smirks in quiet impersonation "ah lads, it's a bit of craic"
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sweetwater on 03-04-2015
Denby the cheat
Enjoyed this very much, but did find it a little difficult to read having no punctuation marks to follow.

Author's Reply:
really, really pleased you enjoyed SW - you are not the first to prefer punctuation, I seem locked in but will consider πŸ™‚


in line (posted on: 27-03-15)
~~~~~~~~o0----¬

we are all our own gods holding belief in an immortal human soul out of a fear that private worlds we inhabit between our ears shall one day be no more the closer you are to death the closer you are to God these words now appear everywhere in the civilised world in line
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mickey micheal decades (posted on: 27-03-15)
O_O

a decade or decades have passed: ''how do you feel about Mickey Mouse? I cannot stand the big eared fucker, way he squeak-talks the whole fucking time all I can fucking here is that big-eared fuck calling that shit coloured mutt in that god awful voice'' this seems somehow coherent: ''and did that lady-him even talk? if she did she'd talk like that fucking freak, that fucking mouse he was like some weird fucking forerunner to Michael Jackson man - actually that is the bomb that is the total shit Mickey Mouse didn't die he kidnapped Micheal mother-fucking Jackson and melted his face over his big old mouse face thats why it looks so stretched cos its stapled right round the back and it's lost colour like an over inflated balloon it all fucking adds up, any day now he's gonna be grabbin his dick and perspiring freely on stage when ...ber-doingggg'' there are mimes with these parts: ''his false Michael Jackson head comes flying off his massive Mickey Mouse face on show far too big on the skinny plastic exoskeleton he's been cramming his big pliable black and white cartoon body into'' Michael Jackson has been dead for some time: ''you are right to look afraid my friend because Mckey aint going any-fucking-where any fucking time soon because he is black and fucking white and the black and white, they never age never get old fucking fountain of fucking youth that is de-fucking-termined'' there may be arousal: ''if I saw Betty fucking Boop even now I still fucking might why you asking sweetheart?''
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Mikeverdi on 27-03-2015
mickey micheal decades
Not my usual morning read but....that's just brilliant!
You have several spelling mistakes.... but I don't suppose you give a shit. They didn't drag me from the story,I loved it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
many thanks Mike, glad you enjoyed despite it being a bit different

sweetwater on 27-03-2015
mickey micheal decades
I wasn't going to comment as this is really not my kind of thing at all, any piece of writing, especially poetry liberally peppered with obscenities is not worth the time it takes to read in my opinion. But it is only my opinion and I am sure there is something worthwhile that you are saying, and others will enjoy it. I just wanted to say that it won't appeal to everyone that's all. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
many thanks for the read and comment SW, it is liberally peppered but hopefully not gratuitous (as it is character spoken) πŸ™‚ Greg


who's-sterity? (posted on: 23-03-15)
BbbbbiuiuiddddB

I saw and did what was captured in a picture I can remember the sea's too blue to be true hear the jungles apes and gorillas think little but charge lots fear those who've already got in Greece they call the all encompassing facilitated by literally millions tax and jobs scam clientelism
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web bound (posted on: 20-03-15)
ouuuu000uuuuo

in the work car park with me sister giving her a lift she notices massive years thickened super dusty spider-webs hanging off where supporting pillars meet the roof in doom laden triangles she turns truly wide eyed and frightened "what would you do if you walked into one and got it on your head" clasping her hands now "what would you do?" I had no answer, have no answers
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Ancient Man in Britain - Mackenzie (posted on: 16-03-15)
.....l.....

Claudian, the fourth-century Roman poet, refers to "the fading steel wrought figures on the dying Pict". In one Celtic Elysium, known to the Welsh and Irish, the dead feast on pork as do the heroes in the Paradise of the Scandinavian god Odin. There is no trace in Scotland of a belief or a desire to reach a Paradise where pork is eaten. Men who ate eels became insane, and fought horses.
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king-boris (posted on: 16-03-15)
DivIviD

so world king takes charge gets all people from the past who'd been near the bad ones who's evil wasn't unearthed while alive to be punished not uncovered in position their secrets known only to other indoctrinati asks what strange, strangling oppressively pervading stately misinformation had encouraged it to be so laughing he adds, "and don't just show me a window" after quiet discussion a mirror is brought
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g-trot sound pro (posted on: 13-03-15)
H_-_-_-_-_H

doing right now what I try and recapture to my damage live an instant that will inspire nostalgic revisits whispers distort one note may sustain, always fade away at new softness fields sway harmonious in good promise a sense of Asia looms, strengthening in growing rise settled cuckoo steadily continues warming en-trance
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Cuba-freezer (posted on: 06-03-15)
brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,..,rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrb

the mayor of Miami dreams about clubbing it in a newly opened up but still run down Cuba bike rides, gleaming old cars days of sun brimming with rum beaches and ways round but not ways up overheated in a club is invited into temperate parts, realises it's a kind of window-based air-con providing the cool then sees the faces changing in that cool dry dark corner they become crack-veined haggard and blued in an instant before he quite leaves one whispers urgent in his ear "we haven't fully gone cold cannot contain us"
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which way is up (posted on: 06-03-15)
%? ^? £? $? &&&?

under challenge from someone friendly Doctor Magyu watched a documentary about climate change history on the good old bbc "I watched from the view that there was a conspiracy to lie as my friend said I saw the conspiracy clearly now I can watch it endlessly and see no other truth" poor Doctor Magyu
Archived comments for which way is up
franciman on 06-03-2015
which way is up
I've not heard of Dr Magyu but that's irrelevant for me. This is great poetry -an essential 'truth' told in a minimum of words. And it's about my favourite propaganda machine.
Respect,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Cheers Jim, your respect I will particularly take, and the propaganda organ in question is certainly questionable....Greg

stormwolf on 08-03-2015
which way is up
Hi Greg,
Enjoyed and congrats on the nib. I was wondering why you chose to use punctuation almost indiscriminately? You do not use capitals to start the first line or for the BBC but you do with Dr Magyu πŸ˜‰
It just stood out for me and took away from the rest but that's just my personal opinion and I rate the poem and its message.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the comment Alison, your are right that I am very minimalistic with punctuation and capitals, but bits for people and speech (and occasional pause commas) do seem to sneak there way in, and I try not to post edit so they are what they are - really glad you liked anyway ;o)


tt (posted on: 02-03-15)
yyuuttrrttrryyuu

small changes in arrangements leave me all worn through didn't look or want of this now am asked what to do
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thereafter (posted on: 27-02-15)
OVv_vVO

if someone hits rock bottom once it thereafter haunts their face shifty shadows float underneath from the little lick of death
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hand-wound-camera obscura (posted on: 27-02-15)
~~~~UucC]-------;

slow inhalation "sitcom about the use of the Air-Loom for entertainment purposes aim they would use it to Air-Loom into people's minds" building music in background "in the presentation they'd say isn't this a great idea for entertainment?" strong violins "and then they would use the Air-Loom to influence the protagonist for their enjoyment through secret cameras" piano and violin tauten to crescendo "and how would they know where to film well obviously they would Air-Loom the protagonist" repeat throbbing hum from too tight string
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franciman on 27-02-2015
hand-wound-camera obscura
This one draws you in. I don't necessarily get it all but love the winding up of tension.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
thanks Jim, glad it grabbed you, even a bit, cheers as ever for the read and comment - Greg

Savvi on 28-02-2015
hand-wound-camera obscura
I like the use of the sound track Bo it really helps build the tension for the reader. Thanks for the read, Keith

Author's Reply:
no, thank you Keith - much appreciated, Greg


the big meadow (posted on: 20-02-15)
*I^^*))O

we'd lived near each other for ages first played out, then went out hung round all the time together until at seventeen we walked to the big meadow it was well known a massive overgrown field skirted by roads on two sides with a wood in the middle train tracks at the far end always burdened and verdant with plant life of some sort if I close my eyes yellow with dandelions on this day, it's silly but me and her walked to 'little wood' in the middle and stayed there in a tent she'd brought for two full days stig and wife runny toilet funny tasting tea and freedom to be then the police came turns out she was wanted for summat like a proper crime still though, good
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big woody foot (posted on: 20-02-15)
??wwioioww??

a woman said ok show me bigfoot and so I said I just can't she asked why then we watched old woody woodpecker cartoon reels so she'd know cos wood costs
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remembs (posted on: 16-02-15)
T__TiiT__T

who remembers the thatch roof cottages on that walk to work only I had to do the understandings those realisations never spoken to just gone like talk who remembers the thatch roof cottages
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sweetwater on 18-02-2015
remembs
I did not quite understand this, is it about things going un - noticed untill they are really gone? Sorry I am probably being incredibly thick πŸ™ But even so I did really like the poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:
thanks Sue, just hit me that thoughts could be gone like common talk really, and that was a real bit of me with the roofs and stuff, guess the answers no-one - doh!


help today (posted on: 16-02-15)
???O???

if you challenge someone with straightforward don't hurt people for what you want ideas, but find them incapable of response half starting words eyes widened yet unspeaking it's because they can't quite believe what they believe such indoctrination through generations into selfish thinking and so easily tested then treated pick your argument find the wrong mend the brainwashed and help today if you get a real one just run fast away
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pvc made haze (posted on: 06-02-15)
|/¬¬^¬¬|

there's a magic in the morning after over-nighting in a tent uncrouch through evolution emerge to light through a vent leave behind plastic smell the sometime drip from new swell internal water cycle proper air to get into these must be the good days as you wander think of this in red-cheek pvc fume haze and pursuit of a quiet piss
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metaguy (posted on: 06-02-15)
DDDeDDDDlDDDDuDDDDDeDDD

met a guy in a pub told tales of how he'd approach fellas quite random and follow them for a bit get them on their own tell that in conversation with satanists the fellas name got mentioned and the satanists spat said they wouldn't help him cos the fella was God's son "I really sells it to 'em got a proper gift when I wanna" then the meta-pub-guy explained further said he'd wait and watch camp out local knowing the fella would see him "think's its all part of it I never talks to 'em again and then after a bit they all tops 'emselves. Like Koresh said this might not be it but it's sure as 'ell what would likely 'appen if it really was" one eye opens a little slower than the other when he remembers to blink
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left-right (posted on: 30-01-15)
))))0((((

with enough practise you can when beating 'your man' afford to stand idle give it the full Waddle own that space with skill impose your will until you taunt them in keep loose, start dancing either backward sweep outside of foot infield or if it's been left open use your grace and pace such as it may be in my good case to hurdle that defender's late planted foot as they are stranded drive into space flowing into attack you power on, now strong 'get round the back' choose a target, and clean on the head you really done it made 'em dead and so at last forget any past all the world made fun cos what you just done
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u4u (posted on: 16-01-15)
u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u4u

here's a swig to your hips and a shout right out to your super-sexy pout while I get me heat out as we sit in a car steamed up for no reason except walking while around us in this forest picnic area some who knew it round here britpop rednecks do donuts and we are admired for what they can see of us through the condensed now paw marked windows I would let it slide but we're just back from Pride
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thank Martin (posted on: 16-01-15)
"#"

traced batch smell backwards from Information to Money by audiobook in the fiscal number the deeply rich corporate voice ahead of the good stuff makes our author someone 'Ami' enough for a three page rant and maybe even recurring sub-theme I thought then in the second part it's back to Amis in that suck-my-dick-to get-my-shit intro "why get the fucking second part right and not correct the bastard first it's five fucking seconds it's like it's definitely on fucking purpose" I hear my now familiar narrator say know I must thank Martin
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shoney oneday (posted on: 12-01-15)
dddddddd{D

first to not as good North Shields then straight to Marsden as a kid resenting nearby shows so close at South hearing the noise, adding imagi-onion smells making the best of it flew a kite on the open bit near the cliffs played cricket proper game of footer with some lads a bit before we left there was some gadge told a few of us on the beach a bit about the seonaidh fat snake-god of the sea who'll own yer minds and take yer all under if we'd been fishermen years ago and that we mighta been yucked to the seonaidh youngest first "and it's blood it wants we'd a cut yer throats" he shook his hands and, like, hummed we ran up the steps
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plan ahead (posted on: 12-01-15)
Juuuuuu/.>.>

maybe have that whiskey just before midnight if you don't, and the worst occurs feel sure you'll regret it
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New Munn (posted on: 22-12-14)
Happy Christmas

Andi had explained to Shavlik about Jed and her meeting at his church, and her inviting him to give services at the brothel ''mainly for the catholic Poles who don't dare take real communion''.   Shavlik had noticed Jed kind of twitch and cringe as he supped at his pint when she said that, and almost immediately Jed made his excuses and went to the bar to top them up.   Andi then listened in deep concentration as Shavlik told the story about his friend Bukers' sudden and grisly demise when he had got Shavlik onto the strange religion with seemingly ardent and peculiarly high status followers.  She interjected a few times where things struck chords with her own reading and experience, in her opinion you couldn't really live in the new age without forming your own spiritual world view - and while hers was still forming, she'd done a good bit of reading in preparation.   ''Perhaps there is some link to the old tales of those who could summon demons and familiars to assist them, the bible speaks of them often and says they are to avoided'' Andi paused, and Shavlik nodded for her to go on, ''but then Solomon used demons to help complete the temple by working all night, and in the end turned his back on God as he could attain such earthly powers''.   ''Where Solomon went it does not say'', she continued, ''but the Jews went back to worshipping god afterwards; perhaps some of Solomon's thoughts and teachings were carried on..'' - then they spoke together - ''..by an elite!'' They looked eyes gleaming at each other,   Andi had enjoyed that, it made her brain tickle to bring old knowledge to bear on new problems, and this hairy pretty one in front of her seemed still alive between the ears, despite the terribility of the world.   Shavlik was wide eyed still, ''This is exactly the kind of insight I wanted to spitball around, something to at least give me a lead, something to chase done - and you burble it out like a blummin Christmas miracle!'' he looked like he might kiss her, Andi wouldn't mind.   Though his clothes were extra-double vintage he smelled lovely and the facial hair was carefully unkempt if you looked closely (she had) and then there were those eyes…   ''Really I suppose that's the sort of input that I expected of him'' Shavlik said, indicating Munn at the bar with a nod of his head.   Jed was leaning in to get served, whilst politely trying to acknowledge a stream of conversation issuing from a very red haired, very buxom, very red faced middle aged lady half sitting on a bar stool next to him.    ''One wrong move and that whole thing will be devoured'' whispered Andi; she and Shavlik grinned at each other, acknowledging the filthy ambiguity of her comment and delightedly sharing their pleasure at Jed's obvious social discomfort - it bonded them.    Good King Wenceslas was being played now, and Shavlik was feeling the two pints he'd had as well as the warm air of conviviality that was swirling round the bar, he felt happy and like he'd made a friend.  He leant in to Andi, ''a real good brassy version''.   Andi put her tongue into her cheek in mock thought, ''Is this a double meaning on the one at the bar as well, I'll take it and play but I thought only blondes were brassy?'' she glanced at the bar, ''and this one is red where you can see, and hiding a badger where none should venture!'' - she stuck her tongue out at him in final conclusion.   Shavlik put his thumb to his nose and waggled his fingers in retort (he was feeling the beer) and said, ''the song smartarse, oh lord I wonder what makes you so wondrously clever?'' he said in mock awe.   ''Acid'' she said with a huge grin, ''it like re-wires shit or something and you're better, all chrome-gleam-inside-your-headed'' she drew in a gulp of air, ''do you want to have some?  I like you''. _____________________________________________   So they agreed to finish their drinks and head out to the car park to Shavlik's car and drop in peace and quiet.   ''I am enjoying this brassy number'', said Andi, ''can we maybe put some Carols on in your car, and the heater on for a few minutes to start us off in the right way?''   Shavlik nodded his agreement, and signalled his added assent with an extremely gauche double thumbs up as he still reeled under the possible implications of the ''I like you comment''.   Meanwhile Jed seemed to be still struggling to get his order completed at the bar…   ----------------------------------------------------------------   ''Sorry mate got a pub full of festive fuckwits who've spilt more than they've drunk, gotta change the barrel''.   So with a half pulled pint so far completed and out of his reach, there Jed was stranded.   He was not, however, alone – ''ask and you shall receive, that's beautiful isn't it'' said the buxom woman with ruddy hair and complexion.  She leant right over and gave swell to the full cantilevered magnitude of her rolling bosom while releasing a waft of perfume containing what seemed to be the scent of every flower, and maybe all flowers it was so strong.    As his watery eyes tried to make sense of the swimming sea of pink with a single black shaft diving down it in front of him, his ears were filled with hot breath.   ''Isn't it just beautiful'' she paused and ran a finger round a nipple through his shirtfront, ''reverend'' she positively dripped over the word, drawing it out like Marilyn mistering a president.   Jed Munn was terrified, she'd zoned in on the collar and here was he tethered to the bar until the barman changed the barrel and completed his order, adrift and free to be tossed in the tides of that fulsome bosom...god did he wish that the barman would return.   ''you must feel liberated and vital at this time of the year father'' she pinched his cheek, ''doing what you were born to and just having a great time with it, eh dear'', she held onto his cheek.   ''Just letting the spirit of the season flow through you, and out into the world'', the hand not holding his cheek slipped up his inner thigh to within a micron of that by which he did let flow out into the world.  He'd had this before at Christmas, he really had, but this was something else, this was serious persistent and seemed set to continue, and god forbid even develop…   ''Did you know that there are eastern horoscopes discovered that are close to time we think Jesus was born, that do tell of a great king to be born near Egypt, and my sister did a two resort trip to Tel Aviv and Cairo and reckoned the transfer was like half an hour in the air'' the hand that was previously on his face was now tracing down his body over his shirtfront, whilst the other remained unreasonably but definitely stock still just that terrifying micron away from what might be an imminent elephant in the room.   ''I read a science fiction story once'' now her face came close, he felt the breath again, ''about a man on a spaceship who finds ruined civilisations, and planets devastated by a solar event that would have been very visible from  earth, and coincided with Jesus birth''.  Jed could virtually feel her lips moving on his ear as she talked now, one hand nearing his beltline as the other stayed stock still that micron away.   ''The spaceman had been religious but lost his faith because all the people had been destroyed, even though the facts confirmed details of Jesus birth'', she'd reached his beltline, ''would you lose faith if things get destroyed'', her voice became an almost husky moan meant just for him to hear as she exhaled deep and hot down his ear canal, ''cos I will fucking destroy you..''   ''two pints and a gin and tonic wasn't it mate, there's the first one'', Jed grabbed the glass the barman had put down and swigged hard at it, keeping the glass clamped in place as he frantically eyed around the bar for help.  To his horror he saw Shavlik stand up and make a smoking mime gesture before heading outside with Andi – it was only when he saw the bleary image of his tormentress through the bottom of his upraised glass that he realised he'd drunk his only defence.   ''Same again please mate, look I've got children'', he gabbled the last bit towards the bosom alongside him due to his senses having scrambled, and him therefore choosing the wrong turn at the ''do/don't stare at a woman's large cleavage' junction just previous.    Mention of children seemed to soften the bosom and the visage of she who rode proud above it, ''I have children as well, the boys are just through there'' she indicated two be-suited skinheads visible in the other end of the pub over the shared bar.   ''Lovely boys'', said Munn noticing a large scar on one of their necks and visible facial tattoos on both, ''lovely boys, and we must think of their feelings at this time of the year'', he entreated with genuine concern quavering his voice (albeit for himself) and then he shouted, ''Always!'' because he  had panicked.   She shrieked in joy at this, attracting the attention of her boys who now stared on as she held Jed Munn's head in two meaty painted paws and released a moist cloud at him bearing the words, ''just let it flow out of you into the world''.  She kissed him full and hard on the lips with tongues, and while Jed Munn was held in and returned the full gaze of her sons he received the long kiss, and finally his dam burst giving lease to a huge storking hard on.   With only two stumbles and one half turn for a little wave she was gone, and Jed was left to wait the ebb of his flow so he could stand up without frightening the horses - or tearing his trousers.   ----------------------------------------------------------------   Andi was pleased that Shavlik held the door for her as they went out into the carpark, and they were soon sitting in his little car.  As he switched the engine on and made good on his promise of heat and festive music, Andi arching her back ground her groin almost into the car roof whilst trying to access her right front pocket's deeper reaches in too tight jeans.   ''Marking your territory'', said Shavlik lightly.   Andi played super offended that he'd called her a dog-bitch leaving her scent for a while and she was real good at it, only stopping when she knew he wasn't getting it, ''Only kidding Mr grumpface, here have this with me''.   She held out two small squares of what looked like cardboard, with something drawn on them.   ''Test tubes'' she announced with great gravity, and they popped the small pieces of card in their mouth and chewed them around a bit before swallowing.   ''Straight away it feels like I've licked a battery'' said Shavlik, Andi started laughing.   ''Yes, you've had this before, that's the good electricity that starts it all!'' and she laughed hard some more.   ''Hey, look that pile of clothes moved – oh Christ it's a fella'', the second part was delivered in Shavlik's most high pitched voice.   Slowly the pile of clothes sat up to reveal itself as a man in a duffel coat, and the subsided down again into being a pile of clothes.   ''That Tramp's wearing exactly your duffel coat'' said Shavlik and this time Andi got the hump and wasn't joking.   '' My coat cost hundreds of pounds, I do work in a brothel - haha - to get my money and at least I want to enjoy and be appreciated for the nice things I buy with this dirty money and not be compared to that tramp!''   She had reddened and Shavlik didn't feel a pressing need to point out that all pimps could make that exact same argument.   ''No, only joking, it'll just be that the colour and fastenings look the same and that, god you getting a bit sniffy there didn't half set me off a bit, I can feel it a bit already like, you know, like?'', he had now reddened with the exertion of his rapid little speech.   ''We should go back in or we will get too comfy and have the fear of going back, you know?'', Andi said and Shavlik knew what she meant alright, he'd been there.   ''Yeah back inside it is, I'll shoot to the loo'' and he started taking the seatbelt he'd needlessly put on back off.   As they were about to step back inside Andi whispered, ''listen, the tramp is whispering numbers to himself, shall we check on him?''   It was true that the tramp was whispering numbers, and while that indicated he wasn't passed out it was also a bit weird, so Shavlik said they should talk to Jed about it and see what he thought, ''cos he'll get a lot of them won't he?''   ''Oh'', said Shavlik suddenly, ''I've got a bit of dope if you want a pipe to bring you up?''   Andi declined but Shavlik said he was gonna pop into the toilets for a quick one whilst getting his ''bird to stone ratio up considerably'' and he winked while popping a cork that let gush pure heat and noise in swinging back open the door to the pub. ----------------------------------------------------------------------   They re-joined pub life, and Andi headed straight down the corridor festooned with ropes of tinsel and Christmas cards blue tacked to the wall while Shavlik did a first left into the toilet.   Shavlik went to use the only sit down toilet, and noted with a tickle of pleasure that it was separated from the rest of the lav by a full length door, contained paper, and wonder of wonders had an open window and air freshener. Just as he closed the door to the cubicle he heard the main toilet go again; he had company and would need to be in full silence mode.   Shavlik took his particulars down and assumed the position, and as he started to release his burden he fiddled in the now ankle height pockets of his trousers for his pipe, lighter, and small lump of cannabis resin (pollen at the minute actually, as a Christmas treat).   With well-practised precision he made his carefully chosen lighter flame with a barely audible click and heated a corner of his cannabis, carefully and silently inhaling any escaping smoke.   As he prestidigitationally moved his pipe bowl into position and crumbled in the heated pollen, he very slowly released what he'd already inhaled before moving the pipe smoothly to his lips and repeating his almost silent flame making.   He inhaled steadily and slowly, himself very aware of the tiny crackle and hiss of his activity but confident that general drip, burble and gush of a pub lavs would easily absorb his little additions.  As soon as he had taken his fill he upended the lighter and held it into place covering the pipe bowl and killing excess smoke from any embers, while he held what he'd inhaled for the longest time to minimise residual smoke in the air on his leaving.   He breathed out slowly and was a bit stoned immediately, and as he was still busy with his other reason for this visit had another pipe as he finished off his ablutions.   _____________________________________________   There were two skin heads at the urinals as he was washing his hands, and he wasn't sure if it was the effects of his little cocktail of drink and drugs starting to take hold, but he was paranoidly certain that they weren't actually pissing.   He consciously tried not to eye them in the mirror or from the corner of his eye as he rubbed his hand under the dryer, and almost went cross eyed doing both as his little cocktail of drink and drugs did most decidedly start to take some effect.   Just as the dryer went quiet and Shavlik's heart rate slowed down in almost sympathetic unison, it went hurtling skywards again at the comment from his lurking companions, ''at least the smelly cunt washed his hands''.   Those washed hands shook a little as Shavlik exited the toilet and prepared to let his head spin him back down the corridor and to his seat, where Andi and Jed Munn were waiting for him.   -------------------------------------------------------------------------   Andi was whispering a little excitedly into Jed Munn's ear, he was only half paying attention as he edged a little away from more hot breath pouring into the exhausted love tunnel of his ear canal.  If it had suddenly turned into spring when his sensitive little orifice had been assaulted by the big red head, he could only imagine it would be full Alaskan thaw and flow if Andi started to have a similar effect.   Then his ears served him the function he truly ardently desired of them, and he stopped her in mid-sentence, ''You've taken what because it's Christmas?''   ______________________________________________   When Shavlik took his seat at the table a minute or so later it was under the very watchful eye of Jed Munn who was now fully aware of the imbibing's that had taken place in the car, although was unaware of the optional extra Shavlik had applied in the bathroom.   ''You alright'' said Jed, conspiratorially to Shavlik.   Shavlik controlled the swell of electricity in his mouth without great success, and therefore mumbled a little, ''Be better if is non-pissing arseholes all in the toilet man''.   This must be one of those drug insights journeys through literature told of, but a little gabbled and half formed, ''non pissing arseholes'' Jed mused, could it be clever, was there actually a little jewel of meaning in there just a left turn away from normal meaning?  Jed got a little thrill thinking about this, truly trying to bring back some gold from a friendly phsyochonauts trip to the land of half dreams, then Shavlik spoiled it by making a bit more sense.   ''Why go in the toilet with your skinhead mate and not even do a piss, why not even do a piss, you should do a piss, and not hold hands'' Shavlik had speeded up as he spoke, and his momentum meant he headed off Jed's imminent question by adding, ''they didn't hold hands, just saying that they shouldn't as an always rule, not just this time, k?''   Jed nodded that it was 'k' while Andi giggled away to herself just to the left of Shavlik.   ''These people'', said Andi, ''they were in the toilet right?''   Shavlik nodded and got a yep out through a mouth now very tickly and battery lick-feeling indeed.   ''Then did they get wet and maybe get some poo on themselves'', she was starting to cry with laughter as Jed looked on amazed, ''because they were in the toilet'' and she collapsed into helpless giggles.   Jed looked to Shavlik, but he was struggling to breathe amusement had hit him so hard, and he and Andi were soon trembling jellies of breathless mirth while Jed sat more upright than normal as result of feeling more uptight than normal.    Perhaps you get squarer the closer you are to non-squares, he thought and then abandoned the thought as being too non-square for his current predicament – someone would need right angles to get them out of here, and there wasn't an edge between these two at the minute. ''Look how long does this last'', asked Jed more in hope than expectation of an answer, ''Andi had mentioned going back to the brothel as the girls working are all due to be away at some masked ball event, is that off now?''   __________________________________________   Twenty minutes later the cardboard eaters had controlled the initial flush of their trip, and were pretty much communicable with and presentable socially unless something struck them as mutually funny, in which case up to five minute might be lost.   Jed was content with their assurances that the first twenty minutes were the highest they'd be, and really it would all be fine to go on with their plans for later – he was content, but something niggled in his mind about their assurances of how an acid trip unfolded, but he wanted to stick with the plan and so quietened his doubts.   Jed Munn effortlessly quietened his doubts!   Three days before Christmas now, he needed to speak to his wife at some point his stomach reminded him by going cold and turning slowly and fully over with palpable contempt for him.   --------------------------------------------------------------------   Andi was enjoying where she was in the cycle of her trip and knew she was maybe another half hour to hour before she peaked, but didn't want to spoil the plan for Jed and was sure she and Shavlik would be able to ride this out as needed.   Jed and Shavlik had got back to some discussions about potential sources for the beliefs of this cult they were looking into, and she blurted at them ''oh it'll be Judeo-Christian, deffo, there's no other religions except that root, ask Buddha or the Brahmins, or the Chinese animists!''   She sat slightly outside of herself surprised at her little outburst, and wondering if there was more – there might have been if the two skinhead 'boys' hadn't walked past right at that second.   As they approached Andi could hear them saying that these two here are a 'dirty perv fucking bastard and a smelly scruffy cunt'' but the two here did not turn a hair.   At first she could not believe when they said they did not hear and her blood rose at the thought they were being cowards, but then suddenly she did believe them as she liked them and trusted them, she told them.   ''Ok, ok, you are not shit scared and you didn't hear'', she looked at each, ''but now I have told you I am asking you are you shit scared?''   The skinheads passed again, in the direction of the corridor to the car park and toilets, whispering and chuckling to each other just as they'd gone past Shavlik, Andi nearly exploded.   ''This cannot happen, I will glass them for being bastards if you two are the pacifists you are looking and acting!'' and she started to push her chair out fully meaning to stand up and confront the 'boys'.   Their departing backs must have heard this as one of boys half shouted over his shoulder, ''yeah you filthy perv, scruffy smelly cunt, pacifist pricks''.   --------------------------------------------------------------------   Jed was terrified now, he was genuinely intimidated by the boys and this was heightened and magnified knowing that in what Andi reported they'd said they were partially referring to his religio-goosing session at the bar with the boxom red-head, who claimed them as her 'boys'.   As for Shavlik, Munn wasn't sure if he was scruffy or a very considered rumpled mess but he certainly didn't smell bad, the opposite if anything, not that he was paying too much attention.  Jed would have definitely left the comment uncommented, the challenge unchallenged, the slight un… – he'd run out, but he would have left it if Andi hadn't suddenly got so astoundingly indignant that they should be pacifists, and then invited further retort from the skinheads in suits.   Jed Munn was about to explain that, yes, as a man of the cloth representing his church in public at one of most holy, and universally religiously imbued times of the year, he was a pacifist and proud of it.  Jed was about to explain that when Shavlik started to talk in an urgent manner.   ''pacifists is it'', Shavlik sat up a little as he spoke, ''Pacifists is it the cunts, well I am a fucking pacifist right'', Jed started to relax until Shavlik continued, ''a 6 foot tall slightly pissed and fucked up one whose about to follow them outside and pacify them with my fucking fists''.   Shavlik showed amazing grace and balance in leaving his seat and getting free of the table in one vault over the back of his chair, without having to ask Andi to move.  He stood over his companions sitting at the table opening and closing his fists, and then said ''right, I'm sorry that it's come to this and it's only a few days from Christmas, but that cunt has insulted me and all pacifists like me at what is a very special time of the year, for us in particular'', he breathed deeply through his nose, ''and I am going to smash their fucking faces in for it''.   ---------------------------------------------------------------------   Shavlik was massively reassured when he sensed that Jed and Andi had stood up and were following him down the corridor to the car park, and in his relief felt a big wave of more 'coming up on his trip' rush through his body.   Although he maintained a steady cowboy like swagger towards the car park door in fitting with his inner calm and intent, his heightened senses meant that he took in all the scenes on the Christmas cards stuck to the wall as he passed them.   The majority were snow scenes, many with birds, but he noticed that some were just of dimly lit street scenes, with no snow but a glinting warmth and light through the gloom to imply the time of the year.  He liked this trend, it was more realistic of what you'd really experience when getting a genuine 'ooh, nearly Christmas' feeling as you were out and about in the December evening gloom.   ''Just dark nights and coloured lights, and seldom snow in sight, on an honest Christmas night'' he muttered to himself while trying to bring into focus a large card affixed to the wall at the end of corridor in front of him.   It was a night scene with a tree covered in coloured lights, and no snow in sight - real and honest as he'd come to realise he preferred them, but it was difficult to resolve for some reason and the lights were too realistic…   He found it hard to extend his legs to walk, having to seemingly lift his knees unfeasibly high and then kind of flick his foot and shin forward to catch him as he fell forward into the next step.  He was sure he was getting it wrong, it felt wrong, but his desired result of forward momentum was being satisfied so he was content to persevere.   Still though he couldn't quite make full sense of that 'too real' card that was nearly upon him at the end of corrdor.   -------------------------------------------------------------   Jed was following Shavlik, amazed and impressed by his braveness, and now a little inspired to feel violently angry himself at the hateful words of the boys.  Andi was just behind him telling him to be ready, and that he had to help Shavlik, and that she'd be ready and was going to get a shovel from the back of Shavlik's car.   What with the strangeness of the day, the now six pints he'd had (including one downed almost instantaneously at the bar), and what seemed to be a contagious feeling of rushing excitement from his now high friends, Jed felt most encouraged that he might successfully resolve this situation by violence, if he HAD to.   Andi just behind him said, ''that's the door'' to Shavlik who was peering closely at the slim rectangular pain  of glass in the door and trying to feel at it, as if for texture, ''just push and it'll open''. _________________________________________   Shavlik had been punched in the face once before Jed had even cleared the door, and Munn exited just in time to see his friend lash back three really fast headshots in return, whilst getting up on his toes and looking handy in a way that suggested he might actually be really some good at this.   Jed was just sizing up 'his one' who wasn't engaged with Shavlik, and had decided on a kick to the balls as a first response to what he felt he had to allow to be his opponents opening gambit (he was still a minister a couple of days from Christmas, even if his blood was right up now).   The inevitable attempted punch came from Jed's direct adversary, and he evaded the swipe as his retaliatory but pre-meditated kick let fly.  He made contact too high and got the lower gut, but his man still oofed and began to fall – as his foe crumpled Jed Munn felt an intelectually unwelcome by him, but animally undeniable elation of power shoot up his spine into his neck and head, where it died cold as Andi hissed, ''knives''.   Shavlik had got another good couple of clean headshots in as Shavlik had connected his kick, and in response Shavlik's skinhead had flicked open a knife from somewhere that glinted as time stood still momentarily.   As time gathered it's thoughts, decided it didn't like the look of this situation and made it's excuses to hurry on it's way, Jed had the chance in the treacle moments of time's indecision to see a second knife emerge as his not-too-winded opponent started to get back up.   ''take off your coats to trap their knife hands, get them all wrapped up in your coats and then it will be a fair fight again''.   So taking part in a mime and dance, first Shavlik and then Munn skipped backwards away from their respective skinheads' slashes while slipping off their jackets and swinging them in a spin to wrap around the knife hand of their foes.   Shavlik did well, Jed copied adequately, both coats now wrapped the knife hands.   -----------------------------------------------------------------   ''Ha, you have them now and it's time for the beatdown'' said Andi who was elated that both of the guys had been able to follow her instructions so damn well.   Over the following three minutes she became increasingly worried and concerned for her safety, however, as the skinheads used the anchoring effect of the coats around their arms to slow down Shavlik and Jed and start to get in some very meaty blows of their own.   ''A tiger by the tale'' murmured Andi whistfully, as Jed Munn tried to both make sure his coat stayed engaged with that knife hand whilst simultaneously trying to run away from the heavy punches and headbuts of his connected skinhead.  Shavlik had been doing better, but he was very high now she knew from her own comparative feelings, and was starting to get caught too and was missing with his replies.   The fight seemed to be taking a very nasty turn, with some blood now smearing her guys faces as the skinheads continued visiting damage on their connected foes and made loud with threats and boasts, ''we fucking run it round here, women, drugs, guns, we fucking run it.''   Jed Munn slipped a little, and as he loomed over Jed his adversary bellowed, ''I'll fucking destroy you, I will bury you where we put the the cunts who don't make it over alive from France in the lorries, no-one will ever find you fucking bodies, and as for her we can have some right fun…''   Andi was very scared, didn't have the key to Shavlik's car to get the shovel, and didn't have the sense available to her in her current state to go and get, or even start screaming for, some help from inside.  This was looking nasty.   -----------------------------------------------------------   For Shavlik the fight had been in slow motion and largely painless and enjoyable as a strange  new thing to do when your high, until the tide had turned – now he was frantically concerned about Andi as they were definitely getting the worse of the fight and these guys were saying some bad things.   Then time stopped again, and as it looked embarrased and tried to regain a bit of momentum Shavlik was able to observe the roaring rise of the clump of clothes in the corner that was the numerate tramp.   At his full height he looked to Shavlik to reach and maybe exceed the full span of the tree with lights on that dominated the car park.  A fist from his tethered skinhead arced through the slowing medium of temporarily coagulated time, and Shavlik effortlessly avoided it while marvelling at the geat shaggy behomoth now bellowing an impentrable language as the tree lights swam and danced, and perhaps even started to sing in high pitched choruses behind his massive frame.   Time was now mortified at it's horrendously inconsitent performance, and scuttled at great pace through the conclusion of the fight, making it hard for Shavlik to follow.   He was aware that there was thunder, and that clouds had appeared from the giant tramp's nostrils as he'd rained down countless punches on the rock that trapped Shavlik's arm in order to free him.   Then Shavlik was free, so he took his willy out and had a piss, as he really needed one after all of that and he was high as fuck now.   -----------------------------------------------------------------   Andi had just started to really think about extreme bad ways this could all turn out, when the tramp stands up and four punches later it is all done.   One-two from his massive fists into each skinhead face, and then a too fast descent to the floor for them both as they subsided completely out cold.   The tramp stood going through his duffel coat pockets saying ''where's my ticket, gonna need a lift'' as Andi marvelled that the coat did seem to exactly like hers, and that everyone she liked in this car park might get away from this OK .   She was unurprised that Jed was shaken and seemingly in shock as he unwound his coat from his sleeping partners arm and the blade clinked harmless to the floor,  he staring wide eyed in seeming surprise at it's emergence.   She was surprised when Shavlik started pissing on his defeated foe, but supposed she understood the deep machismo need to establish he'd won this fight completely.    Oh, and they were both really high weren't they!   The fear had stalled her come up, but she knew it would be back for both her and Shavlik soon enough, and decided to get them on the road quickly.   ''Hey, big guy, we will give you a lift where you need to go, OK?'' a great shaggy head nodded and let loose a too bright beam of smiling extra-white teeth from between bearded lips.   ''Can you drive Jed?'', she'd retrieved Shavlik's  coat from the floor and was going through his coat pockets until she held up the car key, ''because we should move before round two…''   ---------------------------------------------------------------------------   Jed knew he wasn't OK to drive really, he'd had six pints and was actually pissed enough to have got involved in a pub car park fight with very little provocation a few days before Christmas…   If his wife could see him now she'd faint, decide to leave him and probablt try self harm – and she was due back into the country Christmas Eve morning, as would he have been if he'd actually gone.   The irony, he thought as they pulled away with he and the tramp in the front and Shavlik and Andi starting to giggle again in the back, was that he'd still needed to use all of the cover he'd arranged at the church for his Ireland trip – couldn't even claim that little salve to his conscience.   He actively realised that he could not give a shit and frightened himself a little.   Jed decided he'd take them to the church - the tramp was angling for a bed for the night with the lost ticket story he reckoned, and Jed would prefer if that big fella did his sleeping on the church sofa rather than at his 'cleaned and ready for Christmas' semi-detached   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Steele has seen the whole incident, and almost feels the need to intervene as there is a conversation he wants to have that he doesn't want anyone to get in the way off.   He is sitting and waiting in his car deciding if he should call an ambulance for the two prone in the car park.   Steele is sitting and wondering if he should call this in, and hoping that these three (four now?) don't get involved further, or hurt.   He decides he wants to have that conversation, and Steel starts driving away with just sidelights on.   -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------   Shavlik sat in back of the car holding Andi's hand loosely and reflecting on tonight and the recent past while tripping hard, noticing the flashing lights and passing gaudy interest of a mind altered car journey through a Christmas market town three days before christmas   Jed was reaching more open road now, and as they sped towards and the under a rail bridge with a stream of lights adorning the side Shavlik's inner voice provided free whizzing and zooming sound effects.   A few minutes later when the carols from the car had started to smell sweetly of honey and lap warmly at his ankles, he looked out of the windscreen to see that they were heading off the end of the road, reaching the peak of a hill beyond which there was nothing but dark night and distant twinkling starlight.   He marvelled at Jed's fearless acceleration towards that good night, go not gentle he supposed as he prepared for the finality, the singularity, the terminality that was the top of this hill they were rapidly devouring.  He held Andi's hand tighter, and finding himself unable to speak due to his fear at the end about to fall upon them he squeaked and sprang to a sweat on his forehead.   When the glinting continuation of the world, and further lovely road to drive upon, was revealed unto him as they browed the hills crest he exhaled in glee and ecstasy and finally received all of the payback chemicals he was due for having a successful (-ly concluded by someone else) fight.   He fought to retain the scalp of his head in it's current position against the a seeming undeniable rising fountain of joy within him as they drove on further toward Jed's church, and those Carols lapped warmly, sweet and honeyed, ever higher. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------   Jed was nearing the bypass and fast road that missed out most of the town, to take him to the poorer end where his church was both located and by happy coincidence most needed.   Shavlik had been making some strange noises in the back, and unable to picture himself explaining the imbibement of acid to the great hairy man-giant in a duffel coat alongside him, Jed hoped that they'd be able to keep it together in the back for now.   The start of the drive had been a little chilly as Jed had opened the window a little as they'd set off, partly to clear window steam, and partly in anticipation of a most rank Christmas stench from a car park sleeper of a tramp.  There'd been no smell, and with the engine providing good heat through the air blowers to de-steam the windows, the windows were closed and they became a warm little capsule hurtling towards Jed's church, his returning wife, Christmas – and who knew what else?   Shavlik became particularly agitated as they went up Larking Rise, but as they reached the top  and dropped again towards the lights of the town and the bypass they were headed for he had audibly relaxed in the back, and a tension left the air in the car.   'Ding Dong Merrily on High' started to play out through the car speakers from the little radio, at first Shavlik hummed along from the back and then about two and three lines into the song joined in singing quietly, but with sweet life and lilting intonation in keeping with the on air performance.   Jed was enjoying this little Christmassy moment as he exited onto the bypass and speeded up, and the acceleration seemed to provoke life in the shaggy tramp alongside him, who now joined Shavlik but in lower counterpoint to his sweet high notes.  They were good, and Andi soon started to join in with the bits she knew, and shared general sympathetic hummings and aahings at the bits she didn't.   So Jed Munn joined in as well, now hurtling down the bypass six pints to the good, doing a good 75 in a 60 zone while crying and singing and heading towards his various destinies – he just wanted to make them all.   That's what life meant.   Making it through to see all the things in front of him resolved and then…   And then start again he supposed, but that would all be after Christmas - now he had singing and cyring and driving too fast to do, and it was still three days to Christmas (just).   -------------------------------------------------------------------------   Andi was truly tripping balls when they got to Jed's church and could feel that Shavlik was in the same position by the intermittend clutchings at her hand, and the occasional musical interlude with varying degrees of in car participation.   She was now sitting with Jed in his little office, while just outside Shavlik and the tramp were getting acquainted further with each other on some stackable chairs from the little meeting hall on the side of the chucrh.   She was certain that there would be no-one there tonight at the brothel, Dave had said take the night off and she'd told him she had planned to stay at a friends place who was away and had lent her they key, rather than stay at the empty brothel.   ''I packed a bag and took it to my friends before I came here and everything, and Dave gave me a lift to nearly outside the place so he thinks I will be away for realsies'' she paused and let the glitterry sparkes flying around Jed's head at the edge of her vision disipate a little before continuing.   ''I was like casual with Dave but asking what his plans were, and he was like full of this get together with his friends from way back he was going to, and that as he knew I was out as well he could put the heating and water off.  He is such a tight bastard but really I think he will not be there. And I want to go!''  She almost shouted the last part. ______________________________________________   After a few minutes further dicussion it was decided that they would return to the brothel where Andi would try and find out more about Nina.  What she had told Jed about Nina, and the Sushi thing, made absolutely no sense to him and sounded like a sci-fi plot, but was also so intriguing he was itchy at the thought of it.   It wasn't yet quite nine, and he wanted to be back here before midnight so he had a chance of using some of the energy and insights of today to get ahead on his Christmas sermon, but knew he'd last until one or two in the morning at best given the day and week he'd had.   ''Let's take the tramp'', said Andi but Jed looked doubtfully past her to the murmur of noises coming from beyond the door, where Shavlik continued his get to know you regime. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the best of circumstances the conversation between Shavlik and his massive hairy counterpart would have been problematic, due to the massive drunkenness that had come as part of the package with his huge (fight winning it must be rememebered) bulk.   In the circumstances of extreme mental highness combined with post adrenal crash that Shavlik found himself in once the rollercoaster of the car ride was over, the conversation between them was halting and stumbling, ripe with misunderstanding and fruity with confusion – but they did get places.   The tramp was called Dai – not Die as in kill people, as Shavlik had excitedly exclaimed on first hearing, but Dai as in Wales.  A very short confusion about Japanese fishing habits later, that fact was established.   Shavlik had then jumped forward in an assumption that the impentrable language the tramp, sorry, Dai, had been bellowing as he rose to his mighty raging height in the car park was Welsh.  He had been wrong, in what was the third most difficult part of their conversation to establish as fact they eventually both understood that Dai had been doing a haka, ''and pretty damned ackurat as well'' Dai had added in an accent with a pronounced deep hum and lilt of the valleys.   The second most difficult part of the conversation had been for Dai to convey to Shavlik that no, Shavlik wasn't 'broken eyed' and his teeth were really quite astonishingly brightly white.   ''Got them died, or Dai-ed haha'' he paused to laugh deep and Welshly in his still drunken state, ''got them done when I got with the younger woman, you know, it's love like, you know?'', and Dai looked warmly toward Shavlik, and what followed was the hardest part of their conversation.   Shavlik tried, and you must understand how hard it was for him, but he really tried to convey successfully to Dai that he had difficulty understanding how a tramp had a girlfriend and newly shiny teeth if he, '' was always pissed and slept in a car park?''   ____________________________________________   Dai was just releasing Shavlik's shirtfront at the end of a long slow expalnation that even Shavlik had been able to take on board such was the careful nature of it's delivery.   ''He's not a tramp, he's a physics professor, he just got pissed and missed his lift and he has got the same coat as you'', said Shavlik towards Andi though Jed was standing listening now also, ''and he'll not take kindly to...''   ''ah-ah-ah...'' interrupted Dai.   Shavlik grinned and concentrated, 'He'll not take kindly and will definitely react violently to'', Dais features softened in kindly pride that Shavlik had remembered, ''any cheeky fucker who calls him that again'' he finished with a beaming Stan Laurel of a grin, this time for Jed's benefit as Dai chimed in with a happy, ''Exactly!''   He stood and offered a hand to Jed, ''Dai Owen, think we are in the business of helping each other out tonight eh Father, is there a bed for the night?'' and with that Dai shook Jed's hand violently while winking at Andi.   ---------------------------------------------------------- Andi had showed them all the Nina and Sushi footage on Jed's computer then, she had it copied to several USB devices and had two of them in her handbag.   Dai Owen knew of one or two things in psychology and 'black operations' that might provide some insight and shared them with the group.   ''You know what it's like with that conspiracy stuff, some of it's always true cos powerful people have to be bastards to get to be powerful'', Dai waggled an eyebrow in recongintion of his own truth, ''and once you start following a thread there's always more, so I might, ahem, be a little more informed than is reasonable or normal for a man of my academic acheivements or position'', he'd stood previously and was now raising himself to his full height, before defalting again as he added, ''but I fell down the fucking rabbit hole and took the wrong pill didn't I like''.   Jed was aghast and amazed, and simply burbled out, ''will you come with us to try and find out more?'' ------------------------------------------------------------- One hour later, as the dial clock in Shavlik's little 2cv was just passing 10pm, they had reached the long drive of the secluded brothel   Jed and Andi agreed to go in together, and that they'd park the car in a little dark offshoot half way up the drive and walk from there, leaving Shavlik and Dai in the car as backup.   Dai and Jed were well recovered from the alcohol now, and while Andi was able to converse well and seemed OK she admitted to still feeling really trippy and said Shavlik would be feeling, ''pretty much the same''.   This had made Shavlik giggle and say, ''better than ugly enough the same'', before his giggling became more involved and helpless.   Jed looked straight to Dai in response and said, ''I'll leave you my phone and we'll call you from Andi's if we need to, OK?''.  Dai agreed and they made the exchanges and their goodbye's before Jed and Andi trudged away from the car in it's little dark hidey hole and up the drive.   ''Leave the lights off and radio low'', said Andi as a final goodbye, setting Shavlik off on a little, quiet back seat renditon of 'RoadHouse Blues', ''Yeah, keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel…''   Dai sat in the front and continued to enjoy the turn the night had taken, and the real rabbit hole he had found to explore with his slightly strange and weirdly disparate friends.   ----------------------------------------------------------- Twenty minutes later Dai was back trying to make successful communications with Shavlik, and he needed to get this over to the little beardy fella no matter how mashed up he was on a trip.   ''Why are they in a toilet?'', asked Shavlik, on the edge of hilarity again.   ''Because they said they wanted to see the room from where Andi had filmed it before they went to look at Nina's room'', Dai explained, ''but they can't get the door open again for some reason, and it opens inwards so they can't just bash their way out easily''.   ''Fucking hell'' said Shavlik, and as he finished he wanted to say it again straight away as car headlights whished past them on the driveway, and red tail lights snaked away from them up the drive.   ''Did I just fucking imag..'' started Shavlik but Dai was all business now and interrupted him.   ''No son, that was real, this just got very real I think'', Dai opened and closed his hands several times and thought quickly, as he was immensely capable of doing now the alcohol had subsided a little…they needed to step in, and fucked up as Shavlik was two heads would be always better than one.  ''We, boyo, are mounting a rescue mission'', he turned in the seat to look at Shavlik, ''and you owe me so try and remember when you've had cocaine or some other stimulant that'll make you alert, and pretend you've just had it'', he turned further and looked in Shavlik's eyes as he intoned deep and low, ''really try and make it fucking real, you've just had cocaine, you all brand new man, and you want to help me rescue your friends because I saved you from those shitty skinheads, didn't I, right boy?''   -------------------------------------------------------------------- A few minutes later Steele is watching them walking as silently up the driveway as the smaller skinny ones intermittent deep sniffing noises will allow.   Steele is thinking how he'd panicked as they'd pulled off the drive and parked ten feet from where he'd slowly edged his car in behind some foliage, but they had not seen him.   Steele is sitting and waiting in his car deciding what he should do, but knowing he wants to have that conversation is readying himself to move. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Dave had literally just walked back into the house with Nina and was marvelling that he'd left a fucking light on when someone knocked on the door.  He sent Nina good naturedly to her room while ''I sort this out''.   As soon as she'd gone his face and demeanour had changed, and his mind had started racing as he opened the door.   He listened impassive to a massive werewolf looking fucker and teen-wolf too explain why they were knocking on his door, then let his mind race again as he silently looked them over again.   Wtf, he thought, wt-serious-f.   How on Gods good clean fuck-filled earth does he get visitors with car trouble this close to Christmas and on this night, when he had a 200ft drive and when Sushi was needed to entertain a visitor, a very very important visitor.   'The reason this fucking brothel works' visitor.   Dave was considering his options when a voice like cold wet stone, or, or something came from further down the drive. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Steele is looking past Dave into the house checking things out as he explains he's here in response to a call from the lads about the car, and will have them going in ten minutes he reckons.   ''Saw it parked out beyond your drive, it's only a flat'' Steele is waiting to see if he's said the wrong thing, but the lie seemingly passes muster and Steele starts relaxing in as  much as he ever does.   Steele is thinking furiously as they walk back down the drive and the larger hairy one explains their friends are trapped inside a toilet in the house, and no one is even meant to be here tonight.  Steele starts smiling grimly at that one and readies for what might come next.
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all old Munn (posted on: 22-12-14)
all old Munn, all the best

Munn Get's Free Jed had been especially great lately, Nicole thought with hairbrush in mid-stroke. She considered herself in the mirror, knew that she was happy with herself and now felt no more need to beat herself up for even existing despite potential and imminent self harm threat of that hovering hairbrush. An amused smile played her lips as she finished her hair. A neat collection of suitcase, shoulder bag, handbag and coat waited by the door. She'd deliberated and rejected the careful drape over the upright pull along suitcase, and just tossed the coat over the shoulder bag as she considered this was more in keeping with her easy personality. Jed would be beside himself with excitement as he'd never been to her childhood home, the wedding had been in Gretna Green after an elopement (what mad impulse had made her do that) and he was really looking forward to seeing Ireland. There would be some difficulties she knew; he was a pastor in the born again Christian movement and two of her uncles had been Catholic priests (and no, drunken Scotsman from accounting on that Christmas do, they didn't ask to her to do handstands when she visited them as a girl). Nicole sat lost in thought, turning slowly anti-clockwise the very simple gold band of her wedding ring - words weren't part of this reverie but varying currents of emotion ran into, played and raged against each other. The tide, however, was decided - she would feel like someone's daughter, sister, niece, friend, worker or boss in her life - but she would be a reverend's wife. This new church might be a little less stuffy and hierarchical than what she'd come from, in fact she believed this allowed fun and a feeling of more direct contact into worship, but the concept of the flock and the shepherd was still front and centre. She was the good shepherd's wife. All of this was known to her, but she was a reflective soul and would allow herself to indulge in such internally transporting moments - knew she was probably being prideful, and this determined her to be even better in her role, more supportive - 'a sturdy crook he can lean on' she murmured, but would not know it had been said aloud as no-one was there to comment. ________________________ Jed Munn was standing with his back to her, the curtains were open and beyond a straw coloured dawn greeted her into the room. She knew he was tired, he'd been at the church late trying to come up with a decent sermon - he told of how he was in constant battle to access something true to say in these set pieces, but he suffered at it. When he had a real block he'd be at the church until all hours, she'd wake to find him asleep on the couch reeking of mints which he ate while he worked. She'd once mentioned the mints as a possible cause of the difficult nights, repeated roller-coaster of sugar high and crash perhaps preventing a flow to his thoughts. He had stood stock still in the doorway, outside the sun shone on their lawn and birds sang but no joy got past the almost buzzing cloud at Jed's dark back. He did not speak, and she filled the silence with apologetic dismissal of her 'know it all' comment - she still apologised sometimes for sounding pleased with herself when answering tv trivia quiz questions, offering a shrugged "what's a know it all gonna do' disclaimer. That's what she meant about being a reverend's wife - it was different and difficult - but knew she was becoming a better person in terms of the quiet do-gooding obedience she understood was expected. Jed turned and smiled, and they made ready to leave ________________________ She both knew the road to the airport and was also surprised by elements of it as she used it so infrequently. This led to her providing a kind of squeak punctuated commentary on their journey, as her excitement at going home was given release at every noteworthy change that caught her eye. Jed got her so much, showed happy appreciation of what was happening, his head and upper body seeming to tremble with mirth as his eyes twinkled in happy enjoyment at her light wit. That he just let her go free to flow and expound was a symbol of their perfect match. At the airport they were late to check in but it was a short hop flight to Ireland so there wouldn't be a big plane or loads of passengers, they'd make it, she was sure. Jed kept checking his watch as she'd parked, it had taken her ages to find somewhere she could park (i.e. with a free space next to it), but he'd never said a word. Somehow he had even seemed to relax more as she circled the car park, losing any time they'd saved on the smooth journey through, and in fact a little more. He's the rock in my zen garden, she thought, but wasn't sure about it so tried to unthink it as he walked calm and serene a little behind her ________________________ She'd never seen him like this, just staring, almost unresponsive. His firm jaw clenched slightly, his eyes fixed just over her shoulder. "I haven't got it', he repeated. This was to be a final repetition, following the frantic establishment that he had forgotten his passport, needed it to travel, couldn't get home and back in time to retrieve it. No, they couldn't consider the expense of him getting the next flight. She made out cars, streets, tennis courts, fields, sports grounds, towns and then just land and sea. Finally, as only the ocean was below her, she said a prayer, asked forgiveness for asking. ................................................... Mouthy cow, thought Munn as he drove to the brothel. Two weeks of not having to nod and smile, and he could follow up on the Shavlik thing. The Shavlik Thing As he drove Jed Munn thought back to the night he'd first met Shavlik... ________________________ It was only seven o'clock but already pitch black. The moon was nearing the full, and in a cloudless sky shone brightly with a corona surrounding it, coloured at the edges. Munn wondered whether the surrounding aura was real or an illusion. The question of what was real had occupied him for some time. A dog ran from a gateway a little ahead, hurtled across the road and down an alleyway. A few seconds later a cat sauntered from the same gateway and circled a couple of times. Tough cat, thought Munn, but then got to wondering about the cat what with it being all so very black - that dog had been really moving, belting along for some reason. A car sped past on the other side of the road, the street was well lit and he turned to look. As it drew level with him the leaves carpeting the street started to stir in anticipation, as the car cut through them they flurried up forming a cloud around the vehicle. At the rear of the car the leaves were shot out into a whirling little maelstrom that held its shape for several seconds after the car had departed, depicting recent progress like an artist inferring movement and speed in a painting. As he turned into the street he wanted a gust of wind released a slow shower of bronze almond shaped leaves. Transfixed for a moment he watched them fall, gently swaying downwards as gravity and tiny thermals exerted their differing influences. A street light directly over his head glistened off wet patches in the road, adding to the feeling of magic as the leaves seemed to keep falling in endless supplies. A grunting noise behind him caused him to start a little and he turned. In the garden behind him a man of indistinguishable age was collecting leaves wearing an old wax jacket, with a cap pulled tight down on his head. It seemed that for every handful he plunged down into his sack, three armfulls fell anew - slowly, steadily, seemingly interminably drifting down and making efforts to collect them seem useless. Walking on he noticed a chill had come to the wind, he nodded in acknowledgment, a wry smile on his face. The church was in sight now looming and dark in the winter evening, light escaped from the slightly ajar door but it was stark and fluorescent and not in the slightest welcoming. This had been a CofE church until a few years earlier when the upkeep could no longer be maintained and it had been taken over by one of the new charismatic brands of Christianity. He was the pastor at this church, representative and charismatic face of the particular brand of Christianity on offer - but what did he believe in, he constantly wondered. Inside the church he found the cleaner finishing up, and eyeing warily a tall man who was sitting in a back row pew in a way that made it clear he wasn't used to sitting in church pews. Munn cleared his throat and the stranger turned, grinned, and said, ''what do you know about demons?'' ________________________ They sipped the generic supermarket brand whisky with a reverence deserving of a fine single malt, both too distracted to notice as they swirled and savoured at the lightly chemical flavoured tea coloured fluid. Outside an owl hunted a mouse. In the steeple bats made forays through gaps in the edges of the roof to seek smaller prey. Inside the church Munn and Shavlik waited for each other to talk. Then Munn broke cover. ''It sounds like superstitious shite'', he said with a grim tone. Shavlik grinned hard, ''says the 'invisible man in the sky' botherer''. Munn laughed despite himself, he liked this fool, maybe because he was a fool. The previous ten minutes had seen Shavlik (the only name provided) explain a strange and slightly garbled tale of his 'investigations' (web based conspiracy theorising as far as Jed Munn could tell) getting him into trouble. It seemed that in following leads suggesting an ancient belief system still present and pursued in discrete circles, he had drawn some unwelcome attention. Having taken receipt of a disk of files and data on the nature of some of the beliefs, the particulars of worship, and even some of the (astonishingly high ranking) adherents, Shavlik had been wondering how to tackle trying to get this some attention via a web article or video. Then he'd been called by someone who just told him that the Dave Bukers who'd sent him the data was dead, and then rang off. When Shavlik had found the details of Dave's gory beheading the next day in the press, he said his blood had truly run cold, ''didn't know it really did that''. So here he was to ask some advice, and maybe get some insights, ''from a man of the cloth''. Munn grinned at that one, and Shavlik had returned a puzzled look. ________________________ They looked over the material on the computer in Munn's little office where he wrote his sermons, a small bin in the corner overflowing with crumpled paper and wrappers from packets of sweets. It turned out that they had both read Frazer's Golden Bough, about the development of belief systems from magical superstition into deity worship, and were struck at the way in which the faith presented was at a junction between the two. ''So, can you help me find out more about this, whether it's genuine, and whether I might be in danger?'' asked Shavlik. ''And who killed your friend'' added Munn, and Shavlik looked surprised. .......................................... ''Jed!'', Andrea shouted as the reverend pulled up outside the brothel, ''the Polish girls will be so pleased to see you - like we agreed no clients between 2 and 4 while you do the service''. He smiled and got out of the car. Munn, Snake, Dave "You'll have to pop in and see Dave" Andrea said to Munn, "to keep things right", so they went into the brothel to visit Dave the Pimp's (ever-ready) bedroom. ________________________ Dave was sitting cross-legged on the bed when she walked into the room with Munn, he looked a little bit pissed but it was the afternoon so that was to be expected. He was reading the free paper and in order to fulfil on what she saw as his need to be noticed (he was a pimp for shittings sake) began to read the contents (for Munn's benefit, she knew). "I enjoy this paper" he shifted a little on the bed, "it mainly contains private adverts for people wanting to sell old prams, or trying to find antique dressers or dirty sex". Scratch your balls thought Andrea, and Dave did, then continued, "the only item of useful information as far as I'm concerned is the weekend TV guide it contains, although this can be so spectacularly wrong on occasions that it leads you to question your sanity", a goofy expression and finger twizzle to make the point, "like the time in February it advertised the world cup final between East Germany and Brazil would be on telly live that Thursday. Nobody can be that wrong without trying". "Anything on TV then" asked Munn flatly, perhaps assuming it was a safe bet that was what he was reading, Andrea guessed. "I'm not looking at the TV guide, I'm reading the small ads" Dave enjoyed contradicting you, "I'm reading the shit for sale ads". Munn just looked blank. "You find out all kinds of things by reading the small shit for sale adds, listen to this one for example '6ft long python, home made tank, good feeder, £60 ono for quick sale, tel, 01387 984354, that's a good one" said Dave with finality. "So what" Munn asked, sounding a little wary. "Right, eight adverts down, ' Rabbit Hutch for sale, £15, tel 01387 984354 ', see?" The paper was proffered for inspection, Andrea noticed that Munn bothered to find and then read the advert in question before passing the paper back. "So, you don't look dumb - why isn't he selling the rabbit then, if he's so skint and selling his things?", asked Dave. Munn shrugged. "Well I found out!", Dave fiddles with his phone and puts it on the table From the phone there is the (recorded) ringing tone of a call being made. Eventually the phone is answered, "Hello". Dave's Voice, "Hello mate, I'm ringing regarding an advert in the paper about a snake". "Yes that's right". "Well, I noticed it mentions a homemade tank, and the snakes a good feeder". "Ummhum, he's a 6 foot long African python and almost fully grown, are you interested?" "Well mate, I also noticed that you've got a rabbit hutch for sale at the same address". "Ye-ees'', as if caught up to no good. "Well mate, I was wondering if maybe your snake had escaped and eaten your rabbit, thus prompting your quick sale". "err". "Ha - you shouldn't keep snakes in home made tanks, yer daft cunt", followed by the noise of a phone being slammed down. ________________________ Andrea was amused, but felt that the matter had hardly been brought to a satisfactory conclusion as the accusation was un-responded to; she also felt that here in England there would be a difficulty of manners in resuming conversation after such an interruption - she decided to fill it, "I've written a story". Grabbing a sheaf of paper from the backpack she trailed around, she began to read from it, and while Dave and Munn exchanged glances and facial expressions, they never interrupted. ________________________ "The camp - We'd been in the camp a number of months; summer was at a blistering height. One night they spirited away the baby of a young girl in the same dormitory as me. Having no husband, awaking to find her child had gone she knew something was wrong, and ran straight to the guard on the door. When he told her simply that the child was 'gone' she went wild, screaming and lashing out, gouging chunks out of her own face and emitting an inhuman, stomach-knotting howl. They made her work in the fields all day, beating her with sticks or shocking her with cattle prods if she stopped. Fifteen feet away three non-uniformed men stood assiduously taking notes on clipboards, evidently studying the effects of extreme emotional stress on people's ability to work. At the end of the day when she walked into the dormitory her eyes were flashing with the greasy, darting flames of insanity. They returned her child wordlessly just before lights out. They were horrified the next day when they discovered she had wrung the child's neck during the night. She laughed in genuine amusement at the guards as they shot her where she stood. About a week later I was dragged across the sun-bleached earth of the courtyard to a patch of grass and told to ''dig a hole large enough to be your own grave''. I had the company of three clipboard wielding note-takers, observing me closely. Throwing myself into my work, I whistled as I went and hefted the shovel they supplied with gusto. As my hole took shape I was the perfect embodiment of a man happily immersed in my work, even breaking into a chorus of 'Camptown Lady' at one point. I noticed uneasy glances being shot between the box ticking trio. As my hole neared completion I got a piece of string they'd provided and made a performance of measuring my height and breadth, and making comparisons with the 'grave'. I made a show of rubbing my chin in deliberation, and then, decision made, I jumped into the hole and lay down flat. I fitted. Sitting up to face them, I let a great slow beam of satisfaction spread over my face and gave all three the thumbs up signal that everything was A-OK. At the looks of doubt, confusion and apprehension that appeared on their faces I bellowed with laughter." ............................................. As Andi and the vicar fucked off, Dave wondered which of the girls the 'man of God' would get to suck him off after mass this time. Across the corridor Sushi Dave crossed the corridor headed for one of the many rooms on the other side, the one next to the downstairs toilet. He could hear the noises of the sickest congregation he'd ever see starting worship down the way, and he wanted to take the opportunity to catch up with Nina, and more importantly Sushi. He slipped into the room, and saw Nina sitting in a wing backed chair under the window - just then wind splattered a few wet leaves against the pane and she looked up smiling. Dave wasn't great at this bit, he knew he wasn't, but as long as he got her looking away from him he could use the element of surprise. ''Hey Nina, c'mere, look at this'', and Dave pointed out past her into street beyond the window. Nina lifted her chin and considered, and then gracefully unfurled her leg from under herself and padded across to him. ''What?'', she asked starting to turn. ''Just look'', said Dave, pretending to stifle a giggle, so she turned fully to follow the line of his finger. Just as he raised his hand to hit her, a dark truck passed the window and he could see her white eyes reflected, taking in his own reflected image in the glass, a look of doubt at his raised hand – he went ahead, she'd likely blank this bit afterwards. Dave brought his hand down with a sharp slap, like a scolded dog might receive, upon the back of Nina's head while simultaneously saying clearly and firmly, ''Sushi''. He stepped back and waited. The woman in front of him walked forward, sat down on the chair with her knees raised in front of her, hung her head slightly so that dirty coloured blonde hair fell obscuring some of her face, and said in a resigned and flat tone, ''What have you brought me here for?'' …………………………………………………………… After speaking to Sushi for half an hour Dave knew that Jed Munn didn't receive sexual favours from the girls for saying mass, and had reassured himself that no-one was moonlighting or doing side extra's (that Sushi knew about through Nina, anyway). Andi turned off the camera and lifted it away from the peep hole, took the earpiece out and removed the monitor from the wall, switching off the audio record function. She stepped off the toilet seat and sat for a while, not thinking about anything as a kind of pre-emptive escape from the pressing need to think about everything that was about to overwhelm her. __________________________________ She'd initially been a bit disgusted but not surprised when she found the peep hole in the toilet, and had sworn never to stay in the adjoining room. Dave will be in here having a dump-wank watching me get changed, she'd thought. While this would have involved him standing crouched on the toilet seat, defecating with some accuracy into the pan from across three feet of (intermittently not) clean air while also maintaining a satisfactory rhythm, she wouldn't put anything past men. No, she would never stay in that room. A little while later she'd got drunk and angry and had blocked the hole up with paper she had peed on (teach the dirty sod who had to prise it out), but it had stayed there for weeks so she suspected no-one knew about the hole, and it must have been here even before Dave. Eventually she'd found an excuse to go into the room when Nina had arrived, and while Dave had never allowed Nina and her to be alone together, Andi had spotted where the hole must be, hidden behind a support for a shelf with multiple openings for screws, only two of which were used. Not a bad idea really she mused, and immediately left the room and headed for the toilet to see things from her other position. Pleased at the contrast in viewpoint, and the tickle in her brain as she adjusted and accepted the strangely different looking room as the same one she'd just left, her mood soon changed. She witnessed Dave seemingly distract then hit Nina, who did not react and simply sat on the floor in a slightly defensive posture and talked to Dave. Andi had been in England from Romania on a student visa that had been withdrawn when her college lost recognition and status as a valid educational institute (the fees had been real enough), and had not wanted to go home and admit defeat. She'd seen and applied for the role of housekeeper, and when she came for the interview Dave was very frank about what the job really was, and she'd taken it. Only afterwards did she consider the morality of paid sex, but had taken comfort in the fact that all the girls seemed to be genuinely making their own decisions to work. Plenty of girls left to try and start something else, or to settle down with a man, without any of the nastiness she might have imagined. Plenty also then came back a few weeks later (missing the money or retreating from the failure of their new start) without any repercussions or bitterness from Dave or his backers. So Andi had been reconciled with her life, and enjoying the UK with money and time on her hands, until the day Nina had arrived and she'd watched through the peephole. Now, three weeks later, she'd found that with a fish eye lens she could cover most of the room, but it was the clever little audio capture gizmo that stuck to the wall and had an attached mp3 recorder that had been the real breakthrough. Silent tableau fraught with doubt and insinuation on her part, now with audio added became scenes of soap opera clarity, although with a plotline of a most disturbing order. ____________________________________ Andi waited for Jed as he said goodbye to the girls. She wanted to apologise for telling Dave that Jed got blowjobs (Andi had felt it would make it easier for Dave to agree to if he thought Jed only took the service with the girls to receive something in return). She also wanted to apologise for claiming the story as her own when she had found it on the internet, but they wouldn't have listened if she hadn't, and Andi had really wanted to see Dave's face as she read it. …………………………………………………………….. Munn stared at Andi as she finished what had been a hurried outburst, accompanied by a severe flushing of her cheeks and neck. ''I totally get the blowjob bit'', Munn said, ''but why did you have to read me that story, especially if you didn't write it?'' Munn thinks Andi had explained to Jed that the story had been for Dave's benefit because he was, ''such a funny guy, but like no way ha-ha funny''. Thinking back to the little snake story, Munn thought Dave maybe had his ha-ha moments. Jed Munn agreed to meet Andi away from the brothel and discuss, ''a few things''. As he drove away a bird swooped out and flew directly in front of his car for a few daredevil seconds, before veering away to the side. Why did they do it he wondered, it looked like play but so dangerous. He was reminded of what Shavlik had said about why he did his research work when they'd met in the church. ''It's my pleasure'', he'd said without pause. Munn was beginning to feel like this could be a dangerous pleasure – Shavlik had told him about one friend who'd died as a seeming result of looking into this 'secret religion' thing, and now here he and Shavlik were choosing to swoop out themselves into the path of that same dangerous vehicle. ''hhhheeeurm'', exhaled Munn as he dealt with the internal twitch and cringe of remembering what a bastard he'd been to his wife. Two weeks before Christmas some shady hippy comes to his church with a strange story about a cult, and next thing Jed Munn has become a planner, a plotter, a backstreet mover - he wasn't sure if the last one was right, but he did feel bad about leaving his passport on purpose. The thought had come to him as he'd looked (muttering to himself) out of the window waiting to go to the airport – we've no spare time, so if I leave my passport behind I won't have to go and can follow up on Shavlik. That was it, no consideration that his wife might not travel either (he'd known she'd go), no real thought for his extended family expecting him for Christmas, Munn just did it. Why was he so concerned with following up on the Shavlik thing? There were a few reasons, but really when he'd listened to the story about the demon religion he had simply found the excuse he needed. He was a church minister, and he did all aspects of his job as well as he could, and in truth did a very good and caring job. However, he felt a great black hole of pitying self doubt inside himself, always second guessing and questioning his motives, accusing himself of seeking self-serving satisfaction from doing something good, rather than selflessly giving. The reason for this ongoing self inquisition (as he called this ongoing turmoil of internal questioning) was that Jed Munn had doubts about what he believed. He knew the central tenet of his religion allowed people to be motivated in being good, and so was always able to feel inspired to do his work, it was the 'man in the sky' stuff (to quote his new hippy friend) that he constantly found himself coming back round to. He had experienced some things as a younger man which he never talked about but which had given him belief in 'something' beyond, and so he had used that to drive him forward into the ministry. At many years distance he couldn't feel the reality of those events, his 'magic moments', with the same certainty as he had back then and unable to go back and feel it again knew the certainty would never return. So Munn picked at himself, at his decisions, at his motivations (going back for another go at the brothel are we, might get lucky), at his beliefs - at everything. Then chatting with Andi he'd started to get interested in the workings of that brothel, which was so friendly and accommodating with the girls. As a minister he was required to meet and treat as equals in the flock many disreputable and downright unpleasant people, and he knew that girls moving easily in and out of the 'profession' was unusual; they were usually kept in somehow through addiction, coercion or downright threats if they wanted to leave. This place though really did seem different, as Andi was very clear about when they talked, she wouldn't be there if that happened. While he believed her, some world weary cynicism told him there was more to it, and he decided to find out what, if he could. That thought released him, in a moment he was unconcerned about his own failings as husband, minister, man, Munn even, as he had a goal that he was not pursuing for someone else's direct satisfaction. The flawed morality in this troubled Munn a little (but in no way comparable to the previous self punishment) until he met Shavlik. The invitation to explore and discuss a strange, hidden, cultish and elitist belief system apparently still actively pursued today gave him perfect direction for his energies, and left no room for the his previous angst. Maybe, deep down, he thought that somewhere between what was going on in the brothel and that weird religion he'd find another magic moment to give him renewed faith – it was definitely what Jed Munn needed. ____________________________ Walking in from the pub car park Jed noticed a green 2CV car (did they still make them, he wondered) with various earth-love professing bumper stickers, and knew it was Shavlik's. Inside several tables were finishing Christmas afternoon do's in the restaurant, and there was the usual mix of high spirited burbling conversation cut through by the occasional half-shouts from the too drunk among their number. Munn nodded his head at a blonde attractive woman who he was letting past, and he got a positively filthy come hither look in response – he remembered he had his collar on, and pissed women at Christmas fancied a bit of 'the Rev', simple as that (although he'd never partaken). He saw Shavlik sitting in a booth in the bar, which was still relatively quiet and empty, waiting for the imminent spill of jolly party goers from the restaurant. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, and tinsel and cards adorned the walls. The decorations gave everything added texture and depth, and once he sat down with Shavlik and supped from the pint of bitter that was waiting for him (good guess), he felt the room kind of close in, as if only the two of them were large enough to fill it all. 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' started playing in the background, and Shavlik was talking about potential, theories and next steps on the religious investigation, Jed Munn was truly, really happy, and it was nearly Christmas. ……………………………………………… ''About now-ish I think'' Munn had responded when Shavlik had asked him how long his new friend, Andrea would be, and then she'd walked in. Now she was standing over Shavlik with her hands on her hips asking if he knew manners, and that it is polite to move along for a lady. Shavlik liked her straight away, and shifted over to let her in.
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all round his (posted on: 14-11-14)
xxXXxx ( , )

d*k didn't have to pay, for what he termed equipment, sent to his apartment, used and taken on dark holidays
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i speak strange fish (posted on: 07-11-14)
~~~p;)

you say ''it's a jagged hand that catches broken glass'' I say ''what, is that even a thing?'' you hate me in this instant I didn't mean to, but I've fed into a dynamic you perceive between us you struggle to breathe under visit of strange fish feeling other / alien / lesser each visit leaving a little more residue until we won't feel each other any more
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hotmilk (posted on: 07-11-14)
);

she'd been happy reborn as a baby since last week when she died now here is she good belly-full of hot milk a nipple as big as her eye looms near, below huge warm grins her floating free in understanding
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Savvi on 07-11-2014
hotmilk
I like the strange start to this it puts the reader off balance forcing re-reads, I would flip L2 with L3 to improve the read-ability. But its a nice thought that makes me feel warm Thanks Bo, Keith

Author's Reply:
thanks Savvi, aimed for impact so glad it hit home (now wipe your eye πŸ˜‰ - cheers as ever for the read and comment -bo


blue Night deluxe (posted on: 06-10-14)
),,,,p,,,,,,,,,,,,*I

Walking out in the luxury of dusk, an orange and teal dreamshow of deep inked nightening sky and embering glow of honeyed streetlight in a cobbled backstreet on my honest to god way to the chippie, at five to five on a Saturday night fat with results waiting for mistakes
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again Tonight (posted on: 06-10-14)
O + 1 = O?

never been feeling so alone than when I'm with you and your being the way your being again tonight so make time break out like new trees grow to die, like strong waves must fall away but you sink to the end only to rise again
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long night (posted on: 06-10-14)
'x_x'

the long night is upon us yet again we'd come as volunteers wanting to help society regain & retain key knowledge of the perils of pathocracy ponerology named by early advocates 80 years now from the tyrannies of early 21st century warmongers, yet we all fear ever returning to those days psychos as militant gods herding us carelessly to their monied will, and so we come still to 'Fly Lord' camps where we get basic tribal & nasty on purpose while studied by our interested betters, now it's the 3rd of the long nights to visit us I reckon I might be called down for it this time round
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stormwolf on 07-10-2014
long night
Hi again.
I thought the layout was good but it did make it slightly harder to follow if I am honest.
I don't care for lack of capitals but hey, I don't like too many either lol
The poem spoke of activism and I agree about psychos as militant gods herding us carelessly to their moneyed will.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for committing to and commenting on this piece, the tale of the how one of the proponents / developers of the idea of political ponerology had his work suppressed by communists and capitalists alike (including very late 20th century) is well worth a web-search - thanks as ever Alison, Greg

stormwolf on 07-10-2014
long night
Hi again.
I thought the layout was good but it did make it slightly harder to follow if I am honest.
I don't care for lack of capitals but hey, I don't like too many either lol
The poem spoke of activism and I agree about psychos as militant gods herding us carelessly to their moneyed will.

Alison x

Author's Reply:


shot (posted on: 06-10-14)
*%'

there's glass just smashed all on my face, and you brace to go again seeming intent now on breaking the frame
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stormwolf on 07-10-2014
shot
Hi there Bo

I liked this very short piece. I am disappointed to see you have not had many comments over the while. Nice to see you persevering and hope you continue to post.
Maybe branch out and comment on others, that usually gets the ball rolling 😜
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, many thanks for the read and comment, you are of course right and I must try and find time to be part of the community again, just been maxed with a big project at work but want to keep being productive as I've a live gig coming up, ho-hum. Your time to read and comment is as ever greatly appreciated - Greg


Sungonr (posted on: 25-08-14)
j~~~~¬i

I lost the lower part of the sun don't know what it does but it's gone worry my powers will simply fade the super-me a thing of yesterday
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star at night (posted on: 25-08-14)
*

Summers here, and Stella's on offer back-alley edged by baked white dog shite and I stumble home with me brother in the well gone half-nine still daylight
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Machine Sentience (posted on: 25-08-14)
(OLO)

I dreamt I was the man who argued for ideas to make machine sentience a seeming inevitability in a way that became accepted universally but I didn't really believe it as time went on so people approached me informing of how my viewpoint defeated this and that argument so indisputably yet I couldn't still quite see it and then we elected an electronic president our choice divined so we were told, from tabulation machines most reliable reports oh how they all bought into that
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YOU SIMPLY MUST DELIVER (posted on: 15-08-14)
- /b ¬

he saw the garlic press head down in a cup of soapy water he asked why ''so it won't have a garlic taint''
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Supratik on 17-08-2014
YOU SIMPLY MUST DELIVER
Nice!!! Will the smell also go? I enjoyed the use of word 'taint' here... it interestingly matches with the 'deliver' bit. Intelligent writing!

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Supe - taint took up so much line there was room for no other words πŸ˜‰ keep tik-ing


The International New Wave and Emerging Artists pan-European Film Symposium (posted on: 11-08-14)
¦ /` ,;;;;;;;;;

Dreamt I was sitting waiting to present at a film symposium with a really long name had some paper written on it ''all films are like the game Double Dragon they go mainly right'' they used all of the name of the symposium several times while they introduced my piece as I sat there and just turned the paper over wondering why I hadn't chosen to expound more
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Waron (posted on: 11-08-14)
p>-----------

don't you get it there's a war on target: terror disease the poor druggies target: ensure a profit and so wage on
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ManhandS (posted on: 11-08-14)
d--¬

I had a friend who had met like not the Dalai Lama, but someone real holy and outta nowhere he'd brandished his palm about, all like up in folks faces shouting out ''I am scarier than God or the devil, I am the hand of man''
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weirdwitch (posted on: 04-08-14)
*Y*

the rough wood chapped as he knocked at the door waiting he studied open scars, shock whirlpools punctuating the surface, suggesting doom to his mind instant balls of sweat sprang to attention in a glittering chain across his brow, shaking his head he listened for sounds inside and started with surprise at the smooth, almost glowing features revealed as the door at last swung back 'are you the lady of the woods' he asked his voice wobbling as he willed himself on she smiled 'which lady?' darkly his lips tightened and he fell headlong onwards 'are you the witch?' he almost shouted again she smiled, but this time her eyes containing surprise and genuine pleasure 'come in, she said' she said, she'd been here before they sat near a fire that smouldered grey and black the house was outside brought in almost anything that could be used practically was present joined totemically by items of beauty, and power, objects to fear also for those who knew; they talked and he told her of the whispers against him, dark words, untrue he was in tears at the end, all was said in explaining he'd learned and understood come to connect and make whole what had been conspired against him, how ,and why, some had brought him close; only to bring him down 'and for so long a time' his lament the fire blazed, no wood had been added he woke, and realised for the first time the smell some herb had been burning all the time he'd been there what effect it had wreaked he couldn't know he felt empty and scoured out, but also clear on his problem, decided on what he intended to do; he realised now the power of the lady 'she finds you the truth you have inside' a small grim smile escaped him, his eyes did not partake He'd forgotten her and lost all feeling when she stood a million years tall oceans' depths old screaming light from herself in a brilliant halo calling out in what must be the old words close to familiar and strange enough to hurt then he heard her, 'they shall be gone, he rose the flame slept at the sage's cry, he is pure, they do not this to him,' he saw the wood of the walls become animate, seem to breathe when he went home he found no-one the extent of those against him greater than he'd imagined so too the range of the witch's forces he'd wanted an end, a new beginning he saw now void and no-one to link him to the world, he looked sometimes long at the path through, but knew he'd ask no more
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Columbus (after Ali's birthday) (posted on: 01-08-14)
¬l___p_q___l/-

Saturday, 13 October 1492: They brought us sticks of the cotton thread and parrots and other little things which it would be tedious to list, and exchanged everything for whatever we offered them. I kept my eyes open and tried to find out if there was any gold, and I saw that some of them had a little piece hanging from a hole in their nose. I gathered from their signs that if one goes south, or around the south side of the island, there is a king with great jars full of it, enormous amounts. I tried to persuade them to go there, but I saw that the idea was not to their liking... Sunday, 14 October 1492: These people have little knowledge of fighting, as Your Majesties will see from the seven I have had captured to take away with us so as to teach them our language and return them, unless Your Majesties' orders are that they all be taken to Spain or held captive on the island itself, for with fifty men one could keep the whole population in subjection, make them do whatever one wanted.
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Brick stilts (posted on: 01-08-14)
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

One by one the houses stood up he felt no fear at all They were now raised on stilts of brick that may have been legs it was hard to tell, he was biting his lip otherwise stared unmoved the sky swirled and became congested with colour darkness and light, night seemed come early then day again, in no flash still, sudden, change, a wind flicked his sleeves, he looked on a massive peel of thunder came across the sky in the field around sheep closed together a red flash as a shepherd perhaps went for cover fear making him fast a huge leg appeared hairy and vast in sandals biblical image come to execution
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thanabout (posted on: 25-07-14)
boxxobboxxobboxxob

''I been in this game for near on sixty years'' Steve had come to see Tumon more out of interest and respect thanabout his ''distinction between the two, are you very religious?" ''Steve's kinda well known too.'' The Chapel Gym where you're unclenched over in Frankies direction. "Tough shit man" he said ''That aint no tough shit, that's good luck". "Yeah I reckon, although noted for his wide and varied..'' "Conman" said Flyboy "Can't say as I agree with you there" said Steve "Glad to hear it my boy, veeerrrry glad to hear that. So you..'' Fernandez "Flyboy" Tumon had met intelligent fighters in his time and could smell smarts behind Tumon's head the wall which was covered with photo's of Tumon's head
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the line (posted on: 25-07-14)
~~~~~~~~o0----¬

the line by bo_duke99 the recent G7 statement I apply the term civilised to all states or countries with a Mcdonalds fast food restaurant franchise or outlet within their boundaries ~~~~~~~~o0----¬ the line ~~~~~~~~o0----¬ ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** . ''We are all our own gods, we believe in the immortality of the human soul out of a fear that the private world which we inhabit between our ears shall one day be no more. The closer you are to death the closer you are to God'' The above message first became evident a little over eight years ago; then it was an enigmatic phrase, apparently no-one knew who placed it on billboards or paid for the full page newspaper advertisements that carried only 'the line' - as it became known - on a purple background. The line appeared unremittingly, it made its television debut after two months in the form of a blankly serene blue screen from which the message appeared, red dripping from the emerging letters like blood and mixing with the blue background until it became the trademark purple and the line stood proud and silent on the screen for a full thirty seconds, before disappearing in an instant. The line always stayed on screen for exactly thirty seconds, no more no less, I timed it – a lot. After six months the media were in an apparent frenzy trying to determine who was responsible for placing these advertisements, people within my department (social and media studies) at the university suspected that the mystery around the line was in fact media generated and perpetuated. The TV advert for the line was actually listed in the TV guides and it always appeared thirty times a day. The public's response was typical and yet so extreme as to make it almost unique - after the first week TV companies stopped making the direct debits from the Swiss bank account they were entitled to for showing the Line TV advert, and began running it for free. Ratings for programmes immediately before and after the Line advert were increased so dramatically that TV stations were desperate to maintain, and if possible increase their current airing levels. As the adverts appeared throughout the civilised world there was a genuine feel of Zeitgeist about the events as they unfolded, and everyone wanted to be aware of any developments immediately they occurred. Newspaper editors, hard up for stories that would actually interest their audience hungrily received the mystery of the line and conjecture, fact, guesswork and lies pertaining to the line dominated the press week after week because it guaranteed sales. When the advert appeared for the first time on TV, simultaneously around the civilised world, the relevant station in each country captured at least 90% of the available audience, an unprecedented event never even approached previously in history, not by the moon landing, not by the world Cup Final, not by anything. In the US a visibly intoxicated Herbert William's, President of the ABS TV corporation, appeared in a special broadcast the following day to announce that for the debut run of the line in the US they had captured "so near to a hundred percent of all viewers as to not make a rats shit of difference" he then bared his behind to "all you cocksucking so called TV stations who wouldn't know good TV if it fucked you up the ass!!!". It was the most astounding outburst in the history of US TV, and the replay once again captured almost the entire market. Herbert probably assumed that he could do what he liked, that he was untouchable, having delivered 100% of the audience. He would almost certainly have been right had a letter not been delivered the next day from the Swiss Bank which held the line account, stating that they were no longer eligible to make debits from the account and would never be allowed to, as the communication put it, "deliver the line again". Tapes of the line TV advert wiped themselves upon being played, they also transmitted a jamming signal that prevented them being videotaped or copied (even by viewers receiving the signal in their own home) Each time a TV company was due to run the line they received a fresh tape 30 minutes before airing time, now ABS would receive no more tapes and so would be able to run the line no more. Herb took three speedballs and still died crying. And so the intrigue grew. The TV advert for the line ran 30 times a day in each country on various TV stations, each station receiving a number of runs roughly proportionate to their usual share of the overall audience. Even when the advert had been running for months it still generated tremendous interest whenever it was aired due to the mystery surrounding those responsible for the line. Several bodies claimed responsibility, mainly religious groups, but none of them were able to prove they were responsible. The Nation of Islam in America, the black Muslim movement, put forward the most convincing case, they provided detailed explanations of the meaning behind the line. These explanations mainly revolved around the fact that the black race had been so oppressed and mistreated at the hand of the white devil, they argued that so many had died for their noble cause of human justice, that the lives of so many black men had been made so unbearable as to be 'next to death', that their dignity and social standing had been demeaned so much by their maltreatment at the hand of the white man, that they had been brought closer to god by their suffering. They even knew the sort code and account number of the Swiss Bank Account which advertisers could access payments from, unfortunately when pressed by prominent American talk show host Dwight Maguire to provide the name the account was held in a representative floundered and said he was unable to divulge the information on national TV. Under pressure he agreed to pass it in confidence to the host after the show for verification - the bank in Switzerland, although extremely reticent about anything relating to the account, were prepared to confirm that the account wasn't held in the name provided by the Nation of Islam representative. It later emerged that the account identification was in fact an eight digit numerical code, the numbers in the code were, of course, never revealed. Many people attempted to work out or guess the code using theorems relating to probability and scientific formulae, all their requests for confirmation as to the accuracy of their conclusions were met only with a stoical silence. For my part I was less interested in, although obviously very keen to find out, who was running the adverts than with the social phenomenon occurring as a result. Two years after the advert made it's first appearance the line inspired it's first cult, the Seventh Heaveners. This group was composed of people who had got to what they described as the seventh stage of de mortalisation, this meant that they had, for at least a fleeting instant been clinically dead. The 7H'ers, as they became known, claimed the message as their own and, even though they admitted to having no idea who was running the adverts, stated that they had attained a state of heaven on earth due to their experiences, and that whoever was running the advert was obviiously one of their brethren attempting to achieve a new dawn of realisation and acceptance of their unique and sacred state among those who had reached the 7th stage. The problem the cult faced was that the terms of entrance were, by the very nature of the cult, of course extremely strict - although they were few all of their number had undergone a life altering experience and, having found something to explain the change in personality and attitude that follow such an event, were extremely vociferous in their defence and promotion of their cause. In Scandinavian countries particularly they, for some reason, became a very powerful political lobbying force, claiming a kind of prescience as to the economic and social trends the earth would encounter in the coming years. Then the High Lifers came along and the 7H'ers were shown up to be the opportunist spiritual charlatans they were. It was therefore unfortunate that the High Lifers achieved this only by spouting a more generally accessible form of the very same hocus pocus that had made the 7H'ers seem so laughable to those retaining their sense of reason in these incredible times. Whereas the 7Hers had been pretty much a closed house with strict entrance criteria the High Lifers asked nothing of potential members other than a belief in their creed. The basic premise of the high lifers interpretation of The Line was that when the body perceives itself to be in danger then the soul prepares itself for death. The soul, spirit, life essence (the High Lifers weren't picky in their allocation of a title to the immortal core of human existence) apparently prepared itself for the end by making contact with the destination. The High Lifers further propounded that this kind of contact brought the participant, if only fleetingly, into the domain of god. ''We are all our own gods, we believe in the immortality of the human soul out of a fear that the private world which we inhabit between our ears shall one day be no more. The closer you are to death the closer you are to God'' - These words now appear everywhere in the civilised world - in line
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tv rules (posted on: 25-07-14)
['U']

13 rules of television one, everything on tv is completely fake two, anything real on tv is done by mistake three, mistakes on tv are all manufactured four, any truth on tv is definitely structured 9 more rules to come
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roots, rings (posted on: 25-07-14)
0<---

' on the sun shines gloriously your dream came not to pass the future's short on energy a tipping point's been passed they walk free under evil tree and we complain about the past still our hungry betters feed whole generations for ripaste -
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start to finish (posted on: 18-07-14)
Q./,,,,)o

then the President got out of the car and shot a man said to the crowd ''we need more laws to stop the shootings'' we all applauded
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Fell Lion (posted on: 18-07-14)
{] ;- ,._ [}

as I fell I was able to kick and grab some of the material got a loop round one arm that slowed, then stopped me full I hung trying to raise my left arm up to meet the right one seeing where to get a foot hold and be able to clamber back in heaving my shoulder I extended through the last of the pain from a bang in a fall an autumn ago, finally worked away then my wife flashed past and just managed to grab me hard and fast above the hips in a true death vice seize my right shoulder was torn from it's socket instantaneous but enough tissue, gristle and coat remained to hold us but until we were pulled in I was painless, adrift inside that moment when I was safe, tides of surprise and delight I'd got rid of that arthritis at last in a way like this... now in hospital I wonder at transported ecstatic gazes seen on antelopes when caught and suffering a death by lion is it memory of the last zig zag they thought was freedom they are so totally lost in, or maybe the antelope imagines things very far beyond those indoctrinated minds can attain
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Munn thinks (5) (posted on: 20-12-13)
!k?

_________________________ Andi had explained to Jed that the story had been for Dave's benefit because he was, ''such a funny guy, but like no way ha-ha funny''. Thinking back to the little snake story, Munn thought Dave maybe had his ha-ha moments. Jed Munn agreed to meet Andi away from the brothel and discuss, ''a few things''. As he drove away a bird swooped out and flew directly in front of his car for a few daredevil seconds, before veering away to the side. Why did they do it, he wondered, it looked like play, but so dangerous. He was reminded of what Shavlik had said about why he did his research work when they'd met in the church, ''It's my pleasure'', he'd said without pause. Munn was beginning to feel like this could be a dangerous pleasure – Shavlik had told him about one friend who'd died as a seeming result of looking into this 'secret religion' thing, and now here he and Shavlik were choosing to swoop out themselves into the path of that same dangerous vehicle. ''hhhheeeurm'', exhaled Munn as he dealt with the internal twitch and cringe of remembering what a bastard he'd been to his wife. Three weeks before Christmas some shady hippy comes to his church with a strange story about a cult, and next thing Jed Munn has become a planner, a plotter, a backstreet mover - he wasn't sure if the last one was right, but he did feel bad about leaving his passport on purpose. The thought had come to him as he'd looked (muttering to himself) out of the window waiting to go to the airport – we've no spare time, so if I leave my passport behind I won't have to go and can follow up on Shavlik. That was it, no consideration that his wife might not travel either (he'd known she'd go), no real thought for his extended family expecting him for Christmas, Munn just did it. Why was he so concerned with following up on the Shavlik thing? There were a few reasons, but really when he'd listened to the story about the demon religion he had simply found the excuse he needed. He was a church minister, and he did all aspects of his job as well as he could, and in truth did a very good and caring job. However, he felt a great black hole of pitying self doubt inside himself, always second guessing and questioning his motives, accusing himself of seeking self-serving satisfaction from doing something good, rather than selflessly giving. The reason for this ongoing self inquisition (as he called this ongoing turmoil of internal questioning) was that Jed Munn had doubts about what he believed. He knew the central tenet of his religion allowed people to be motivated in being good, and so was always able to feel inspired to do his work, It was the 'man in the sky' stuff (to quote his new hippy friend) that he constantly found himself coming back round to. He had experienced some things as a younger man which he never talked about, but which had given him belief in 'something' beyond, and so he had used that to drive him forward into the ministry. At many years distance he couldn't feel the reality of those events, his 'magic moments', with the same certainty as he had back then, and unable to go back and feel it again knew the certainty would never return. So Munn picked at himself, at his decisions, at his motivations (going back for another go at the brothel are we, might get lucky), at his beliefs, at everything. Then chatting with Andi he'd started to get interested in the workings of that brothel, which was so friendly and accommodating with the girls. As a minister he was required to meet and treat as equals in the flock many disreputable and downright unpleasant people, and he knew that girls moving easily in and out of the 'profession' was unusual; they were usually kept in somehow through addiction, coercion or downright threats if they wanted to leave. This place though really did seem different, as Andi was very clear about when they talked, she wouldn't be there if that happened. While he believed her, some world weary cynicism told him there was more to it, and he decided to find out what, if he could. That thought released him, in a moment he was unconcerned about his own failings as husband, minister, man, Munn even, as he had a goal that he was not pursuing for someone else's direct satisfaction. The flawed morality in this troubled Munn a little (but in no way comparable to the previous self punishment) until he met Shavlik. The invitation to explore and discuss a strange, hidden, cultish and elitist belief system apparently still actively pursued today gave him perfect direction for his energies, and left no room for the his previous angst. Maybe, deep down, he thought that somewhere between what was going on in the brothel and that weird religion he'd find another magic moment to give him renewed faith – it was definitely what Jed Munn needed. ____________________________ Walking in from the pub car park Jed noticed a green 2CV car (did they still make them, he wondered) with various earth-love professing bumper stickers, and knew it was Shavlik's. Inside several tables were finishing Christmas afternoon dos in the restaurant, and there was the usual mix of high spirited burble of conversation cut through by the occasional half-shouts from the too drunk among their number. Munn nodded his head at a blonde attractive woman who he was letting past, and he got a positively filthy come hither look in response – he remembered he had his collar on, and pissed woman at Christmas fancied a bit of 'the Rev', simple as that (although he'd never partaken). He saw Shavlik sitting in a booth in the bar, which was still relatively quiet and empty, waiting for the imminent spill of jolly party goers from the restaurant. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, and tinsel and cards adorned the walls. The decorations gave everything added texture and depth, and once he sat down with Shavlik and supped from the pint of bitter that was waiting for him (good guess), he felt the room kind of close in, as if only the two of them were large enough to fill it all. 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' started playing in the background, and Shavlik was talking about potential, theories and next steps on the religious investigation, Jed Munn was truly, really happy, and it was nearly Christmas. ……………………………………………… ''About now-ish I think'' Munn had responded when Shavlik had asked him how long his new friend, Andrea would be, and then she'd walked in. Now she was standing over Shavlik with her hands on her hips asking if he knew manners, and that it is polite to move along for a lady. Shavlik liked her straight away, and shifted over to let her in.
Archived comments for Munn thinks (5)
Mikeverdi on 22-12-2013
Munn thinks (5)
Still loving this one, there are not enough people willing to follow a story through and comment...but I will. Don't get discouraged, you have a readership; these are more important than Nibs πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:


the Shavlik thing (2) (posted on: 20-12-13)
/\../\

As he drove Jed Munn thought back to the night he'd first met Shavlik... ________________________ It was only seven o'clock, but already pitch black. The moon was nearing the full, and in a cloudless sky shone brightly with a corona surrounding it, coloured at the edges. Munn wondered whether the surrounding aura was real, or an illusion. The question of what was real had occupied him for some time. A dog ran from a gateway a little ahead, hurtled across the road and down an alleyway. A few seconds later a cat sauntered from the same gateway and circled a couple of times. Tough cat, thought Munn, but then got to wondering about the cat, what with it being all black - that dog had been really moving, belting along for some reason. A car sped past on the other side of the road, the street was well lit and he turned to look. As it drew level with him the leaves carpeting the street started to stir in anticipation, as the car cut through them they flurried up, forming a cloud around the vehicle. At the rear of the car the leaves were shot out into a whirling little maelstrom that held its shape for several seconds after the car had departed, depicting recent progress like an artist inferring movement and speed in a painting. As he turned into the street he wanted a gust of wind released a slow shower of bronze almond shaped leaves. Transfixed for a moment he watched them fall, gently swaying downwards as gravity and tiny thermals exerted their differing influences. A street light directly over his head glistened off wet patches in the road, adding to the feeling of magic, as the leaves seemed to keep falling in endless supplies. A grunting noise behind him caused him to start a little and he turned. In the garden behind him a man of indistinguishable age was collecting leaves wearing an old wax jacket, with a cap pulled tight down on his head. It seemed that for every armful he plunged down into his sack, three sack-fulls fell anew, slowly, steadily, seemingly interminably drifting down, making efforts to collect them seem useless. Walking on he noticed a chill had come to the wind, he nodded in acknowledgment, a wry smile on his face. The church was in sight now, looming and dark in the winter evening, light escaped from the slightly ajar door but it was stark and fluorescent and not in the slightest welcoming. This had been a CofE church until a few years earlier when the upkeep could no longer be maintained and it had been taken over by one of the new charismatic brands of Christianity. He was the pastor at this church, representative and charismatic face of the particular brand of Christianity on offer- but what did he believe in, he constantly wondered. Inside the church he found the cleaner finishing up, and eyeing warily a tall man who was sitting in a back row pew in a way that made it clear he wasn't used to sitting in church pews. Munn cleared his throat and the stranger turned, grinned, and said, ''what do you know about demons?''. ________________________ They sipped the generic supermarket brand whisky with a reverence deserving of a fine single malt, both too distracted to notice as they swirled and savoured at the lightly chemical flavoured tea coloured fluid. Outside an owl hunted a mouse, in the steeple bats made forays through gaps in the edges of the roof to seek smaller prey, inside the church Munn and Shavlik waited for each other to talk. Then Munn broke cover. ''It sounds like superstitious shite'', he said with a grim tone. Shavlik grinned hard, ''says the 'invisible man in the sky' botherer''. Munn laughed despite himself, he liked this fool, maybe because he was a fool. The previous ten minutes had seen Shavlik (the only name provided) explain a strange and slightly garbled tale of his 'investigations' (web based conspiracy theorising as far as Jed Munn could tell) getting him into trouble. It seemed that in following leads suggesting an ancient belief system still present and pursued in discrete circles, he had drawn some unwelcome attention. Having taken receipt of a disk of files and data on the nature of some of the beliefs, the particulars of worship, and even some of the (astonishingly high ranking) adherents, Shavlik had been wondering how to tackle trying to get this some attention via a web article or video. Then he'd been called by someone who just told him that the Dave Bukers who'd sent him the data was dead, and then rang off. When Shavlik had found the details of Dave's gory beheading the next day in the press, he said his blood had truly run cold, ''didn't know it really did that''. So here he was to ask some advice, and maybe get some insights, from a man of the cloth. Munn grinned at that one, and Shavlik had returned a puzzled look. ________________________ They looked over the material on the computer in Munn's little office where he wrote his sermons, a small bin in the corner overflowing with crumpled paper and wrappers from packets of sweets. It turned out that they had both read Frazer's Golden Bough, about the development of belief systems from magical superstition into deity worship, and were struck at the way in which the faith presented was at a junction between the two. ''So, can you help me find out more about this, whether it's genuine, and whether I might be in danger?'' asked Shavlik. ''And who killed your friend'' added Munn, and Shavlik looked surprised. .......................................... ''Jed!'', Andrea shouted as the reverend pulled up outside the brothel, ''the Polish girls will be so pleased to see you - like we agreed no clients between 2 and 4 while you do the service''. He smiled and got out of the car.
Archived comments for the Shavlik thing (2)
Mikeverdi on 22-12-2013
the Shavlik thing (2)
I read these two in my car this morning, I was sat by the sea with my dogs, I know it needs editing.. but its a great story mate; keep it coming. Mike

Author's Reply:


the reader (posted on: 16-12-13)
oo0O-|-O0oo

an empty page tempts a flow with no end in sight it starts but, how far will it go will it's point be only itself am I too far into this to prevent that reach out from the page and engage the reader
Archived comments for the reader
Mikeverdi on 16-12-2013
the reader
I like the concept here, I think you could better it by cutting some words; just me, others may not agree...or you πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Cheers for the feedback Mike, appreciated - Greg

Kipper on 16-12-2013
the reader
Nicely put I think, waiting for inspiration.
Perhaps the key to engaging the reader is not the first word or the last, but grabbing that inspiration when (if) it comes.
I guess this is what we all hope for.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Couldn't agree more Michael, thanks for the comment - Greg

Nemo on 16-12-2013
the reader
Sometimes something comes from staring a blank page. Or just waiting. For months, sometimes. Some clarification is needed, I feel, with the words 'prevent that reach out from the page' - is it punctuation or some adjustment?

Author's Reply:
Hi Nemo, am running that and reach into each other, many thanks for the read and comment - Greg

barenib on 17-12-2013
the reader
As someone once said, I love being a writer, it's just the paperwork I don't like! Well put in any case, John.

Author's Reply:
cool, cheers John - Greg

Buschell on 21-12-2013
the reader
Writer's block. Can't think of a comment right now....

Author's Reply:


across the corridor, Sushi (4) (posted on: 16-12-13)
looioooioolui

Dave crossed the corridor headed for one of the many rooms on the other side, the one next to the downstairs toilet. He could hear the noises of the sickest congregation he'd ever see starting worship down the way, and he wanted to take the opportunity to catch up with Nina, and more importantly Sushi. He slipped into the room, and saw Nina sitting in a wing backed chair under the window - just then wind splattered a few wet leaves against the pane and she looked up smiling. Dave wasn't great at this bit, he knew he wasn't, but as long as he got her looking away from him he could use the element of surprise. ''Hey Nina, c'mere, look at this'', and Dave pointed out past her into street beyond the window. Nina lifted her chin and considered, and then gracefully unfurled her leg from under herself and padded across to him. ''What'', she asked starting to turn. ''Just look'', said Dave, pretending to stifle a giggle, so she turned fully to follow the line of his finger. Just as he raised his hand to hit her, a dark truck passed the window and he could see her white eyes reflected, taking in his own reflected image in the glass, a look of doubt at his raised hand – he went ahead, she'd likely blank this bit afterwards. Dave brought his hand down with a sharp slap, like a scolded dog might receive, upon the back of Nina's head while simultaneously saying clearly and firmly, ''Sushi''. He stepped back and waited. The woman in front of him walked forward, sat down on the chair with her knees raised in front of her, hung her head slightly so that dirty coloured blonde hair fell obscuring some of her face, and said in a resigned and flat tone, ''What have you brought me here for?''. …………………………………………………………… After speaking to Sushi for half an hour Dave knew that Jed Munn didn't receive sexual favours from the girls for saying mass, and had reassured himself that no-one was moonlighting or doing side extra's (that Sushi knew about through Nina, anyway). Andi turned off the camera and lifted it away from the peep hole, took the earpiece out and removed the monitor from the wall, switching off the audio record function. She stepped off the toilet seat and sat for a while, not thinking about anything as a kind of pre-emptive escape from the pressing need to think about everything that was about to overwhelm her. __________________________________ She'd initially been a bit disgusted but not surprised when she found the peep hole in the toilet, and had sworn never to stay in the adjoining room. Dave will be in here having a dump-wank watching me get changed, she'd thought. While this would have involved him standing crouched on the toilet seat, defecating with some accuracy into the pan from across three feet of (intermittently not) clean air, while maintaining a satisfactory rhythm, she wouldn't put anything past men. No, she would never stay in that room. A little while later she'd got drunk and angry and had blocked the hole up with paper she had peed on (teach the dirty sod who had to prise it out), but it had stayed there for weeks so she suspected no-one knew about the hole, and it must have been here even before Dave. Eventually she'd found an excuse to go into the room when Nina had arrived, and while Dave had never allowed Nina and her to be alone together, Andi had spotted where the hole must be, hidden behind a support for a shelf with multiple openings for screws, only two of which were used. Not a bad idea really, she mused, and immediately left the room and headed for the toilet to see things from her other position. Pleased at the contrast in viewpoint, and the tickle in her brain as she adjusted and accepted the strangely different looking room as the same one she'd just left, her mood soon changed. She witnessed Dave seemingly distract then hit Nina, who did not react and simply sat on the floor in a slightly defensive posture and talked to Dave. Andi had been in England from Romania on a student visa that had been withdrawn when her college lost recognition and status as a valid educational institute (the fees had been real enough), and had not wanted to go home and admit defeat. She'd seen and applied for the role of housekeeper, and when she came for the interview Dave was very frank about what the job really was, and she'd taken it. Only afterwards did she consider the morality of paid sex, but had taken comfort in the fact that all the girls seemed to be genuinely making their own decisions to work. Plenty of girls left to try and start something else, or to settle down with a man, without any of the nastiness she might have imagined. Plenty also then came back a few weeks later (missing the money or retreating from the failure of their new start) without any repercussions or bitterness from Dave or his backers. So Andi had been reconciled with her life, and enjoying the UK with money and time on her hands, until the day Nina had arrived and she'd watched through the peephole. Now, three weeks later, she'd found that with a fish eye lens she could cover most of the room, but it was the clever little audio capture gizmo that stuck to the wall and had an attached mp3 recorder that had been the real breakthrough. Silent tableau fraught with doubt and insinuation on her part, now with audio added became scenes of soap opera clarity, although with a plotline of a most disturbing order. ____________________________________ Andi waited for Jed as he said goodbye to the girls. She wanted to apologise for telling Dave that Jed got blowjobs (Andi had felt it would make it easier for Dave to agree to if he thought Jed only took the service with the girls to receive something in return). She also wanted to apologise for claiming the story as her own when she had found it on the internet, but they wouldn't have listened if she hadn't, and Andi had really wanted to see Dave's face as she read it. …………………………………………………………….. Munn stared at Andi as she finished what had been a hurried outburst, accompanied by a severe flushing of her cheeks and neck. ''I totally get the blowjob bit'', Munn said, ''but why did you have to read me that story, especially if you didn't write it?''
Archived comments for across the corridor, Sushi (4)
Mikeverdi on 17-12-2013
across the corridor, Sushi
I am in need of a look back, I think I just got lost πŸ™‚ Still enjoying the read though; keep it coming. Mike

Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike, will keep going - Greg

Weefatfella on 17-12-2013
across the corridor, Sushi
 photo 9ad6ff1f-0d9b-467e-b5d6-2d3f72a688a0_zps705a5781.jpg
All a bit of a strange lot for me.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Praise indeed from the Fat Fella ;o) - cheers for the read and comment man - Greg


Munn, snake, Dave (3) (posted on: 09-12-13)
oo)O))O)))OOO))OO))OO)))@;

"You'll have, have, to pop in and see Dave" Andrea said to Munn, "to keep things right", so they went into the brothel to visit Dave the Pimp's (ever-ready) bedroom. ________________________ Dave was sitting cross-legged on the bed when she walked into the room with Munn, he looked a little bit pissed, but it was the afternoon so that was to be expected. He was reading the free paper, and in order to fulfil on what she saw as his need to be noticed (he was a pimp for shittings sake) began to read the contents (for Munn's benefit, she knew). "I enjoy this paper" he shifted a little on the bed, "it mainly contains private adverts for people wanting to sell old prams, or trying to find antique dressers or dirty sex". Scratch your balls thought Andrea, and Dave did, then continued, "the only item of useful information as far as I'm concerned is the weekend TV guide it contains, although this can be so spectacularly wrong on occasions that it leads you to question your sanity", a goofy expression and finger twizzle to make the point, "like the time in February it advertised the world cup final between East Germany and Brazil would be on telly live that Thursday. Nobody can be that wrong without trying". "Anything on TV then" asked Munn flatly, perhaps assuming it was a safe bet that was what he was reading, Andrea guessed. "I'm not looking at the TV guide, I'm reading the small ads" Dave enjoyed contradicting you, "I'm reading the shit for sale ads". Munn just looked blank. "You find out all kinds of things by reading the small shit for sale adds, listen to this one for example '6ft long python, home made tank, good feeder, £60 ono for quick sale, tel, 01387 984354, that's a good one" said Dave with finality. "So what" Munn asked, sounding a little wary. "Right, eight adverts down, ' Rabbit Hutch for sale, £15, tel 01387 984354 ', see?" The paper was proffered for inspection, Andrea noticed that Munn bothered to find and then read the advert in question before passing the paper back. "So, you don't look dumb - why isn't he selling the rabbit then, if he's so skint and selling his things?", asked Dave. Munn shrugged. "Well I found out!", Dave fiddles with his phone and puts it on the table From the phone there is the (recorded) ringing tone of a call being made. Eventually the phone is answered, "Hello". Dave's Voice, "Hello mate, I'm ringing regarding an advert in the paper about a snake". "Yes that's right". "Well, I noticed it mentions a homemade tank, and the snakes a good feeder". "Ummhum, he's a 6 foot long African python and almost fully grown, are you interested?" "Well mate, I also noticed that you've got a rabbit hutch for sale at the same address". "Ye-ees'', as if caught up to no good. "Well mate, I was wondering if maybe your snake had escaped and eaten your rabbit, thus prompting your quick sale". "err". "Ha - you shouldn't keep snakes in home made tanks, yer daft cunt", followed by the noise of a phone being slammed down. ________________________ Andrea was amused, but felt that the matter had hardly been brought to a satisfactory conclusion as the accusation was un-responded to; she also felt that here in England there would be a difficulty of manners in resuming conversation after such an interruption - she decided to fill it, "I've written a story". Grabbing a sheaf of paper from the backpack she trailed around, she began to read from it, and while Dave and Munn exchanged glances and facial expressions, they never interrupted. ________________________ "The camp - We'd been in the camp a number of months; summer was at a blistering height. One night they spirited away the baby of a young girl in the same dormitory as me. Having no husband, awaking to find her child had gone she knew something was wrong, and ran straight to the guard on the door. When he told her simply that the child was 'gone' she went wild, screaming and lashing out, gouging chunks out of her own face and emitting an inhuman, stomach-knotting howl. They made her work in the fields all day, beating her with sticks or shocking her with cattle prods if she stopped. Fifteen feet away three non-uniformed men stood assiduously taking notes on clipboards, evidently studying the effects of extreme emotional stress on people's ability to work. At the end of the day when she walked into the dormitory her eyes were flashing with the greasy, darting flames of insanity. They returned her child wordlessly just before lights out. They were horrified the next day when they discovered she had wrung the child's neck during the night. She laughed in genuine amusement at the guards as they shot her where she stood. About a week later I was dragged across the sun-bleached earth of the courtyard to a patch of grass and told to ''dig a hole large enough to be your own grave''. I had the company of three clipboard wielding note-takers, observing me closely. Throwing myself into my work, I whistled as I went and hefted the shovel they supplied with gusto. As my hole took shape I was the perfect embodiment of a man happily immersed in my work, even breaking into a chorus of 'Camptown Lady' at one point. I noticed uneasy glances being shot between the box ticking trio. As my hole neared completion I got a piece of string they'd provided and made a performance of measuring my height and breadth, and making comparisons with the 'grave'. I made a show of rubbing my chin in deliberation, and then, decision made, I jumped into the hole and lay down flat. I fitted. Sitting up to face them, I let a great slow beam of satisfaction spread over my face and gave all three the thumbs up signal that everything was A-OK. At the looks of doubt, confusion and apprehension that appeared on their faces I bellowed with laughter." ............................................. As Andi and the vicar fucked off, Dave wondered which of the girls the 'man of God' would get to suck him off after mass this time.
Archived comments for Munn, snake, Dave (3)
Mikeverdi on 10-12-2013
Munn, snake, Dave
I think you write well, the subject matter may not be to every ones taste, I'm okay with it. I find it a little disjointed at times and have to go back to catch up (if that makes sense) next bit please. Mike

Author's Reply:
more to come, thanks for sticking with it Mike, will hope to make it flow more - Greg

OldPeculier on 10-12-2013
Munn, snake, Dave
Excellent stuff as far as I am concerned. The rabbit/snake thing was curiously engaging.

I did find the camp bit a little confusing. Was this Andrea's story? But written from a man's point of view?

Whatever. You have my full attention.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading and such an encouraging comment, I'll draw a spoilers veil over the other query, but please do keep reading - Cheers, Greg


light change (posted on: 09-12-13)
*(;#;)*

green bushes in a garden I pass draped in lights flashing away, a natural constant now defiled no position to defend themselves ashamed
Archived comments for light change
Bozzz on 10-12-2013
light change
As you say, Greg, a constant, but a progressively commercial one. Terse piece to make the point. Bravo....David

Author's Reply:
glad we chimed on this one David (ahem), many thanks for the read and comment, as ever - Greg

ValDohren on 12-12-2013
light change
Nature doesn't need artificial enhancements does it. Well said.
Val

Author's Reply:
No indeed Val, cheers for the read and comment - Greg


moon on man (posted on: 06-12-13)
({qp})

told siblings that the man in the moon looked different to all of us but the Japanese hare's all kinda uniform to them and so was mocked as unable to discern his kindface until challenge to show me via independent sketch was put down
Archived comments for moon on man
Corin on 12-12-2013
moon on man
You know the Elizabethans thought that the image in afull moon was that of a man standing upright beside his dog and holding a lantern and a small thorn bush (symbol for a pub!)

From 'A Midsummmer Night's Dream:-

This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth Moonshine;

Dave

Author's Reply:
good luck trying squint and make that lot out, but cheers for sharing Dave - Greg


Munn gets free (1) (posted on: 02-12-13)
o.ooooooo1%

Jed had been especially great lately, Nicole thought with hairbrush in mid-stroke. She considered herself in the mirror, knew that she was happy with herself, felt no more need to beat herself up for even existing, despite potential and imminent self harm threat of that hovering hairbrush. An amused smile played her lips as she finished her hair. A neat collection of suitcase, shoulder bag, handbag and coat waited by the door. She'd deliberated and rejected the careful drape over the upright pull along suitcase, and just tossed the coat over the shoulder bag as she considered this was more in keeping with her easy personality. Jed would be beside himself with excitement, he'd never been to her childhood home, the wedding had been in Gretna Green after an elopement (what mad impulse had made her do that) and he was really looking forward to seeing Ireland. There would be some difficulties she knew; he was a pastor in the born again Christian movement, two of her uncles had been Catholic priests (and no, drunken Scotsman from accounting on that Christmas do, they didn't ask to her to do handstands when she visited them as a girl). Nicole sat lost in thought, turning slowly anti-clockwise the very simple gold band of her wedding ring - words weren't part of this reverie, but varying currents of emotion ran into, played and raged against each other. The tide, however, was decided - she would feel like someone's daughter, sister, niece, friend, worker or boss in her life, but she would be a reverend's wife. This new church might be a little less stuffy and hierarchical than what she'd come from, in fact she believed this allowed fun and a feeling of more direct contact into worship, but the concept of the flock and the shepherd was still front and centre. And she was the good shepherd's wife. All of this was known to her, but she was a reflective soul and would allow herself to indulge in such internally transporting moments - knew she was probably being prideful, and this determined her to be even better in her role, more supportive - 'a sturdy crook he can lean on' she murmured, but would not know it had been said aloud as no-one was there to comment. ________________________ Jed Munn was standing with his back to her, the curtains were open and beyond a straw coloured dawn greeted her into the room. She knew he was tired, he'd been at the church late trying to come up with a decent sermon - he told of how he was in constant battle to access something true to say in these set pieces, but he suffered at it. When he had a real block he'd be at the church until all hours, she'd wake to find him asleep on the couch reeking of mints, which he ate while he worked. She'd once mentioned the mints as a possible cause of the difficult nights, repeated roller-coaster of sugar high and crash perhaps preventing a flow to his thoughts. He had stood stock still in the doorway, outside the sun shone on their lawn and birds sang but no joy got past the almost buzzing cloud at Jed's dark back. He did not speak, and she filled the silence with apologetic dismissal of her 'know it all' comment - she still apologised sometimes for sounding pleased with herself when answering tv trivia quiz questions, offering a shrugged "what's a know it all gonna do' disclaimer. That's what she meant about being a reverend's wife, it was different and difficult, but knew she was becoming a better person in terms of the quiet do-gooding obedience she understood was expected. Jed turned and smiled, and they made ready to leave ________________________ She both knew the road to the airport, and was also surprised by elements of it as she used it so infrequently. This led to her providing a kind of squeak punctuated commentary on their journey, as her excitement at going home was given release at every noteworthy change that caught her eye. Jed got her so much, showed happy appreciation of what was happening, his head and upper body seeming to tremble with mirth as his eyes twinkled in happy enjoyment at her light wit. That he just let her go, free to flow and expound, was a symbol of their perfect match. At the airport they were late to check in, but it was a short hop flight to Ireland so there wouldn't be a big plane or loads of passengers, they'd make it, she was sure. Jed kept checking his watch as she'd parked, it had taken her ages to find somewhere she could park (i.e. with a free space next to it), but he'd never said a word. Somehow he had even seemed to relax more as she circled the car park, losing any time they'd saved on the smooth journey through, and in fact a little more. He's the rock in my zen garden, she thought, but wasn't sure about it so tried to unthink it as he walked calm and serene a little behind her ________________________ She'd never seen him like this, just staring, almost unresponsive. His firm jaw clenched slightly, his eyes fixed just over her shoulder. "I haven't got it', he repeated. This was to be a final repetition, following the frantic establishment that he had forgotten his passport, needed it to travel, couldn't get home and back in time to retrieve it. No, they couldn't consider the expense of him getting the next flight - she made out cars, streets, tennis courts, fields, sports grounds, towns and then just land and sea. Finally, as only the ocean was below her, she said a prayer, asked forgiveness for asking. ................................................... Mouthy cow, thought Munn as he drove to the brothel. Two weeks of not having to nod and smile, and he could follow up on the Shavlik thing.
Archived comments for Munn gets free (1)
OldPeculier on 02-12-2013
Munn gets free
Nice!

Great scene setting and detail with a sting in the tail. Just how I like it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the great comments and rating OldP, very much appreciated. - Greg

Mikeverdi on 02-12-2013
Munn gets free
Well Greg, I new it was leading somewhere...but a brothel, I never expected that! Ha Ha! Good read. Mike

Author's Reply:
cheers for reading and the great rating Mike, glad it raised a smile - Greg

Buschell on 02-12-2013
Munn gets free
Munnkind...we all get munnted now and then but phew, this fella takes the cake. Great right turn at the end, great build up and humanity. Your craft is well honed and there should be more prose from you fella!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for great comment and encouragement, truly appreciated - Greg

Rab on 05-12-2013
Munn gets free
Nice twist at the end, didn't expect it at all.

Ross

Author's Reply:
Cheers Ross, thanks for read and great comment, much appreciated - Greg


Guru Palace (not reconsider) (posted on: 02-12-13)
/^(

went to a retreat in Goa just for the day, didn't have to retreat that far but found a welcome most warm from their kind-crease faced leader invite to cross legged consideration of some circuitously troublesome posers as acolytes fan embers of incense dark skin, bright flash of teeth and eyes add to the woozy enveloping atmosphere drum rhythms join occasional chant murmur while outside honest to god monkey chatter mixes with prosaic clang of cow bell though no homely normality in those bony-hips garlanded and revered I'm touched on the arm, am offered a lime lassi return a very gentle yes, my companion reminds me I don't like them, so I consider and change my answer
Archived comments for Guru Palace (not reconsider)
Mikeverdi on 02-12-2013
Guru Palace (not reconsider)
I can see the merit in the writing, but it feels like part of something...am I being old again? Congrats on the Nib. Mike

Author's Reply:
cheers Mike, not part of something bigger, glad it had merit for you - your read and comment is much appreciated as ever, Greg

Andrea on 02-12-2013
Guru Palace (not reconsider)
Loved this. I know (knew) many people who went to Goa (and Gurus - alas, I never made India) and recognise the ...troublesome posers
as acolytes fan embers of incense...


A marvellously atmospheric piece.

kind-crease faced leader - wonderful.

Author's Reply:
thank you ever so much for the great comments and rating Andrea, really glad you enjoyed - Greg

Buschell on 02-12-2013
Guru Palace (not reconsider)
I think once you rock up to one of these gigs you become a poser. A try hard? Andrea is spot on...atmospheric...transports the reader and gently provokes thoughts. Or not. Darren.

Author's Reply:
Cheers Darren, reckon your spot on with the poser/try hard thing, thanks for the smashing comment bud - Greg


pure theatre (posted on: 29-11-13)
*^*^*

there is a certain purity brought by these accidents especially young blondes with all before them, taken they must have been so very high or low, previous now to be confounded at the planned hands of men
Archived comments for pure theatre

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TWISTE2 old (posted on: 29-11-13)
_HuH_

She'd cried and cried that night, her twisted little body hunched in sorrow and despair. The frustration and anger pouring out of her heart as the tears poured from her eyes. She would need to have cried a lake to empty her heart of the pain, he could see that. The fact that he loved her, that they both loved her, was beyond dispute. They loved her despite everything - his heart ached and a nerve in his head tingled and throbbed whenever he thought like that, but it was true nonetheless, they loved her despite everything. They both tried to calm her down, to reason with her; they were neither intelligent nor devious enough to make even an 11 year old believe a line of logic that they knew themselves to be false and groundless. She sobbed out the plain truth and they simply had to accept it; "everywhere, forever, it will always be the same. Th, th, they..." she broke off unable to control her sorrow, in a few moments she had recovered enough to continue " everywhere, always, people will laugh and mock and be hurtful" he winced at the innocence of her language "promise me that I don't have to go out there again alone, I don't want to, I don't, I don't , I can't, I can't, I can't" Suddenly she turned her face to them, a blazing fury in her eyes, "you can't make me, you won't make me, you can't make me, you won't make me" repeating this mantra, alternately defiant and pleading, she eventually passed into a fitful sleep. Her parents stood over her until dawn came and their joints ached as though the morning dew were settling in them. When she woke they were sitting at the end of her bed watching her, sorrowful and resigned. She thought they looked like two old owls observing the secrets of the night, and the thought illuminated her mind and chased the darkness to the corners, for a while. Joey and Mary, had watched their ugly, misshapen, twisted, much loved only daughter Clara release the tidal wave of tears and hurt that was inside her and they had both known, without thought or discussion, that they would do everything they could to help and protect her. Clara had gone to school for the first time that day, the day of the tears. Previously she had been tutored at home and the local education authorities had paid because of her special needs. When she reached senior school age her case was reviewed. A change in policy and her excellent recent progress had led her assessor to conclude that the best place for her to be educated was at the local school. The assessor, Mr Wilson, had listened to Joey and Mary's concerns sympathetically and had admitted that she would face problems at the school because of her appearance. Wilson believed fervently that contact with her peers in a relatively controlled environment like a school would benefit Clara immensely. As he was forever telling his colleagues in the Department, these kids were separated enough from society due to disability, he felt it was their job to include them as much as possible, not exclude them and forego any chance of normal social development they'd ever have. Wilson felt that, because of his own problems, he had a particular affinity and understanding for these kids. Joey had listened to Wilson's arguments carefully, and although unconvinced, he could see in the softening of Mary's features that she was persuaded by the reasoning put forward. Because he knew he was over protective of Clara he had trusted Mary's instinct and kept his doubts to himself. That night as he watched over the nocturnal snufflings of his beloved 'little lump' he had first of all had dark thoughts about Mary. Why had she been so easily convinced by Wilson, agreed so readily? The question taunted and enraged him almost to fury until just in time he managed to re-channel this flow of molten hatred towards Wilson, the albino eyed bastard, with his thin moustache and his nervous tics and blinks, he could hear him now; "You really have no choice(tic, tic). I mean Joe, I can call you Joe(tic blink) good; well Joe I'm not sure that you'd be able to afford to educate her at home if you had to pay(blink blink). And if I'm honest with you the Authority won't provide payment unless my report (tic) recommends it. My report (tic, tic, tic) won't be (tictic) recommending that(tic, blink, tic tic)" It had been like a mocking morse code accompaniment to the news that Joey had dreaded, but Mary had been so positive that he'd allowed his worries to be assuaged. Now he wondered whether pleading, threats, bribes, anything might have helped to persuade Wilson. And he determined to contact the authority tomorrow to decide if any of those things, and any other devices he could think of, would persuade Wilson's immediate superior to overrule his recommendations. His mind ran for a second to a place he was unfamiliar with and unsure of and there he saw Wilson cowering , twitching, blinking and pleading for his life while Joey stood over him, taunting him, as they'd taunted poor wee, ugly, Clara.
Archived comments for TWISTE2 old
Buschell on 30-11-2013
TWISTE2 old
Dark realism. Fine line between parent and vigilante! It's all true. I like, mocking morse code, nocturnal snufflings and the economy of words in this compelling tale. Nice one Bo.

Author's Reply:
Cheers for the great comments Buschell, much appreciated

deadpoet on 30-11-2013
TWISTE2 old
It's called 'inclusion' here .You give a very good picture of the protective parents. It's a bit of a dilemna because teachers complain about not having enough time.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the read and deep comment deadpoet, sometimes we include those who will then be excluded, a circle I guess - Greg

Weefatfella on 01-12-2013
TWISTE2 old
 photo 9ad6ff1f-0d9b-467e-b5d6-2d3f72a688a0_zps705a5781.jpg
Restraint doesn't come easy when it's your child. The tics and blinks of the procrastinating decision makers. Who never make the right decisions, especially when you are closely involved.
Aye difficult subject Greg. You handled it well.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the read and thoughtful comments WFF, appreciated - Greg


the orb (posted on: 25-11-13)
Q, o

the orb first appeared at age twenty two floating at head height and see through a crystalline tennis ball size companion that would remain in constant position through her ascension from local story to miracle girl of worldwide notoriety all the while, the noiseless and always                         O of the orb continually defined her days orbicide tried once at wine's instigation hand stayed what felt like self mutilation life settled into celebrity and chastity no romance when under glass scrutiny after time attention faded from the orb she not pestered to explain it any more her young image worshipped in cults as she worked, lived, ate age's insults new poem may mean re-discovery soon for a content lady and a personal moon
Archived comments for the orb
deadpoet on 25-11-2013
the orb
Quite a puzzle to read.. I'm sure you have a message but of what I don't know??

Author's Reply:
Hi deadpoet - an idea poem that kinda came out fully formed, so we shall puzzle at it together - thanks for reading, and for taking time to comment - Greg

Bozzz on 26-11-2013
the orb
I think this rhyming poem would read better with regular beats in each line - not to hard to arrange. Clearly a star with well-known dimensions and attempting self harm. It is is a sad story that hopefully ends well. Keep writing Bo.... Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading and commenting David - when things come in a hurry I fear overworking them and losing whatever was trying to get out, but as ever appreciate your views and insights - Greg

ValDohren on 26-11-2013
the orb
Fascinating, and understandable in light of David"s interpretation, otherwise I would have been totally nonplussed. I think this is an excellent example of poetic imagination.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the read and comment Val - it really was just about a girl and an orb :o) Greg


sky dive (posted on: 25-11-13)
(\o/)

huge involuntary grin unfathomable amounts of air billow cheeks uncontrollably as I spin as I fall an untidy star swearing I realise hurtling downwards sharp pull and bag evacuation express elevator back skyward falling again both time and god on my side huge voluntary grin
Archived comments for sky dive
Mikeverdi on 25-11-2013
sky dive
Much to my detriment, I don't always 'get' your work (I'm old, forgive me) but I like this a lot, my daughter has done this and described it just like this. Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike, I'm not that old and only get some of it ;o) - many thanks for the read and kind comment - Greg

deadpoet on 25-11-2013
sky dive
I think you describe this as I imagine skydiving to be. Well done. I like the line' an untidy star' very original.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the comment and rating, much appreciated (and we share a favourite line πŸ™‚

pommer on 25-11-2013
sky dive
Well written,never done it myself, but have a relative who has.I like the first line, leading to the last one. Well written Bo Duke99.
Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pommer, thanks for the comment and rating, much appreciated - Greg

Bozzz on 25-11-2013
sky dive
Involuntary grin is natures cover for blind fear. Voluntary version is relief. Liked this piece very much Bo....David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, many thanks for reading and providing such a great comment - Greg

ValDohren on 26-11-2013
sky dive
Scary stuff, prefer terra firma myself !! Very well described though, at least I imagine. Well done, and congrats on the nib - a worthy endowment.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the read Val, and the great rating - glad you enjoyed (imagination on my part too - shush) - Greg

Kipper on 27-11-2013
sky dive
Never done it myself but I know the feeling when I've had a couple too many.
Very descriptive. I also like the last line being a repeat of the first, and with god and time on your side it must be wonderful.



Author's Reply:

Kipper on 27-11-2013
sky dive
Never done it myself but I know the feeling when I've had a couple too many.
Very descriptive. I also like the last line being a repeat of the first, and with god and time on your side it must be wonderful.



Author's Reply:
ha ha on the couple too many analogy, and thanks for rating and the comment - Cheers,
Greg

Ionicus on 27-11-2013
sky dive
Not having experienced such feat, I did not appreciate the exhilaration that it may engender.
Well done on the nib, Greg.

Author's Reply:
aw shucks - cheers for the read and comment!

Buschell on 27-11-2013
sky dive
Whoa! A nib! How random and deserved. Why jump out of a perfectly good plane? Your zen like economy with words, choice words are what draw me into your clever world, Darren.

Author's Reply:
why indeed Darren! - cheers for the read and cool comment, Greg

Pronto on 28-11-2013
sky dive
Having 62 jumps under my belt (Including one total malfunction main canopy) I can relate to this and the thrill of the adrenalin rush. Dam good write.

Author's Reply:
Cheers for the rating and comment Pronto, especially given your personal experience - Greg


gerontonob (Radio 4 Wednesday) (posted on: 22-11-13)
T_____jij_____T

the cult of the high priest demands exclusivity to be enforced by definition via gerontocracy taken right of clouded eyes, purpled lips at no king's invitation will outline boundaries define range and scope adjudicate on the acceptable claim their high mastery of the mystery take pride in the hard and snide if it puts in place feudal system of rank which must contain those enfant, most challenging irrepressible but suffer not another's hand contained and bound by traditions insisted self appointed due to endurance outlasting persevering become guardians only of what was, not what is yet to come the good night take them, gentle when ready others prepare to ignore moulds seek waves, make present the new
Archived comments for gerontonob (Radio 4 Wednesday)

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*Babylon's whore (posted on: 22-11-13)
(.)

the most dangerous word in the world - control worst, of the message climate change denial, but no flat earthers on tv the European union enshrined human rights in law to benefit everyone more human traffic than slave trading's peak feminism is winning growing numbers of women reach the highest posts more forced female sex than ever before* freedom in markets constant capitalised expansion 'an only' financial model your poorer than your parents 2% took it all
Archived comments for *Babylon's whore
Mikeverdi on 27-11-2013
*Babylons whore
I get your point here...except the first bit; for me it doesn't make sense. I get the ambiguity of the rest okay and agree with the sentiment. Mike

Author's Reply:
thanks for the read and comment Mike - Greg


tradivarius (posted on: 18-11-13)
$4$44444$$$4$$

instrument to collect watch as it's banged back into shape hard it will play, I'm assured like never before all white flowerings trick really deep blues look back "we sell music"
Archived comments for tradivarius
Bozzz on 19-11-2013
tradivarius
Where have you been Bo? Looking in skips? Sorry, too obscure for my simple mind. Hope things will get easier - for us readers, I mean !
Wish you well in your mathematical travels...David

Author's Reply:
thanks for reading David, and taking time to comment


step out (posted on: 18-11-13)
O lB O lB O lB O lB

creaky new cold outside tempts walk before dawn in bare feet frosty pathway, note spiderweb and grass as glass, as I should half there firm myself and turn marvel at the perfect everytime footprints behind raising steam small wind wounds sharp, feet scream blued mercy below me so step on to my itchy destiny warm bloodflow again bothers soles made most adventurous
Archived comments for step out
barenib on 19-11-2013
step out
Has an element of 'stream of consciousness' about it which is quite effective especially after several reads - John.

Author's Reply:
thanks for persevering John, and for the kind comment

Bozzz on 19-11-2013
step out
Agree the sense is continuous and the readers must make their own phrasing. It is hard work Greg, but as John says easier after several reads. Has modern man got time for this? Today there is some merit in making poetry understandable at first read. My second says the piece is well descriptive of adventure on a frozen morning...David

Author's Reply:
will consider both aspects - thanks for the read and comment David


night drive (posted on: 15-11-13)
h^I^a

giving a lift dark road rumble black flash and streetlight in the inky blue midnight off a ten to five week night
Archived comments for night drive
Ionicus on 16-11-2013
night drive
You seem to be an exponent of minimalist poetry, Bo. There is something in there struggling to come out. Perhaps you ought to beef up your imagery.

Author's Reply:
cheers for the read and comment


to trim a rosebush (posted on: 15-11-13)
*'\;*

first shout a whiny no notice crack in cool tan shoe small hairs adhere to cushions, comment on small bark from dog squeak of door, done
Archived comments for to trim a rosebush

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ginger fingerings (posted on: 11-11-13)
l l l l .......

boyfriend of an ex-schoolmate hyper, spoke to me in the street they'd split, but today he told of the revenge about to unfold each night while seeking sleep his girlfriend, my friend, she'd picture a rose and so meditate would fall asleep to it's scent gurgling down laughter now he said it was today, the cow would see on her step a vase with his usual apology rose this time though it's different put stem deep into excrement running now, he shouts after I won't make it, so run faster but at her flat see he's right there's no rosy ritual tonight sleeps' death spoke in ginger finger smear upon her door
Archived comments for ginger fingerings

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colours (one red) (posted on: 11-11-13)
'''''II{}II'''''

ten years old pouring milk into a bowl of tomato soup watching the slow infusion white round cloud growth am reminded of a puddle coloured with engine oil my reflection as through a gutter trapped rainbow a much earlier time comes I run across the small green dull starling wing surprises with sudden show of colours
Archived comments for colours (one red)
Buschell on 13-11-2013
colours (one red)
A memory filtered through time and space, half remembered. Embellished. Half forgotten. Jotted down. Or not. Lovely images whatever the case. Darren.

Author's Reply:
thanks for reading and the great comment Darren, pleased you got it!


then they fall (posted on: 08-11-13)
(:) (:) (::) (:) (:)

dinosaur leaf of horse chestnut slaps passing squirrel tries navigating round topped railings slips down bars just like a slinky, again, again big man, red face, huge hose, sucks at a drain tree, green thin leaves discarded thick around seemingly healthy fresh bits just tossed down oak leaves fall readied in dying's gentle shade wind restores dancing life, until they fall again
Archived comments for then they fall

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pit-a-pat flower game (posted on: 08-11-13)
############ 1111111111111111

man caught a Djinn and Alladin-esque had wishes - first end warfare he asks Djinn explains wishes must be explicit "guns issue flowers when fired to kill" battles were silenced but for pit-a-pat noises as flowers harmless hit targets soldiers soon realised guns as useless until aiming a flower a friend got shot generals sent troops now to play games of pit-a-pat flower towards the enemy bullets were fired til the men realised and the gentle rain of flowers resumed a general then stood. explained to others of downs syndrome affecting his brother "so good natured, ain't no kill in him but can be convinced anything's a game" training 'em was hell, sure wasn't pretty but eventually can be controlled in play now war was resumed, death again freed harmless made killers, eager to please
Archived comments for pit-a-pat flower game
Slovitt on 08-11-2013
pit-a-pat flower game
odd, and fresh. good poem.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the read and fine comment Slovitt, appreciated

deadpoet on 09-11-2013
pit-a-pat flower game
I love the idea of flowers shooting instead of bullets- loved this Boduke..

Author's Reply:
would be good wouldn't it, little flower pics on ammo boxes so you'd know what you're getting ;o) - cheers for the comment deadpoet

Buschell on 09-11-2013
pit-a-pat flower game
"there ain't no kill in him" and I suspect the same goes for you...just very good, nibless poetry. Darren.

Author's Reply:
thanks Darren, meh to the nibs, cheers for the comment

Buschell on 09-11-2013
pit-a-pat flower game
"there ain't no kill in him" and I suspect the same goes for you...just very good, nibless poetry. Darren.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 09-11-2013
pit-a-pat flower game
I particularly liked the first stanza of this poem echoing the Sixties cry of 'make love, not war'. Well done Bo.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the insightful comment and great rating Ion!


someone knows (posted on: 04-11-13)
iii9o0iii

there was only sand and mud seagulls and you what we thought was a baby shark that day in Cork by the harbour
Archived comments for someone knows
barenib on 04-11-2013
someone knows
Intriguing - the unexpected is often worth exploring! I like this - John.

Author's Reply:
Couldn't agree more on exploration - cheers for the comment John.


small beer (posted on: 04-11-13)
=__!!__=

waiting to go in pub toilets fat man in suit wants to know where to buy what he wants he sweats waiting wondering if he'll get what he wants a lad takes cash won't be back fat suits happy now my turn it's free to piss
Archived comments for small beer

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The 'great fiery washing machine of souls' (posted on: 01-11-13)
|O|

Great fiery washing machine of souls?
Archived comments for The 'great fiery washing machine of souls'

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mouth organ bleach? (posted on: 01-11-13)
##@##

interesting new job I'm inventing acts for those talentless who want to be on Saturday night telly arsehole harmonica is just how it sounds
Archived comments for mouth organ bleach?
Andrea on 01-11-2013
mouth organ bleach?
Yep, just about right πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Cheers for the comment Andrea!


did they hear him? (posted on: 25-10-13)
vV--+--Vv

pastor John calls for invalids excludes the deaf I noticed at a big big super church really just to take a look
Archived comments for did they hear him?
stormwolf on 27-10-2013
did they hear him?
Not sure I got this Bo..
You sure are a dab hand with the smileys though πŸ˜‰ ---

Alison x

Author's Reply:
become a habit, enjoy it though - thanks 4 da com Al!


hypno climb (posted on: 25-10-13)
[-][-][-][-][-]

hypnotised back in Liverpool, was kinda just playing fool but was also truly half away in drunk hairdo student days after Jaggering about I found I really had to pee right now, caught the man's eye and waved just jumped straight off stage as he told my departing rear end it was now awake and alert again tried to look cool holding piss in as me and the lads did high fiving afterward compared with others most were just like me up there one said she'd gone completely Irish, nice, we went to a party we got to the girls' flat, but no keys climbable grill bars to the 4th near the top floor with the open window 'only way in, or you'll all have to go' a posh lad started climbing with me thought better of it one floor quickly I steadily made it to four, end of bars is the gap to the windowsill too far? think of retreat, but my brain's all new pull myself up, knees to feet, through that very top window, but, then, pause and release as my top - caught - tears I fall on a bed and rush like a bastard prepare to act cool during answers about it from girl-Irish and friends the night I almost caught 'my end'
Archived comments for hypno climb
stormwolf on 27-10-2013
hypno climb
haha I think many of us have funny tales to tell. My ex husband once went home with a girl (before he married me or so he tells me) anyway, he did not want her to see he was wearing a vest so he took it off and flung it out the skylight window. How we laughed thinking about the bird's eye view of the roofs of Aberdeen with someone's vest dangling from the moonlit slates! πŸ˜‰

Alison x

Author's Reply:
brill, worthy of an entry in itself, cheers for the comment Alison

Buschell on 27-10-2013
hypno climb
"Jaggering" about..lips an' all...fast paced urban jaunt, a breathless little beauty...

Author's Reply:
Cheers, lived it again getting it down - thanks for the comment Bschl


passed off (posted on: 21-10-13)
9(_)6

a clean picked skull found first time with new dog, in a field sheep frequent farmer's let dead sheep rot out around livestock until just a head's left? bent to take a better look moved it gently around found loose teeth shook then brought it back home steeped in real hot bleach repeatedly for a full week continues on my hearth an ornament & welcome far after it's mortal coil by visitors called artwork, or simply passed off as some skull from an alien
Archived comments for passed off
Bozzz on 23-10-2013
passed off
Very interesting piece Bo. Yes, surely a skull represents life as clearly as anything and for our own past it's all we've got to show. I think it is just past on, not passed off....Bozzz
[Sorry, I pressed post before I had finished my comment].

Author's Reply:
any early postery was invisible my end, cheers for the thoughtful comments Bozz

Andrea on 24-10-2013
passed off
You could have made fromage du tΓͺte from it πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
And may yet, after a quick websearch! Thanks for the comment Andrea.


Time Lines (posted on: 21-10-13)
llLLLLLLL¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬llL

Two men, doing up a coal bunker at the same place, sixty years apart, 2000's man starts resenting the fact that he has to do anything with it, 1950's man starts seeing a proper opportunity, good space to be used; both get re-framing of their perception where your head goes through, a visionary set of dual window frames that then miraculously aligns; what is this universal re-framing, and surely they can't both be right? Either man is about faced, see's the reality of their own bunker anew, a universal connection in our all-handed wit, but who's truth is true?
Archived comments for Time Lines
deadpoet on 23-10-2013
Time Lines
Profound.

Author's Reply:
thanks for reading and the comment dp

Texasgreg on 25-10-2013
Time Lines
I've always said it's all in perspective, which is just a simple but accurate observation. Personally, I see both as unnecessarily toiling as the fifties guy most likely died from black lung and the new millennium guy is partaking in "rape" as we're killing our earth for sake of profit when better methods are now available to power our needs.

Good job!

Greg πŸ™‚

 photo Gunspincowboy.gif

Author's Reply:
Cheers Greg, deep comment man.


Thursday now (rock pools) (posted on: 18-10-13)
ii*7^7

just stayed in the waves let them crash let them come I am the new and the strong when young and brave
Archived comments for Thursday now (rock pools)
deadpoet on 19-10-2013
Thursday now (rock pools)
Love rock pools- love this metaphor.. enjoyed the poem-loved it.

Author's Reply:
thanks, forced it out and glad I did


broaden (posted on: 18-10-13)
-~o

Sci-fi style baddies who have huge overhanging eyes who don't really understand the concept of the sky get most confused when it rains, bark 'why is it wet?' then when it snows, 'what's this cold everywhere shit!'
Archived comments for broaden
mageorge on 20-10-2013
broaden
I get the idea that this is about a dog, but not altogether sure.
It's not quite, clear enough, really. But hey, that's just my view.

A nice little poem.

Good luck,
Mark.





Author's Reply:
deffo said bark, soooo...?


the high riding (posted on: 11-10-13)
iiiiiiiiiiiuuuopopouuuiiiiiiiiiiiii

the dogs from childhood were in my dreams, as if they wanted my help, so I'd walk them the dreams came back, and last year ended I dreamt a high riding where dogs were saved climb beyond garden ends, across a dark river, bottom of many modern houses, on the other side it was a river I knew, the end of a wooded walk, and then we'd head to the end, to the rising hill ignoring turns then at the high riding common turns places I knew, that way the farm, beyond the road this way the high riding, and then I took them and I walked them up onto the high riding and as they whelped in the light I worried, but then; then high pitched puppy yelps came from beyond the light, and happiness I had to work so hard getting back home
Archived comments for the high riding
deadpoet on 12-10-2013
the high riding
Sorry but what is "high riding" ? I'm sure I'll understand more of this once I know that.

Author's Reply:


all small things (posted on: 11-10-13)
,.o0O)'

is it true that all very small things .. are really quite dirty if you just inspect them closely
Archived comments for all small things
Andrea on 12-10-2013
all small things
Ain't that the truth!

Author's Reply:

deadpoet on 12-10-2013
all small things
This is so small it needs some more attention (to detail) but I don't know whether I share the sentiment- gives me something to think about- I like that.

Author's Reply:

pommer on 13-10-2013
all small things
You may be right, but all big things are made up of lots of small things.Pommer

Author's Reply:


blinded beggar (posted on: 04-10-13)
b...:...d

we watch 'the blinded beggar', a story within another story, one actor knows it's a play, and says things to expose this when asked by an entering actor playing the matriarch with gusto what all the commotion just was our lead blankly explains that 'a man struggled with a woman over a gun, then counted to five under his breath and ran behind that cardboard picture of a house' a point provokes meta conversation among 'characters' about preferring life if fate could be decided for you not enjoying the good responsibility this brings simple sagged resignation from our intruder where was wanted raging Lear-like rebuttal from the one lucky enough to be awake among them
Archived comments for blinded beggar
Buschell on 13-11-2013
blinded beggar
Kooky. Meta Kooky. If this was a real poem in this reality I'd comment. My problem is that I am unaware that I don't exist and have never existed and so am unsure of the true nature of anything. I suspect you are probably only a hologram anyway. Great stuff. Darren.

Author's Reply:
I am a hologram, I am a hologram (is that what they do πŸ˜‰ - cheers for the read and great comment Darren.


the milked (posted on: 04-10-13)
'oo_oo'

Korean based billionaire runs a million pound prize online writing competition stories to be called 'the milked' if the story matches his plot as judged by a panel, you win opening lines were provided to stimulate ideas and interest in the online community "God's voice is heard from the sky saying this is my most loved son you must do as he says" he reads every entry, the panel does not release the prize fund, he fails to get what he wants
Archived comments for the milked
deadpoet on 04-10-2013
the milked
I had to laugh at this- tragically comical...

Author's Reply:
thanks for the read and comment, good tragic I hope ;o)

Buschell on 09-10-2013
the milked
Can I read your submission Bo...does it involve 70's porn and UHT? I'll give you a fiver for it...great imaginings!

Author's Reply:
No...yes & yes - not for sale, and thanks!!!


no neon sue (posted on: 30-09-13)
(O)(o)OOOoooOOO(o)(O)

you saw your name in neon '87, coincidence in film titles at the pictures now you've tried absinthe 25 years later an extrovert in a mid-life you sob uncontrollably 90% water "I'm not in neon now"
Archived comments for no neon sue
deadpoet on 02-10-2013
no neon sue
Ah a fading starlet. Makes me think of these Hollywood ladies who turned to booze when their looks faded and wrinkles appeared or they simply were out of date. Goes for the men as well- never sober..1930's- I suppose it is a timeless syndrome. Short and sweet poem

Author's Reply:
cheers man, sweet is always the aim...


usual nonsensical diversion (posted on: 30-09-13)
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz^__^zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

readying to sleep recently I was certain I could revisit locations from a deep dream several months previous so decided, I did just that played it like a game level explored it at whim and will adventures beyond expectation first turned off at the layby with the hidden caravan that always gives me a place of definite return could go from there inland to the music festival upland for the grounds of my grand stately home interrupted with the usual nonsensical diversion (race for entrance to a ride cum cinema/nightclub) safety of knowing, firm rules that applied consistent as I went in my universe grounds of dream pleased me greatly
Archived comments for usual nonsensical diversion
deadpoet on 02-10-2013
usual nonsensical diversion
The wise heads say you can control your dreams. I have never succeeded.

Author's Reply:
this was my best effort - Linklaters 'waking lives' is superb on this topic, cheers for the comment


in a prison primly (posted on: 27-09-13)
______*JKL*________

v. strange dream the sexual awakening of one buttoned up lady with herpes who shared those Neal Stephenson / Isaac Newton books with the fellow inmate who sexually awakened her interest (ing)
Archived comments for in a prison primly

No comments archives found!
to da LB (posted on: 27-09-13)
~(%i%)~

maybe I look like a sun to the ladybird, outside shimmering heat apparent and no outline, no certainty no firm core
Archived comments for to da LB
franciman on 28-09-2013
to da LB
Hi Bo,
Man through the microscope; or telescope. This one sings, and in some ways it's a sad song. I love it.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Hi Jim, cheers man - replied originally by posting below your comment like a big idiot, but much appreciated.

bo_duke99 on 29-09-2013
to da LB
arthroscope? cheers for the comment Jim.

Author's Reply:

Buschell on 02-10-2013
to da LB
Sometimes insects mistake me for a gerbera and although I consider myself more of a rhododendron kinda fella I'll take it...zen like, dreamy piece with all the meloncholy of summer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks (eventually πŸ™‚ for the insightful comment B


grown (posted on: 23-08-13)
vV...

had a girlfriend I loved her, we lived together down South she was twenty she came back on her birthday dead excited "s'on Instagram see how my own cherry trees are grown" my tree's blossom underfoot two streets from home I'm sad today
Archived comments for grown
anth2014ed on 04-09-2013
grown
sorry this is not a comment, but could you provide permission for work to go in the Anth (see forums and FP)

Author's Reply:
approved

e-griff on 10-09-2013
grown
And a bio, pse! πŸ˜‰

Author's Reply:
a man who writes poems, sometimes


in the sun (posted on: 23-08-13)
T_______T h-------y

from a note: "Ria had an idea, that if you got a quilt really wet or something structurally large otherwise really wet, then dried it in the sun dried it in the sun with care, let it bake in the strong sun, turning it as required until steam came out of it under the sun so it got hard, and dry in the sun When you took it back indoors and used it normally, that cracking that breaking, that realigning of it's fibres away from the hard dry baking of the sun from wet to dry in the presence of the sun would release magic onto you" he considers, and says; "these ideas were shite" breathes out a little raggedly - "is shite"
Archived comments for in the sun
amman on 24-08-2013
in the sun
I really like the cracking, rat-a-tat cadence of this Bo. Good repetitive, driving pace and sardonically amusing . Really appeals.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
many thanks, glad you enjoyed

Rab on 25-08-2013
in the sun
Like the cracking pace, and the ending's great.

Ross

Author's Reply:
cheers Rab, appreciated


guanta-monsa-delecto (posted on: 29-07-13)
(|¬|)

I'm the consumer of choice in the 21st century able, open, wise on complexities know to ask where my asparagus came from before I begin any voluntary ingestion
Archived comments for guanta-monsa-delecto

No comments archives found!
gulliver (posted on: 29-07-13)
nl ycnn ct

heading home after a long one having class fun with petrolheads a girl - a friend comes suddenly alive jerks excitedly points and exclaims "miniature people with gid like miniature clothes and everything" children Jane they're children "aw, Christ yeah children" (laughs)
Archived comments for gulliver
Weefatfella on 29-07-2013
gulliver
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Awfull things recreational chemicals.
Had a Larf.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
ha ha - we'd watched them do some circuits at a race track, cheers for the comment fella!

stormwolf on 31-07-2013
gulliver
Quirky and fun πŸ˜‰

Alison x

Author's Reply:
and true!

Cheers Alison


beastman (posted on: 26-07-13)
/.,./

people find it hard to draw five fingered hands a chunky four being the normality a forced conformity a force fed image of beast as man
Archived comments for beastman

No comments archives found!
same mouth (posted on: 26-07-13)
jjjjj|||-|||jjjjjj

"sci-fi: man from 2011 remote location (tellies still big back) landed up back in 1981 North East, England Sinclair C5s Faxphones, Atari games weird gadgets & more seem like the future" thin wind of asthma inhaler crackle of new cigarette same mouth
Archived comments for same mouth

No comments archives found!
Earth Dark (posted on: 07-06-13)
OOOOOOOOOOOOOD

{drunk voice-memo re-work} ______________________ Demon's who have come to Earth in the opening scenes of our play (or drama) See them they are ringed, they are dark they are brought into our ground By lightning and cataclysm as they 'hear' then emerges corporeal bodies We see them fat and lazy much overtaken of most moist earthly delights
Archived comments for Earth Dark
shadow on 08-06-2013
Earth Dark
Like this, even though I have no idea what it means - if it 'means' anything ... do poems have to have a meaning? I shall ponder it, anyway.

Author's Reply:

chant_z on 09-06-2013
Earth Dark
I tried to avoid thinking "Goth" but failed. Poems don't have to have a meaning to me. It will "stick around" for me, it will.

Author's Reply:


cuiq (posted on: 07-06-13)
.

little is too small to fit into my world I will tell you all I have said & I have heard
Archived comments for cuiq
Savvi on 07-06-2013
cuiq
Quirky is this one, somehow it doesn't feel complete. S

Author's Reply:


fire bird (posted on: 24-05-13)
o)> O) "

kept seeing a bit of land quite near work, caught my attention triangle overgrown, unused result of two fields juxtaposition so I put a shed on it one night went there sometimes, sat in it then one day it was burned down all smouldering black and gone as I stood looking, some crows edged to overhung branches shat all over the steaming ruin four or five in giggling unison eyes in rapacious reptile glint conniving, contriving, stinking of guilt but having, I think, considered all possibilities I can't conceive crows as literally incendiary
Archived comments for fire bird
japanesewind on 24-05-2013
fire bird
Enjoyed this Bo, "put a shed on it" (like ya do)
then the burning is par for the course for the little arsonist's that plague the country, the crows have me thinking.....

It could be a metaphor for a love gone bad? hahaha
I shall ponder on that....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David, ponder on man...

amman on 26-05-2013
fire bird
Like this. Has a kind of stark, staccato rhythm befitting the subject matter. Perhaps 'avian glint' instead of 'reptile glint'.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
I know what your saying with avian, but the little birdstards were using that reptile remnant brain part for sure...


Fight Week (posted on: 24-05-13)
===oo00HOH00oo===

biggest fight of my life been a dick all week starved up and thirsty shouting and nasty still working on bits just gotta win this now this 'too real' shit as man becomes desert 48 hours long and dry that cunt is surely gonna die he's gonna be gettin' this every bit of my distress turn it inside out dominate the bout by letting hurt become hate heart fast-beating I anticipate in a bit of myself all the time goading myself into over-drive then it's here, driven in a car I stiffen into being destroyer shadow box, talk, drink think, stare, think-stare-think winners talk to themselves like Ali or 100m finalists I give it the full head-shaking mutter enjoy being the super-intense nutter now here's cunt ready to fight shit-arse runt it's not your night ref calls the runt over for the big final stare want it so much we grin like fuck at each other ding ding
Archived comments for Fight Week
Slovitt on 24-05-2013
Fight Week
greg: lot that rings true walking down this poem of yours.
"we grin like fuck at each other" and i'm in the ring, bell about to clang. good poem. swep

Author's Reply:
thanks Swep, inspired by Froch-Kessler


dream liking (posted on: 17-05-13)
ssSSYyYSSss

a man in a dream said "when the devil comes back he'll be a boxer with a weird-ass stance and some kinda unbelievable unbeaten record with a-load-a KOs" a man awake liked his own dream
Archived comments for dream liking
stormwolf on 19-05-2013
dream liking
Hi there, πŸ™‚
Hate to see a poem with no comments. This is quirky and original. Don't think I really understood it but like to see folk being bold
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, much appreciated.

Greg


#nob.$ (posted on: 17-05-13)
$$$#nob#$$$

working in big numbers doing those large, hard work deals is dislocating bandy about amounts that once seemed the exclusive realm of someone Mcduck on a daily, unbothered, basis see your own life seem like pencil sketch art imitating a bigger reality then a bird does a proper mobile phone chirrup near my head + I laugh x £1m
Archived comments for #nob.$
Savvi on 20-05-2013
#nob.$
I enjoyed this because its quirky but I cant get to the heart of it sorry probably just me, the last stanza is the most confusing. Thanks S

Author's Reply:
last stanza is me snapping out of it, enjoying the free joy


high heavens (posted on: 22-02-13)
&L_____III

messages beam from high heavens to tell of a shop three streets away soon we can believe in a benevolent god, who doesn't let kids die but they're waiting on medical science catching up before pitching that one
Archived comments for high heavens
Slovitt on 22-02-2013
high heavens
bo_duke99: ah, yes. swep

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 24-02-2013
high heavens
Love it!

Author's Reply:

Fox-Cragg on 05-04-2013
high heavens
Good read, bang on.
Paul

Author's Reply:


heavenly burblings (posted on: 04-02-13)
:::@@@@::@@@@:::

the dark and long green chill foliage tunnel of a riverside path grown and full made red-sand-mud slippage and underfoot peril has my valour tamed into cringed puddle edge walk occasionally followed by what can't be avoided the shallow-hope splash of only way through until happiness certain on stones large and steady from filth elevated I step into the light am transported a-sudden by dreams now come living church bells, joy laughing tickle-throbbing close by calling of heaven beat-bronze makes it happen heavenly burblings unexpected sing true
Archived comments for heavenly burblings
japanesewind on 04-02-2013
heavenly burblings
Good poetry.
Great use of wording here Bo, and how many times have I
negotiated the same obstacle course?
the bells at the end of the tunnel are beautiful....

this bit below stands out for the way it was written,
and reminds me of the language in "A CLOCKWORK ORANGE"

"am transported a-sudden
by dreams now come living
church bells, joy laughing
tickle-throbbing close by"

seeya.....D


Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 04-02-2013
heavenly burblings
Lovely, and very atmospheric. Enjoyed reading.

Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 05-02-2013
heavenly burblings
For me a revisit to an ancestral spot. Sensitive - a good write
...Bozzz

Author's Reply:

Savvi on 05-02-2013
heavenly burblings
This feels like coming out of a bad place meeting someone that makes the reader happy and a wedding, this is what it ment to me. lovley read thank you. S

Author's Reply:

Pronto on 07-02-2013
heavenly burblings
Really enjoyable read who among us has not done this 'path picking' and never seen the poetry or humour of it? Well observed and executed.

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 08-02-2013
heavenly burblings
To me a light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel piece we all need to believe in. Good work.

Author's Reply:


sparkle horse (posted on: 01-02-13)
*&****&****&**&

you said you wanted a sparkle horse one of those over there in the shimmering distance we saw riders at the far end of the beach there was a sizzle of white foam as the waves broke in the blue cloth sky maybe-face clouds gave voice by invisible seagulls
Archived comments for sparkle horse
Slovitt on 01-02-2013
sparkle horse
greg: perhaps "given" for "gave" in your next-to-last line. swep

Author's Reply:
given is correct, but I wanted gave as it felt better when I read through - Greg

Bozzz on 01-02-2013
sparkle horse
Hi Bo, I think swep means Bo not Greg !
On the poem, I have the picture but not sure I have the full meaning. Can you help?....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
hi Bozzz - it's all picture and that's it's meaning ;o)

japanesewind on 02-02-2013
sparkle horse
love this vignette,

there was a sizzle of white foam
as the waves broke
in the blue cloth sky

loved this and deciding on wether the "blue cloth sky"
was the beach reflecting the sky or the horizon meeting the earth.

the WHOLE lots great........D


Author's Reply:
thanks for the great comments, really appreciated

Buschell on 09-10-2013
sparkle horse
Underrated, overlooked and bloody good. There ends my in depth critique.. I just know what I like...

Author's Reply:
thanks, really glad you enjoyed


all the whiskey was gone (posted on: 01-02-13)
straight off the cuff over guitar (sorry for bad accent)

it was winter and all the whiskey was gone they'd stayed in the house there was meat plenty but with no distraction, and all of them on top of each other and bowing before the Lord every night, then their prostrations and their protestations with one another and the bible as it was written and explained to them they came to killing each other after 150 long days of cold winter with more meat than a man can have but not enough whiskey to keep the tempers then when I found it I laughed out loud to find two bottles of whiskey hoarded away by the last of them, who died in the cold tried to drag and fiddle the rings from his sister's finger I drank away the whiskey as cold as the tree on the frosty earth as cold as the tree on the frosty earth
Archived comments for all the whiskey was gone
stormwolf on 01-02-2013
all the whiskey was gone
Wow! I LOVED this.
What a difference to hear it as opposed to reading. The poem came alive and I loved the accent. I don't know why more people do not record their poems.
I do not care for the lack of capitals but I can overlook that haha
then there prostrations and there protestations
Should that not be 'their' ?

the rings from his sisters finger (sister's)


Alison x

Author's Reply:
thanks for the great feedback, and you are right on the typos (was transcribed in a hurry from the recording of its genesis)

Slovitt on 01-02-2013
all the whiskey was gone
greg: 4th line 2nd stanza perhaps "their". meat only goes so far and is a poor compensation for whiskey. an interesting piece. swep

Author's Reply:
thanks for the comment, and you are right on the typo

japanesewind on 01-02-2013
all the whiskey was gone
by the last of them, who died in the cold
tried to drag and fiddle
the rings from his sisters finger

brill........D

Author's Reply:
have to admit 'fiddle' came later and was really an anguished noise as I wondered what would come next ;o)

Andrea on 01-02-2013
all the whiskey was gone
Ooooh, I thought it was fab! Yes, definitely makes a helluva difference to hear it. Like Alison, I have no idea why more don't use the audio facility.

(agree re the lack of capitals too, but then it's a favourite beef of mine :))

Author's Reply:
hi Andrea - it's a bit daunting performing pieces unless your blessed with a naturally pleasing voice, because this was born 'fully formed' as a spoken piece it felt OK (plus I didn't use my own accent) - thanks for the great feedback

ValDohren on 03-02-2013
all the whiskey was gone
Inspired write - fascinating. Much prefer Champagne to Whisky myself.

Val. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
cheers Val, the high life is the best...

delph_ambi on 31-10-2014
all the whiskey was gone
Excellent reading. I'm going to try to get to Durham on the 8th to hear you do this sort of thing live. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
many thanks Catherine, can promise there will be poetry to music on the night (we aim to please πŸ™‚ really glad you enjoyed


donnie small (posted on: 28-01-13)
iiii;iiiiii

dwarves are thick fingered said a man in a blue shirt on the train North then, in the repeating rhythm of the tracks that phrase was all I could hear at Doncaster a very small man got on with perfect neat hands blue shirt's screaming midget in his mind I thought as we pulled out
Archived comments for donnie small
Slovitt on 28-01-2013
donnie small
greg: an odd piece that demands a place in the world, staked out via language, an arresting vision. swep

Author's Reply:
had to be writ, cheers Swep

japanesewind on 28-01-2013
donnie small
great poem this Bo, the title is comic class and made me laugh out loud in its context to the poem, I don't know why but I also have an affinity for "dwarves".



It struck me that "perfect" may scan better as "perfectly"



the thought that you had about what "blue shirt" was thinking on seeing our "donnie small is fab......D

Author's Reply:
cheers D, appreciated as ever

butters on 29-01-2013
donnie small
nominated

bang - you deliver the opening visual, quickly followed by identifying the speaker whose inelegant phrasing points to his character

v2 has me feeling the train's rhythm, as the phrase repeats itself over and over in perfect timing - existing in my head even though not on the page. that's a kind of magic. well-crafted.

v3 introduces the 'very small man', identified as a person, and neatly addresses the fallibility of generalisations by asking us to take a good look at those hands.

v4 reduces the crass traveler to a blue shirt as the narrator draws their own conclusions, makes their own assumptions. size is relative.

just goes to show how people judge others - some by appearances, others by what you say. if blue shirt had kept his mouth shut, no-one would have known the depths of his stoopid.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the great feedback, much appreciated and very insightful

stormwolf on 31-01-2013
donnie small
Hi there Bo πŸ˜‰

A super poem that spoke so clearly about discrimination and warped views. Congratulations on the nomination too. Now onto my crit...
I know Butters does the same but can I ask why you choose not to use punctuation?
I find it hard to read non punctuated poetry in general and if I am not mistaken this line would have read like this with punctuation
blue shirt's screaming "midget"

and that would have made it so much more forceful IMHO.

We have had a discussion on the forum about ratings and come to the conclusion that comments are more important than rating but ratings have to be in line with how we feel so I am giving it an 8 but it would have had a 9 if it had punctuation.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, the poems come without (much) punctuation, I've tried to change sometimes over the years, but this is how they are and how I feel best about them...but I understand if others feel differently - thanks for the feedback and crit, much appreciated - Greg


Winston's dog (posted on: 28-01-13)
'=u='

Marlborough toured Europe at the start of the 18th Century an aged Queen prevented due celebrity for our hero at home quarrelsome holy emperor cursed him with Agrippa's black dog Winston imbibed daily to his destiny haunted by that dog
Archived comments for Winston's dog
Slovitt on 28-01-2013
Winstons dog
greg: intriquing portrait of marlborough from the suggestion of something personal with an aging queen to the being cursed by agrippa's black dog, ominous, and vital, and outside of the normal flow of things, and, wandering drunkenly plagued by the demon black dog. don't know that historical connection i.e. agrippa and marlborough, but the whole is charged with an individual presence lost in the world. good poem. swep

Author's Reply:
thanks, v.pleased with ominous and vital

japanesewind on 28-01-2013
Winstons dog
Bo.... was intrigued as I know Winston kept poodles so I did a little digging. glad I did, so his "black dog" was
depression, and your mention of "Heinreich" I assume was the reference to do with the "schwarze Pudel".

if I am way out please chastise me.....D

Author's Reply:
give that man a prize, nailed

Ionicus on 28-01-2013
Winstons dog
Hi Bo. I could clearly see the reference to John Marlborough and his falling out with Queen Anne. More obscure was the mention of Heinrich's black dog. Was he haunted by demons?
And finally it wasn't clear to me if the Winston in the last stanza was John's father or his descendant, the twentieth century British Prime Minister, although the inference of depression indicates the latter.
An intriguing piece of history.

Author's Reply:
a mysterious black dog fled Agrippa's death bed (he was tied to Rudolph II, check out Rudolph's son don Julius Caesar, no joke).

Yes, was the younger Winston and his stalking depression(?)

Cheers for the comment.

stormwolf on 28-01-2013
Winstons dog
I did not know about the first 2 stanzas but got the gist.
I knew about Churchill's black dog. I was also aware he drank all the time. That was very probably the reason why the black dog hang about as alcohol is a depressant πŸ™‚
Quirky poem and enjoyable
Alison x

Author's Reply:
thanks Alison, he got the whole dog and all he needed was a hair from it :O)

butters on 29-01-2013
Winstons dog
poetry that educates me is always well-received.

on first read-through, i probably only grapsed a third of its thrust. having read the replies, and done a little google-huntin', i can now see what was obscured by clouds before.

what i now want to say is "do you need V2 at all?" without it, the piece reads cleaner, more point to its conclusion. V2 acts as something of a distraction for me. and while i'm about it, do you absolutely need the word 'Heinrich'? makes that line a bit of a mouthful - beyond a sot's measure of a mouthful... not that i'm a sot. oops.

just one opinion. feel free to ignore me πŸ˜€

Author's Reply:
hmmmmm, valid points, I'll mull them over

amman on 30-01-2013
Winstons dog
Clever. Nice snippets of history.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
cheers man

franciman on 30-01-2013
Winstons dog
Hi Bo,
Got the historical links and got the picture. Loved the image of Churchill.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
thanks for reading Jim


maybe Onge (posted on: 21-01-13)
##^^^^##

There are, I think three islands grouped together in the Bay of Bengal one containing a garrulous trading people another a tribe who pair for life, then one-on-one, dote or 'moon' on each other endlessly one of the above may be the Onge very last there is North Sentinel Island aggressive and untouched better than the rest of the whole wild world as far as they know no-one's ever proved them wrong helicopters have provoked spear attacks 1981 having seen ships on a reef they sensed a threat and so began to build boats for the first time since who knows when in order to engage they revived knowledge not lost, but held by an elite and unexpectedly required by these true masters of the universe I wonder how many among that tribe had always assumed boats were just myths
Archived comments for maybe Onge
japanesewind on 21-01-2013
maybe Onge
Really enjoyed this poem Bo.... the use of "moon" is SPOT ON.....D

Author's Reply:
cheers, appreciated

Slovitt on 21-01-2013
maybe Onge
greg: a lot of good stuff and perhaps places that paring would profit your interesting poem. taking liberties, and if the retyping of your poem is intrusive (it's always seemed the best way to me to make suggestions and have them seen printed out), let me know.



perhaps,



three islands

in the Bay of Bengal



one containing

trading people



another a tribe

who mate for life

then dote or "moon"

on each other

endlessly



one of the above

may be the Onge



very last

North Sentinel Island

aggressive and untouched

better than the rest



no-one's ever

proved them wrong



helicopters

have provoked

spear attacks



1981

ships on a reef

they began to build boats

in order to engage



revived knowledge

not lost, but held

by an elite

and unexpectedly required



how many

among that tribe

had always assumed

boats were just

myths

Author's Reply:
more sparse, less me :o)


irish twin (posted on: 21-01-13)
zZ

my irish twin 11 months younger a full head taller and why I fully understand the words pain cunt, and forgive
Archived comments for irish twin
Weefatfella on 21-01-2013
irish twin
Photobucket

Yip I've got brothers.

I learned the meaning of those words early too.

They changed in later years to, Best man, best friend and in some instances back up.

Thank you for sharing.

Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
I hear you, cheers for the comment

Slovitt on 21-01-2013
irish twin
greg: another odd, interesting poem but as with several of yours one that doesn't yield to a surety on the part of the reader in explication. are you irish, is the irish twin a fact, if he is simply a normal flesh-and-blood brother then the poem is clear. as always, concision and energy. swep

Author's Reply:
hi - an Irish twin is a sibling born in the same calendar year or in the same school year (but not a real twin)

Texasgreg on 22-01-2013
irish twin
The above sounded as if you were addressing me in anticipation before I even read. Who is Greg?

Anywho, good write!

Greg πŸ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
I'm Greg, as well

Andrea on 22-01-2013
irish twin
I liked it - put me in mind of my youngest's dilemma regarding his older brother - and vice-versa.

Author's Reply:
thanks Andrea

Ionicus on 22-01-2013
irish twin
Does it matter if he's Irish or whether he has a twin? This succinct poem clearly describes the relationship of two brothers and the maturity and forgiving nature shown by the elder.

Author's Reply:
see answer to Swep on what an irish twin is, and thanks for the kind comment

Bozzz on 22-01-2013
irish twin
At my school we never had lessons in sex and violence! You were lucky.... poem sharp - worthy of extension.... David Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Cheers Bozzz

Savvi on 23-01-2013
irish twin
Some brothers do have em, quirky and clever, enjoyed it. S

Author's Reply:
thanks Savvi

butters on 23-01-2013
irish twin
like the bite this has. never heard the term 'irish twin' before, so went a-googling.

this piece speaks its own truth, whether in fact real or a reality plucked from the mind. it speaks of pain and love and family.

Author's Reply:
thanks for the thoughtful feedback

GESimons on 28-01-2013
irish twin
Harrowingly good.

Author's Reply:
much appreciated, thanks


thimbleweather (posted on: 18-01-13)
***************** ***************** *****************

There was a thimblewinter on the weather the other night straight from Garner's Brisingamen No snowfall for the rest of us but a tiny promontory on the end of Kent they said could expect something nasty The map was all white snow seething and swirling, over this tiny space with that intense graphic they use I wonder what quest was being pursued in deep Kent that night and if it succeeded 'spite Ragnarok's breath
Archived comments for thimbleweather
butters on 18-01-2013
thimbleweather
you had me at 'thimblewinter'

Author's Reply:
:o)

Slovitt on 18-01-2013
thimbleweather
bo_duke99: another interesting poem through the odd lens you see through. pretty strong closing line "despite the breath of Ragnarok". swep

Author's Reply:
cheers for commenting, appreciated

japanesewind on 18-01-2013
thimbleweather
Had to google for what I think is the underlying theme.

and enjoyed your poem Bo, "a quest indeed?"



D



Author's Reply:
cheers for the comment


sleep with the pigs (posted on: 18-01-13)
Excerpt from Tinniswood's Celtic Fringe

"My father would sleep with the pigs Mother in the barn, bedded down with the chickens happy days Every Saturday the minister would visit in order to measure us for death Happy days, happy days They drove into the damson dark of the night, fruity with starts and ripe with owls"
Archived comments for sleep with the pigs
Slovitt on 18-01-2013
sleep with the pigs
bo_duke99: one enters another world on taking up your poems, a world where things might not be what they seem, a world to be interpreted. when you say "happy days" in your 3rd line i believe you even as some people growing up don't know they're poor, think the world is as it should be. the second "Happy days happy days" gives me pause perhaps detecting sarcasm and then we're off to your rich last line, "...,fruity with starts and ripe with owls." rich textures, rich imagery. swep

Author's Reply:
thanks for the comment Swep

japanesewind on 18-01-2013
sleep with the pigs
I too really enjoyed your poem Bo.
Class line that about the "minister visiting" loved it....D

Author's Reply:
thanks for the comment, appreciated

Texasgreg on 20-01-2013
sleep with the pigs
Aye! Simple life measured for worth by the minister alone it seems. No matter. Be happy!

I like this...

Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
thanks for the comment Greg

GESimons on 22-01-2013
sleep with the pigs
This is a great piece of writing.

The line 'They drove into the damson dark of the night, fruity with starts and ripe with owls' is a stunner.

Wish I'd come up with that one!

Author's Reply:


audible gasp (posted on: 21-12-12)
U U (.i.)

after 50 years of political correctness any comment on someones 'otherness' especially for comic effect died, this was early 21st century about 80 years ago now the only thing left is to exclude the ordinary disdain mundanity, hate what makes you feel like, whatever anything mis-expressed boring or, repetitive is treated most harshly like the worst, taboo breaking 'fuck you n*gger' of the 20th century people got breath silencers when breath-noise became repulsive
Archived comments for audible gasp
Slovitt on 21-12-2012
audible gasp
bo_duke99: you have a talent for closing out poems and so here again "people got breath silencers/when breath-noise became repulsive". terse, a pent up, i hesitate to say rage, but a strong pent up emotion that your intelligence brings under rein. good, strong poem. swep

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 21-12-2012
audible gasp
Excellent! Balls to pc I say!

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 22-12-2012
audible gasp
love the sci-fi.end....D

Author's Reply:

Savvi on 22-12-2012
audible gasp
Who needs PC and who is it for anyway ? Great piece loved your ending.Your work always reads fresh.

Author's Reply:


staged fruit (posted on: 17-12-12)
$?

Jerome Johnson was a black neo-nazi street hustler who shot mafia boss Joe Colombo in front of his bodyguards in 1971 Johnson was apprehended by police and subdued then to be shot by a man in the crowd who was never found Johnson's ex-girlfriend told of his talking into the night contending he was God and admiring Italians
Archived comments for staged fruit
Slovitt on 17-12-2012
staged fruit
bo_duke99: a different kind of poem from you, a narrative
with an interesting closing two lines. good poem. swep

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 17-12-2012
staged fruit
loved it, great last stanza...D

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 18-12-2012
staged fruit
An intriguing tale narrated with skill.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 18-12-2012
staged fruit
Here's some info --> www.trutv.com/library/crime/gangsters_outlaws/family_epics/colombo/2.html

Fascinating stuff!

Author's Reply:

butters on 19-12-2012
staged fruit
punch punch punch

knockout

Author's Reply:


social (posted on: 10-12-12)
¬..~

you exquisite little whore to thought you pimp to insurrection no calm will ever rest your heart or halt your indiscretion servant boy to a conscience verdant flayed by ideals noble a voice for social justice strident spurning comforts table years pass by, passion remains fanning rebellious embers and not a word of thanks is claimed no wish to be remembered burnt out and bitter, spirit gone a carcass picked and scavenged by the buzzards of injustice done a life's fight leaves you ravaged and the prostitute to truth no more but the prisoner of pain none acknowledge the good fought for with the life light on the wain darkness seizes our champions mind as he makes final estimation yes, peoples slave would repeat all again though faithless of a next destination for a soul like this what reward is there if not in this world or any other? the propagation of belief in equal shares is the dividend for everyman's brother.
Archived comments for social
butters on 11-12-2012
social
worth the read; some striking and meaningful phrases.

Author's Reply:

cooky on 12-12-2012
social
Some really good lines in this. I particularly liked the opening verse.

Author's Reply:


hearth (posted on: 10-12-12)
H****H

I built a fireplace good and strong and hearthed in stone now I am alone words of kindness, from the lips of a stranger or bosom friend could not touch me would mean nothing I too am good and strong hearthed of stone I say it aloud break the syll-ables in my fav'rite word ''good and strong and hearth-ed of stone'' I sing now, low "My stone hearth will not break -My stone hearth will not break -your clock ticks no more in my home"
Archived comments for hearth
Slovitt on 10-12-2012
hearth
bo_duke22: emotional from start to finish, and melodic. great last line. good poem. swep

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 10-12-2012
hearth
bo_duke99, sorry about the "22", one of the hazards of a comment box out of sight of the submission. swep

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 10-12-2012
hearth
Hiya Bo-duke, read this a good few times before posting.

It gave me problems if I read it correctly as the metaphor did not work for me. I always associate "fireplace and hearth" with warmth and homeliness.

regards as always..D


Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 12-12-2012
hearth
-My stone hearth will not break
-your clock ticks no more in my home"

Aye! Summarizes the sentiments above well...

Lonesome feeling.

Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


winky face (posted on: 07-12-12)
T^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^T

day 1, on our way to the camp, I think we'll get through the challenges in 3 days but know we have to stay for as long as it takes Dan's nice, Joanne has nice eyes ;o) day 22, I hate Dan and his nose picking stink shitting ways yesterday we ate her liver
Archived comments for winky face
japanesewind on 07-12-2012
winky face
Great what thoughts a poet can have..D

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 09-12-2012
winky face
Not exactly uplifting πŸ˜‰ but says so much about how quickly we break down what we perceive as our tolerance levels or even our humanity.

Dan's nice, Joanne has nice eyes ;o)

would not use 'nice' twice in one line and emoticom like things spoil a poem as they should never be needed.
The layout could do with some slight changes and punctuation is needed but that's just my honest opinion πŸ˜‰

day 1,
on our way to the camp,
I think we'll get through the challenges in 3 days
but know we have to stay for as long as it takes
Dan's nice, Joanne has nice eyes ;o)

day 22,
I hate Dan
and his nose picking
stink shitting ways

yesterday we ate her liver


The reader should be able to surmise the feeling by the writing.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


water wings (posted on: 07-12-12)
;<**>;

on hard dry land I imagine crabs feel oppressive rejection an arid environments racism has them scurrying for water they may be low caste undersea as almost everything else can fly
Archived comments for water wings
Andrea on 07-12-2012
water wings
Haha, lovely!

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 07-12-2012
water wings
We love the thought of "looking up" the sea becoming the sky, regards..D

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 07-12-2012
water wings
Ah, but to the crab goes all that perish. They may have sunken to lower depths, but to one day rule...


Good 'un!

Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 09-12-2012
water wings
Hi there

Again, I feel this very short and interesting poem could be much improved by punctuation. It helps the reader define the meaning and brings out the crux of the poem.

On hard dry land, I imagine
crabs feel oppressive rejection.
An arid environment's racism (environment's)
has them scurrying for water.

They may be low caste undersea
as almost everything else can fly.


Alison x


Author's Reply:

Nomenklatura on 09-12-2012
water wings
Much enjoyed, a very good poem.

Author's Reply:

butters on 09-12-2012
water wings
very very nice concept

Author's Reply:


happy canyons (posted on: 30-11-12)
¦__________________________¦

if I think of it my hand trembles still when he came for you life seemed ended you went returned wordless unchanged? eyeing me darkly years wore contented grooves between us happy rivers of routine canyon depths of quiet understanding from life spent but now, even still I wonder where you were
Archived comments for happy canyons
Bozzz on 01-12-2012
happy canyons
I guess we should not waste time putting worse thoughts after bad ones - as it were. Interesting poem... Bozzz

Author's Reply:

butters on 01-12-2012
happy canyons
a straight 10 from me

a seriously good poem full of dimensions, passion, love and restraint.

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 02-12-2012
happy canyons
Aye! Can't nib ya, but can certainly rib ya...

Super, IMO!

Photobucket

Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


Leveson (posted on: 30-11-12)
£$%:(

a man spoke about saying no to what another man said should happen and the people shouted in frenzied mass 'but you must curb our freedoom we demand you curb our freedom'
Archived comments for Leveson
franciman on 30-11-2012
Leveson
Awesome!
So much implied in so few words. Reminded me so forcibly of Orwell's Animal Farm.
cheers,
Jim


Author's Reply:

CVaughan on 01-12-2012
Leveson
Not a bad nutshell take on the issues I think.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 01-12-2012
Leveson
Very topical. A case of mass-ochism?
A good one.

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 01-12-2012
Leveson
bo_duke99: i remember your poems from a few years ago. a pithy poem, without waste. swep

Author's Reply:

butters on 01-12-2012
Leveson
if not for the title, this has a universal feel about it - enough for readers to apply it to whatever political hot-potato of the day they choose.





for me, this speaks out about the E.U as much as anything else but the title places us where we should be and where I should have begun. sorry, got distracted by life this side of the screen.





Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 01-12-2012
Leveson
As a member of the braying mob I feel it is misplaced in judgement but tries to illustrates the instinct evident in Muslim self-flagellation behaviour. Brits do it different. Good writing nevertheless.... Bozzz

Author's Reply:

cooky on 01-12-2012
Leveson
Well said. One fears that the press is in fact our government

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 02-12-2012
Leveson
Aye! You'll take my freedom from my cold, dead hands...

Superduper!

Photobucket

Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


example shining (posted on: 26-11-12)
>>?<<

I saw it by mistake from a window waiting for a job interview behind a pass-controlled door with no-one to alert or talk to he killed it by hundreds of gleeful kicks with red docs to head and body finished off with a brick, then he caught my eye most strangely he looked complete alert, alive & open a shining example of what he might be if he could kill a cat each day
Archived comments for example shining
butters on 27-11-2012
example shining
just found this tucked away down at the bottom of the pile

it's immediate, makes the reader see something they'd prefer not to, but you totally show us that guy brimming with a blazing vitality - and made me think. poems that make me think are poems that work for me.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 27-11-2012
example shining
Yes, agree with Butters - stark and dramatic. More than meets the immediate eye...

Author's Reply:


stut-ter (posted on: 26-11-12)
......kk...kkk...kkkun....

a straw coloured dawn greets my squint as the curtains swish open my choice, my pain 'fuck me, must we get philosophical about opening a pair of curtains?' I say to no-one 'maybe I was thinking about last night, not the curtains' I answer myself then I smile at a-lone nutter muttering
Archived comments for stut-ter
japanesewind on 26-11-2012
stut-ter
good capture, brought a smile to my face....David

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 26-11-2012
stut-ter
Love it! Mike

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 26-11-2012
stut-ter
Yep, Done that πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

butters on 26-11-2012
stut-ter
it's when you start arguing with yourself and forget who's winning that you need to have concerns

this is slick, unstutterable, fresh and layered. i like this one quite a lot - to be fair your opening line was a grabber.

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 30-11-2012
stut-ter
This poem has alliteration and surprise. Almost want to say it's like a classic Japanese piece.

Ralph

Author's Reply:


way of the world (posted on: 23-11-12)
nasty non-sick getters

the way of the world means there are statisticians who know how many of all of us will react in certain ways some delicates, beautiful internally who are unconsciously jarred hourly by the brutality and inconsequential unkindness of the immediate 'around you now' world we all inhabit have cumulative hangovers leading to intermittent sick days and sufferance at the hands of those for whom a sniff of nasty power inures them, seemingly, from illness
Archived comments for way of the world

No comments archives found!
perfect....so, how? (posted on: 23-11-12)
gGGGg

how'd he find out so soon anyhow what gave my perfect plan away he rang to ask if you were here maybe if you tried to explain tell him there was an accident a mix up with the names tell him it was someone else someone else was playing games kid him on that it was all a joke ask if he can see the dream how we've got so near ask if he wants to risk it all make his reaction too severe find out if he'll have me killed for trying to have him shot I love you gran, I really do your the only hope I've got
Archived comments for perfect....so, how?

No comments archives found!
damned book (posted on: 19-11-12)
dnmnb

Charles Fort's Book of the Damned explained of substances unexplained, but eaten by sheep, that fell in Persia from the sky (where-else) and, by their own accounts locals "ground it into flour and made bread" named it, even, as manna there are questions in the multitudes that arise uncalled (unleavened) from this tale but I'll simply repeat they "ground it into flour and made bread" this shit fell from the sky sheep aren't an indicator of what's tasty dog's piss on grass and sheep love the fucker yum yum, dog-piss-grass-bread or whatever get a grip Persians sheep, you get a pass (over) as you know no better
Archived comments for damned book
Andrea on 20-11-2012
damned book
I like this, although not sure why, as I didn't really 'get' it πŸ™‚

I know this, though --> The Book of the Damned

Author's Reply:

butters on 20-11-2012
damned book
enjoyed your references, but most of all your cut-the-crap attitude in this write.

pass(over) - hahahaha

and history has it that Persians were adept at getting a grip - or was that the Greeks? ;p

clever, fresh, in your face

Author's Reply:


Jesus done won (posted on: 19-11-12)
uuuuuuuOIOuuuuuuu

Jesus won history his name is written, like a million times more than anyone else so Jesus won history hatefully - Hitler's coming 2nd
Archived comments for Jesus done won
Andrea on 19-11-2012
Jesus done won
I reckon Blair's well on his way to becoming 3rd πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

butters on 19-11-2012
Jesus done won
this has something to say and says it in a tight space. punchy.

Author's Reply:


stag-man-dog (posted on: 16-11-12)
¬`__`¬

on a stag do once I saw a fight between a dog and a man it was awful I'd seen the lad on the way up and he was alright, daft and that but not mental but then, on a stop off I saw him fight a fairly big aggressive dog for fifty quid someone gave him a scuffed biker jacket to wear I was frozen to the spot, agape at what I was watching then unbidden thoughts surfaced that he'd stretch it's jaws     too wide like King Kong on a dinosaur, or, open apart it's front legs snapping the heart (as dog killing lore doth dictate) but he just strangled it for ages and got cut off it's teeth
Archived comments for stag-man-dog
japanesewind on 16-11-2012
stag-man-dog
I like it....the very last line is perfect...David

Author's Reply:

butters on 17-11-2012
stag-man-dog
well worth the read *nods*

Author's Reply:


4-2 to them (posted on: 16-11-12)
JJJ oh JJJ

Mr Roy arrived in Sweden 40 years past, almost and learnt to cast LARGE Spells from the darkly fraternic in that clean promontory but he opened the door to Erik-Sven with his impertinent use of the 'breaking of the borders' spell (and multitudinous vocal impedima)
Archived comments for 4-2 to them
butters on 17-11-2012
4-2 to them
I'm liking your fresh voice, focused writes and that last line makes me grin. lots.

Author's Reply:


STORM BREAKS (posted on: 09-11-12)
MCMXCVII

in a land of drought, earth made dust cracked and scorched with thirst a lover & another awaited the breaking of the storm but in the waiting there was refuge from the worries and cares of each other for another, if not for the lover so the lover gave all whilst expecting too little so freely let pour their flood of devotion while in another the stream of emotion was dying and drying to a poisonous trickle another thought, 'surely I don't deserve such attentions' and 'why should my lover admire me so well'? the lover, little knowing the effects of their actions consigned their own heart to the rejected's hell as the well spring of love, rising high in the lover became ever more choked in the breast of another And still they waited the breaking of the storm the last day of the wait was electric a spit fizzing crackle of expectation spread fast and sharp and frenetic through this heat seared, sun charred nation And in the blue sparks of the night another felt at last they could stand no more of a lover and their professions to adore, ''even the earth with which you grace your feet'' and so urged the lover to acknowledge defeat in the battle of a lover for the heart of another then the rains pierced the night, and awoke childish fears not a body dared stir from their doors for the spears of fast water that fell to settle the dust end the thirst, and the crust of the river ran freely and fast once again the pleas of a multitude quenched by God's giving rain until at last a bird sang of plenty in sunlight another felt the spring of their heart give rise and so to a lover leapt up and gave fly - but in a lover, another found the well had run dry
Archived comments for STORM BREAKS
butters on 11-11-2012
STORM BREAKS
i kind of admire how you tackled this, trying to use a very different way of stating something that's been said so many times before.



took a bit of getting used to, though, and several read-throughs. not entirely convinced your ploy worked, as it made things a bit convoluted and i had to come back to this having given up the first time round.



you know what this reminds me of? those little silhouette characters set against a backlight and moved by people holding sticks telling a story for an audience - some asian/indian thing i can't remember the name of - or even the recounting of a story such as the famous 'willow-pattern' set on china.

one last thought: your title - 1997. what is its significance to the reader? if it marks the year this is set in, then why the roman numerals? as a whole, this write alienates me as a reader than engages me. sorry :flower:

Author's Reply:


all THAT there is (posted on: 05-11-12)
|vHv/|

all there is, is other people most disappointment, is other people(s) all there is, is disappointment said the currently depressive buddhavista Bocklin Basel Isle gave light again
Archived comments for all THAT there is
Andrea on 05-11-2012
all THAT there is
Blimey, heavy stuff!

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 06-11-2012
all THAT there is
Did not understand the 2nd last line (ok, I am a peasant ;-)) but I really liked the style and the individuality and boldness in expression!
Alison x

Author's Reply:


immigrant communities (posted on: 10-09-12)
%

immigrant communities receive little respect in my experience, and those who dismiss them seem always to speak loudest of their standpoint the reasonable majority holding back on their true view, feeling it immodest or inappropriate to force their thoughts onto the group and so there is a liberal conundrum, a circle as those who hold what I class a reasoned view are more likely to see that sharing is to intrude on others so the strong views of the racist population are most often heard they feel no need to hold back in consideration of these others patriotic I am, and as Billy Bragg said on Radio 4 why has love of country been co-opted by fascists? a guy I was at school with is involved in a right wing group they have armed him with ready made responses that sound like reason, while evading the argument these nuggets, presented in an even tone, can have an effect on those suggestible elements nearby, I see them get a far away look let it sink in as if finally here it is the voice of racist reason the why should this happen in my country the why should I have to put up with that the who do they think they are the who holds the whip hand thoughts that bubble below thus reason subverted, truth perverted these responses, carefully manufactured propagate a hateful cowardly view the payoff for the organizers - a sense of superiority over those targeted is too pitiful to be true
Archived comments for immigrant communities
Texasgreg on 10-09-2012
immigrant communities
Aye, cruelty to people who are different has a tendency to hurt everyone in the end. I say "being different" is a relative term. My relatives are different. -humor attempt-
I clearly see your point.
Photobucket.
Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

TheBigBadG on 10-09-2012
immigrant communities
All to sad and true - doesn't help that we have a right-dominated government so the economic disparity can't be addressed either. Really breaks my heart because in Hackney - where we have lots of people from immigrant families - it all seems to pull together well. Except for the economic considerations, of course........

Author's Reply:

roger303 on 13-09-2012
immigrant communities
Enjoyed it. Thanks.

Concern about excessive immigration is not necessarily an indication of racism, of course.
It's usually those on the Left who scream "RACISM!!!" whenever sensible debate is attempted. I love different cultures and travel extensively to enjoy them. However, at no time was I asked if I wanted my country to be turned into a multi-cultural society.

Regards, Roger.

Author's Reply:


dim.expo (posted on: 10-09-12)
mmmmmmmmmmmmhicmmmmmmm

Driving back in the carriage from another meeting with Abigail, the ministers daughter Father suggests a proposal seeking betrothal eight meetings sufficient to reach a decision We met in late autumn, now the year has turned they are decided I should make choice Having only met Abigail in dimly lit winter evening rooms I have little idea of her Have built happy ghosts in my active mind where Abigail's image might be talked openly to shadows often content with no answer I now wonder and fear do I know her? What truth have I heard from her looming, whispering not there self "The fair Abigail could be yours", he says but how does he know the shadowy voice as she may be known in my dim experience
Archived comments for dim.expo
Texasgreg on 10-09-2012
Late Sunday
Really good take on "romance of necessity" in yesteryear.
Photobucket.
Greg πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


ringing singing rails (posted on: 31-08-12)
==============~~=====

the men who invented and invested in the massive train expansion from the north of England that sent rails singing and bells clanging around the world had deeper motives, indeed sending rapid news of invented curses over-stated utterances by paper-made titans down the ever expanding rattle of lines changed darkly the world to their liking only bettered when they laid down copper to most homes and across oceans so greater works of power began among the worshipful alchemists of the media + the message on into these days of data as ether, and universal screen fixation
Archived comments for ringing singing rails
Andrea on 01-09-2012
ringing singing rails
Good one, Bo. What an unbelievable (and often unwanted) difference the railway made, eh?

Oh, and you can slate Facebook, too πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


somebody there (posted on: 31-08-12)
o / i

To have somebody there for you she knew that it sounded right to have somebody there it seemed appealing almost as if her reality itself would be affirmed if there was somebody there for her it was the idea of having them here that so appalled
Archived comments for somebody there
stormwolf on 31-08-2012
somebody there
great and meaningful twist in the tail.
I would dispense with the 8th and 9th lines.

See below.

Just a suggestion. repetition is often very effective but sometimes the lack of it more so. See what you think πŸ˜‰

Alison x

To have somebody there for you
she knew that it sounded right
to have somebody there
it seemed appealing
almost as if her reality
itself would be affirmed.

It was the idea of having them here
that so appalled...



Author's Reply:

Andrea on 01-09-2012
somebody there
Yes, I agree with Alison. Nice, tight little piece.

Author's Reply:


you feel the sea too (posted on: 20-07-12)
^o^

I like the smell of beaches they seem clean although they are scattered with gifts from their elusive lover daily the ocean awes me wheeling gulls near cliffs always echo your name if you listen for a while ships in the distant___________________haze of horizon's edge can cause much excitement an eager rush fingers pointed infant eyes directed arms outstretched a ship at sea, good Christ what next but you feel it too, you have to that small thrill as you walk along the beach sand sciffling around inside your shoes while out at sea a slow throbbing ship keeps pace quick fire sunsets dark nights at the seaside
Archived comments for you feel the sea too
Andrea on 21-07-2012
you feel the sea too
'sciffling' - lovely! Is it a real word? If not it should be...

Anyway, lovely atmospheric pome, and lovely to see you posting again, too!

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 21-07-2012
you feel the sea too
Aye, I walked along too.
I enjoyed this once it took up the flow of the waves and began to reveal itself.......Magic.

I liked the wee crab at the beginning as well, nicely done. Thank You.

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 22-07-2012
you feel the sea too
Evocative of a nice walk on the beach. Enjoyed this poem.

Ralph

Author's Reply:

Buschell on 26-02-2014
you feel the sea too
I too like sciffling. This ditty conjures up all I need to know about a beach walk and your love of beach walking...Dazza.

Author's Reply:


less than they were (posted on: 11-06-12)
(*T*)

having explored a gift for foresight and remote insight I've recently trained as a medium and learned, that all of the inadequacies I'd seen in others practising the craft the half right names, or irrelevant comments are not due to an amateur winging it (on the most these people are sincere and gifted) no, the cold fact is, the dead are less than they were they recall in the spirit form their earthly lives but personality and warmth has been left behind along with ingenuity, or any personal insight they are, in truth, scratch voiced literalists barely coherent and always distracted babbling incomprehensible nonsense about a plant holder in response to questions of paternity and the poor dear medium, tries to portray an air of certainty to the loved ones while attempting to interpret their idiot deceased
Archived comments for less than they were
Romany on 11-06-2012
less than they were
Ah, so that's what it is!

Very tongue in cheek (it is, isn't it?)

Romany.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 11-06-2012
less than they were
Hmmm...not so sure it is tongue-in-cheek, but it's bloody good, anyway πŸ™‚

And welcome back, by the way - long time no 'see'!

Author's Reply:

ruadh on 11-06-2012
less than they were
Enjoyed this. (I took it seriously)

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 11-06-2012
less than they were
It's probably closer to the truth than you think. The practitioners of this (Medium) no pun asked or given) seem to give comfort and if they do, that's a good thing. I enjoyed the piece and the questions it begs.

Author's Reply:

cooky on 12-06-2012
less than they were
Fascinating subject and commentary. I like this

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 12-06-2012
less than they were
Nobody can teach you how to be a 'medium'
but then it's a good write on the knowledge
that you've acquired

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 12-06-2012
less than they were
An interesting theory that explains the imprecise interpretations of a medium.
Good read.

Author's Reply:

madmary on 16-06-2012
less than they were
I am fascinated by mediums but have always been a sceptic. This gives a different perspective and something to think about. Being a trained medium yourself, you will know more about it than most.
Thanks for the insight.

mary.

Author's Reply:

Albermund on 22-06-2012
less than they were
Hah... a good fun, inventive take on the subject. cheers, Albert πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


Summer Send (posted on: 02-09-11)
one minute - but a poem ------------9()0------------

I will walk my dog at summer end to a new land far away where summer sun shines eternal and there my dog will play far from damp reality and fungal bloom in woods and if my dog should like it we may stay there for good .
Archived comments for Summer Send
franciman on 02-09-2011
Summer Send
A quixotic little verse. Can I have the address?

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 02-09-2011
Summer Send
I will arise and go now,
and go to walk my dog ....

πŸ™‚ nice wee one ...

Author's Reply:

jay12 on 02-09-2011
Summer Send
Nice little ditty.

Jay.

Author's Reply:

Romany on 03-09-2011
Summer Send
Love this!

Romany.

Author's Reply:


all as a one (posted on: 15-02-10)
1@1

go down, and rise slowly as bubbles may form in the brain having stared at this message on unused apparatus having inspected unexpected blotches on his face he found he agreed
Archived comments for all as a one
sunken on 17-02-2010
all as a one
This reminds me of a post mortem for some reason. I've probably got it completely wrong haven't I? Enjoyed all the same. I'm also a bit fan of almond slices. I hope this helps. Thank you.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's never been to mars

Author's Reply:

sunken on 17-02-2010
all as a one
I did of course mean that I'm a 'big' fan of almond slices, not a 'bit' fan. I blame big hands and a little keyboard. Thank you.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he can't spell nessasary

Author's Reply:


stream stroll (posted on: 15-02-10)
~'~

Walking in a river tiny fish teeming around us not so close as to touch our naked legs we step closer they swarm away immediately we stand stock still and observe they start to nibble our skin I say "eat us pisces we are Jesus" we laugh, and are in love again
Archived comments for stream stroll
sunken on 16-02-2010
stream stroll
Hello Bo of Duke fame. I've never strolled in a river. I have peed in one though. Not quite as poetic, but equally as pleasurable. There's nothing like that feeling of relief. Ahem. A neat piece and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

banned from bridgewater garden centre

Author's Reply:


simple (posted on: 25-01-10)
^8()8^

looking up sometimes I found the sun on the sails blinding no music at sea white dried salt on my arms and below I hear you talking about me to him 400 miles from land
Archived comments for simple
sunken on 27-01-2010
simple
Hello Bo of Duke fame. I guess this is open to many interpretations? I is getting an air of sadness and regret from it. Having said that, I just dropped a chocolate digestive into my tea and that's proper knocked my emotions all over the place. I blame McVities. An interesting sub that deserves more than a crap comment from a sunk. Perhaps I should call myself dunk? Maybe not.

s
u
n
k
e
n

formatting his hoover was not going to be easy

Author's Reply:

cat on 28-01-2010
simple
Ouch! Oo or maybe no?

Clever and charming. Well done on the nib and nom.

cat x

Author's Reply:

jay12 on 28-01-2010
simple
Nice!

Jay.

Author's Reply:


music / b=trayed (posted on: 13-04-09)
mmmmmmmm

spiders of doubt make refuge in the fantastic neccesitistic now the powder of smoke done been banished and all is clearer I like Carol King music best from what I heard tonight and jst to be cnstnt GOD
Archived comments for music / b=trayed

No comments archives found!
my god (posted on: 13-04-09)
^?)?^

my god don't mind he got bigger shit on his so my god don't mind my god eats shit from the tin is that's what time it's is how they do / you know how they do
Archived comments for my god

No comments archives found!
dreaming (posted on: 13-04-09)
+++=++=+

that day, as they had a new chair at home he thought several times about it imagined sitting in it on the landing where they'd put it with a lamp and bookcase and enjoying the Sunday papers his working life so suffocatingly mundane as to make even the humdrum the stuff of his daydreams at night he achieved sleep by visualising flying imagined his body lifting rapidly upwards then downwards after a few such sorties he could tip forwards and backwards feel his head elevate and his feet dip when he could fly at will then came sleep there was one dream he never remembered that came each night standing in a place familiar in his life suddenly below the ground would fall away but he would remain, suspended and unfalling below he could see land ripping asunder rocks tumbling, the familiar torn apart and from above a great exclamation a voice speaking God's voice 'fear not for I am with you' - and he felt the voice come not only heard great noise and the tremulous vibration that accompanies but felt waves of energy hit him as if from a waterless oceans shore his body tingled like humming lips but magnified so much, magnificently more pleasurable as if every external inch of him was beaming and then he knew knew what it was, where it came from, and why knew all questions and answers at once, and the inconsequentiality of either he felt joy unlbridled when he woke each day he returned to the mundane and if engaged in conversation on god or religion tried hard to suppress a mocking tone when trying to explain why reason refused the sane to countenance either
Archived comments for dreaming
pampers on 14-04-2009
dreaming
I'm a devout heathen so dont mock me when I just say, well written. As if from a waterless oceans shore is a beautiful line IMO

pampers

Author's Reply:

cat on 15-04-2009
dreaming
Hello bo_duke99,

This reads so very well and your subject fascinates me but like the Lovely Jonn with two n's (pampers) writes above, I too am a heathen.

My best to you c x

Author's Reply:


saltburn next time (posted on: 16-02-09)
~~``~~

all that is done by water air and some electricity – obviously and be sea, be the sea, be by the sea the gears increased and slowed we railed in slowly the incline water fountained from wheels in deliverance of mysterious mechanics and the man pulled the big leaver we left through a turnstile and showed our tickets then it started to rise again Water - Air - Obvious Electricity and gears reversed be by the sea, be the sea, and be sea
Archived comments for saltburn next time
Mezzanotte on 16-02-2009
saltburn next time
I have no idea what this is about, but I really like it. I love the play with words and sounds, alliteration, assonance and all that stuff.
Best Wishes
jackie

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 16-02-2009
saltburn next time
Hello Bo of Duke. I have a feeling this is one of those poems that'll nag away at me until I have a number of possible explanations for what it's about. Knowing me, they'll all be wrong. It's very 'of the moment', if that makes sense. As Mezzanotte says, it reads very well and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's energy deficient

Author's Reply:

delph_ambi on 23-02-2009
saltburn next time
Very enjoyable. Been a year or two since I last took the Saltburn lift, but you took me back. There was an article in the paper about it the other week -- can't remember the details, but it was about the guy who's got the job of running it this summer, saying it was his dream job.

Love the 'sea' refrain in this one.

Author's Reply:


how magnificent (posted on: 17-11-08)
;@?'@?

how superb is a cow wardrobe sized and magnificent horned placid and free
Archived comments for how magnificent
e-griff on 17-11-2008
how magnificent
indeed ...

welcome back! πŸ™‚

I'd put a comma after 'horned', otherwise ... fine.

Author's Reply:


The Doll (posted on: 06-03-06)
-+===--+++==-

They found the doll in the attic space They were finally trying to clear out It was unclear what Had led them to get round to this Perhaps the truth was they couldn't exist Any longer with each other With things the way they were And so they shared this task as an attempt To share each other once more And so they found the doll two hours in He heavily sweated from shifting Her frazzled and stiff from bending And sorting the tiny miscellany of their lives While he got the glory of lifting She sat fiddling with pins while he broke his back More like, he'd say if asked, but they worked In silence as the circumstances seemed to demand Then they found the doll A porcelain faced plastic bodied anatomically Perfect little doll even featured and yellow mop haired, a worn and dirty little doll blue eyes that close when you lay her down and such smooth porcelain skin on the pretty little doll one of them mentioned the crack that ran across the dolls face there was silence for a time neither of them knew what to do now neither would be able to throw the doll away if only there wasn't that crack in the dolls face things would be alright how they both wished they'd never set eyes on that shitty little doll
Archived comments for The Doll
ClareHill on 08-03-2006
The Doll
I love this. I hate dolls, so I wasn't even going to read this at first, but I'm glad I did.
Only criticism is that there are too many sentences beginning with 'and so' or 'and' - you could take the first word or two off the start of these sentences and it would make the poem tighter.

Author's Reply:


you're all gone (posted on: 20-01-06)
8()8

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- no-one bangs the doors in my house and you're all gone dreams seem real until I wake knowing somewhere your elsewhere continues isn't seems wrong and becomes is not in a letter I'm writing that I will not send you and a small bird has taken to sitting on my fence I refuse to feed it, but it remains are you dead, I ask the air you do not reply, but the bird seems portentious or perhaps a message of events passed this is not me, this is not even like me maybe you do not even like me and that is why you have away-ed so long
Archived comments for you're all gone
Romany on 21-01-2006
youre all gone
Quite a real feeling to this poem. Especially:

isn’t seems wrong and becomes is not
in a letter I’m writing that I will not send you

I like this - I hope it gets more comment.


Author's Reply:


bad night (posted on: 24-10-05)
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

I woke in the night not for the first time lately and had trouble getting back off as the pillows are unfamiliar in the dark some dogs from further down the hill kept up the most persistent barking that at around dawn became howling and today is so grey the trees seem to be hunched in expectation of stripped humiliation and yet I feel cheerful I'll have a coffee and get something warm to put on from my locker downstairs
Archived comments for bad night
chant on 27-10-2005
bad night
neatly achieved change of mood and there's something very human about this one. liked it a lot.

Author's Reply:


to the graveyard with girls (posted on: 01-07-05)
#~~~~~~~#

to the graveyard with girls for thrills and heavy petting despite being baffled by the phrasing having seen it on posters in swimming pools a love heart between the puckered lips of the couple on the poster providing an insight but still so much unanswered until I started taking girls down the cemetery
Archived comments for to the graveyard with girls
Kat on 2005-07-01 16:30:24
Re: to the graveryard with girls
Another great write from you bo_duke! Is that a wee typo in the title? You've conveyed so much in this shortie.

Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


steel myself against temper (posted on: 01-07-05)
==================

Sitting on a train
Idling in a station
Waiting to get there
A woman sits opposite
Doing a crossword
With a pencil
That she taps rhythmically on the paper
Whenever she's stumped for an answer
Sometimes she'll put the pencil
In her mouth
In these circumstances
Her index finger will be used for the purposes
Of tapping rhythmically while she thinks
I fantasized that she brought the finger out
Only for anagrams
The pencil proving the adage that oral stimulation
leads to mental stimulation
Oh yeah,
well suck my c**k grandma 'cos I got long division to do
And if you don't quit that tapping
I'll snap that jittery pencil
And stick your rhythmical finger right up your ass
I'm not in the mood
Not today
I just want to get there
OK lady

Archived comments for steel myself against temper
Apolloneia on 2005-07-01 10:18:40
Re: steel myself against temper
A well written yet in a very aggressive tone poem. "Grandma" seems a very peaceful person - have we ever wondered what she thinks when she is not in the mood? or do we falsely think that she is never in such a mood that she has to steel herself against temper... Tolerance teaches understanding.

Author's Reply:

tai on 2005-07-01 18:19:38
Re: steel myself against temper
better on the page than in her face bo! Glad I don't take the train often!lol

I'm stumped on this one

Smiling

Tai

Author's Reply:

LenchenElf on 2005-07-01 22:16:39
Re: steel myself against temper
I think this is a well written piece, you've shown how rising temper with a frustrating personal situation can seek any external release for aggression, sometimes settling on the most innocuous target as a scapegoat, as happens all too often. Thought provoking and thanks for this
all the best
LE

Author's Reply:


Sinister-on-sea (posted on: 27-06-05)
===============================

When I was young we Iived in a foreign land
a protectorate that shared our mother tongue
until a stranger approached
then the ancient language came to use
over time we learned that many locals
knew not their native tongue,
but that broad dialect was used
to effect the same exclusion

A strange little seaside town
all contradiction and sly surprises
thronged with tourists
bobbing boats and screeching gulls
garish with carnival and fete
also a famed seat of learning
and beloved for her rugged peaks
little seemed constant in my childhood world

Over time, and many promenades around town
It became apparent that a small white terrier
was universally known
in fact was held in great affection
always carrying a bone, he scurried by
to cheery cries, Dexter has another
good old Dexter, always got a bone

One day I passed by the graveyard
all grey stone and mossy cranny
partially eroded by a passing river
at the end nearest the road
as I crossed the bridge at the bottom
I saw Dexter scurry over the river bank
and into a small hole
to emerge moments later with a large bone

What, I wondered, would people think
if they knew the source of Dexter's bones
would hearty cries greet his appearance now
would his happy pattering be so welcomed
if they knew where Dexter got his bones
this knowledge led to a sense of self in me
I knew something they didn't
and in whatever language that was the same

months passed, and we were leaving
as I wandered on a final tour of the town
I crossed the bridge near the graveyard
standing watching the river were the two Williams'
the baker and butcher from the high street
Dexter appeared and made for the bone hole
I was amazed to observe that his endeavours
were accompanied by encouraging cries from either Williams

not only did they know the bones origins
it seemed to please them
I was convinced that the whole town knew
passing the knowledge in their impenetrable language
and every man jack pleased as punch
to know what a clever dog Dexter was
how careless of there dead they were
how foreign a land I was in

Archived comments for Sinister-on-sea
pencilcase on 2005-06-28 04:49:28
Re: Sinister-on-sea
You're not 'local' then?! This has got to be Royston Vasey-on-sea!

Like the developing story, the play on dexter/sinister and the feeling of there being a local conspiracy that an outsider could never be part of, and probably wouldn't want to be.

Think you mean their instead of there in penultimate line, btw.

Good job you got out when you did - it's normally the innocent and uninitiated stranger who cops it in the end. You could have ended up like that Edward Woodward in The Wicker Man - burned alive while singing Onward Christian Soldiers, but this time with Dexter licking his chops in anticipation. I understand he enjoys a barbecue.

Cheers,

Steve *makes secret sign*

Author's Reply:

Michel on 2005-06-30 10:03:01
Re: Sinister-on-sea
Beautiful and intriguing. Hard hitting, too.

Author's Reply:


Oswald whelps (posted on: 17-06-05)
-^-

Oswald feared hats, due to a crazy aunt
cruel with an old fashioned hat pin
when he was very young
Oswald was an old fashioned patriot
misguided and dangerous
heart swell and throat lump
triggered by any call to respect
land, flag or history

the nation was threatened
during continent wide upheaval
talk was it may be swallowed whole
disappearing forever
osmosed into a larger neighbour
Oswald determined to take action
in the name of saving his homeland

the hat issue continued, however,
to cause him obstacles

any enrolment in the traditional army
would not only involve constant contact
with hat wearers, it would probably mean
Oswald wearing a hat himself
something he could not countenance
and so he formed a militia
the so called 'no hats'

Oswald, so driven by his dual motives
to avoid hats and save his homeland,
became an intense and inspirational leader
seemingly fearless in the face of the enemy
and a crack marksman who shot to kill,
truth was he fought hard to end the battle quickly
and so cease contact with be-hatted adversaries

after years of conflict an end was reached,
people realised that all war did
was to end lives, not arguments,
and so decided to reach accord
borders would remain unchanged
cultures untouched, history undiverted
Oswald had achieved his dream of saving the nation

as the leader of the 'no hats'
given credit for much success in the war
Oswald stood on civic steps
to address the gathered masses
he cleared his throat and said simply
''cry beloved country, isn't she great''
and whelped audibly as hundreds of hats were thrown into the air

Archived comments for Oswald whelps
Flash on 2005-06-17 18:33:20
Re: Oswald whelps
Magnifico. loved it.

Flash

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-06-18 04:27:28
Re: Oswald whelps
I really enjoyed this great and insightful poem.

Cheers

Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

LenchenElf on 2005-06-19 01:41:05
Re: Oswald whelps
Sharp as a sharp thing, much enjoyed πŸ™‚
all the best
LE

Author's Reply:

AnthonyEvans on 2005-06-19 21:50:46
Re: Oswald whelps
very funny, best wishes, anthony.

Author's Reply:


Chicken-licken good (posted on: 03-06-05)
L'I

people are working on the roof
of our offices, scaffold leapt up
overnight
and today occasional debris
drifts past the window
into skips below
the occasional rain of roof tiles
and shower of masonry
at the edge of my field of vision
is both mildly disturbing
and greatly exciting
particularly interesting
is the slow motion way
that bricks and rubble pass the window
they seem to stay in view
for too long a time
as if held there by my interest
although they seem to pass
even more slowly
when only glimpsed
from the corner of my eye
I have started to fancy
what kind of clouds must be up their
to precipitate such a downpour
but am hesitant of looking
for fear of disappointment
but also that I may be confronted
with a living Goya of a sky
never to sleep easy again.

Archived comments for Chicken-licken good
Hazy on 2005-06-03 11:31:02
Re: Chicken-licken good
The last 3 lines are brilliant, IMO. Love them.

Pretty good poem overall πŸ™‚

Hazy x

Author's Reply:

LenchenElf on 2005-06-05 12:16:16
Re: Chicken-licken good
You've held several themes well here, really enjoyed reading and thanks for sharing.
all the best
LE

Author's Reply:


bird-stare (posted on: 13-05-05)
^-^

birds fix you with a beady stare
at this time of the year
instead of the usual hop, flutter and off
they stand their ground
and wait, weighing the situation
attempting to read your next move
nearby progeny the reason
for this unfearing bravado

years ago, when very young
my older brother made me climb a tree
to get eggs from a nest
a protective mother flew into action
hurtling down at me, pecking my head
screeching and flapping
and yet the prospect of facing my brother
empty handed kept me climbing
made me get those eggs
and I felt so empty
and my head stang
as he blew the innards into a sink
through holes made with a safety pin

years later on the moors we came across a nest
led there in part by the faked histrionics
and limp winged diversion tactics
of an anxious mother bird
we noticed the nest in long grass
didn't approach too closely
just looked on the fragile contents
hard and white and brittle
and soft and yielding and yellow
and all at the same time
we stood and looked for quite a while
as the curlews passed overhead
the pee-wits did just that nearby
all the while we were watched in turn
by the unfearing parent
one wing still cocked
in faux distress
and then we left
my brother and I
both changed by time
still noticing the same things

Archived comments for bird-stare
chant on 2005-05-13 16:05:18
Re: bird-stare
superb

Author's Reply:

Dargo77 on 2005-05-14 13:09:35
Re: bird-stare
Bo-duke, enjoyed this and very shocked it has not had more reads.
Best regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:

Leila on 2005-05-14 13:09:42
Re: bird-stare
This is really good, liked it lots...L

Author's Reply:

AnthonyEvans on 2005-05-15 09:51:13
Re: bird-stare
bo, i enjoyed this thoughtful piece, full of good observation, kicked off by a great opening stanza. best wishes, anthony.

Author's Reply:

LenchenElf on 2005-05-19 23:05:12
Re: bird-stare
This is wonderful, I've come back to it several times already, thank you for sharing
all the best
L

Author's Reply:


the poem I didn't write (posted on: 09-05-05)
hello
+++++

at a bus stop a couple of weeks ago
I noticed that the trees were budding
that foliage was near to returning
and I considered writing a poem
about a man who loses his view of the landscape
each year
as summer comes and leaves crowd the branches
and squeeze out his beloved aspect
for him there is no springtime optimism
no joy at the life unfurling around him
just the mordant drip of time as the day approaches
when his landscape disappears

I didn't have time to write the poem,
and now I come to do so
I find that leaves cover the trees
and I can't quite stir the same feelings I had
when I could see through the branches
and beyond into what my subject loses
the insight and affinity is lessened

I feel a little cheated
and fear I'll not remember
to re-visit it next year

Archived comments for the poem I didn't write
tai on 2005-05-09 09:34:28
Re: the poem I didn't write
Hi bo-duke99, I really liked your poem. 9 from me. My advice! always carry a pad.

Smiling

Tai

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-05-10 00:57:26
Re: the poem I didn't write
I enjoyed your poem - nice idea.

Cheers

Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

LenchenElf on 2005-05-10 22:28:22
Re: the poem I didn't write
A clever idea, much enjoyed and thanks for sharing.
all the best
L

Author's Reply:


new, but wait (posted on: 18-02-05)
///

There's someone new
We go to pubs
And occasionally touch
In full public view
We drive in cars
And kiss when we reach our destination
We look long
At each other
We wait
I like it
But we keep waiting

Archived comments for new, but wait
Michel on 2005-02-19 16:31:22
Re: new, but wait
Simple, subtle - says everything; keeps us waiting.

Author's Reply:

Michel on 2005-02-20 05:17:58
Re: someone new
Came back to this - I love this style and haiku-like depth in a few words.

Author's Reply:


one way or another (posted on: 31-01-05)
lL/

I live in my loft
no-one knows
I keep it quiet when receiving guests
will suffer ground level
for the duration of their visit
and then return to altitude
as soon as they depart
it started by accident
I ventured higher
partly to investigate the space
beyond the hole in my bedroom ceiling
also considering adding a room
increasing value, upping the equity
then the day came

I stood on the drawers
at the foot of my bed
a few attempts to dislodge the cover
then I levered myself up
into the gloom
as I scrabbled to turn myself
so i could sit, legs dangling
down into the room
I accidentally turned on a light switch
like you'd find on wall
but laid flat on the floor
by the side of the hole
and then I saw

at the far end of the loft
one wall had been whitewashed
and a scene painted in muted colours
many figures are working the land
on a hillside under a cloudy sky
in the near left hand corner
we can see the partial profile of a face
evidently watching intently
the strong impression
is that the watcher is not one of them

in the roof to the right
of the painting
there is an enormous picture window
looking out over the roofs
as they slide away
down the valley
you expect to see the sea
when they run out
but the valley just starts climbing again

in the centre of the space
is an easy chair on castors
marks worn in the floor
show that someone
or many people
have turned to view first painting
then vista
or vice-versa
I sat there until well after dark
just imagining

I sometimes wonder if I've ruined it
bringing the kettle up
putting the mattress and bedding
behind a screen in the corner
the TV wouldn't work, which felt like salvation
temptation removed, purity retained
but I often listen to the radio
tuning out to the hum of voices
or thrum of classical melody
while staring intently
one way or another

Archived comments for one way or another
Michel on 2005-02-01 07:17:28
Re: one way or another
Mysterious, atmospheric, beautifully written.

Author's Reply:

discopants on 2005-02-02 22:37:27
Re: one way or another
Intriguing and well-thought out.

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 2005-02-03 11:23:28
Re: one way or another
I found this a stunning and intriguing read. It made me want to see one way or another. Magnificent indeed. Love Val x

Author's Reply:

pencilcase on 2005-02-05 13:27:27
Re: one way or another
Yes, I too found this intriguing, atmospheric. It has an unusual yet effective dynamic that flows well and engages the reader. The escapism appeals and I think the notion of 'tuning out' to the radio is a great idea.

Steve

Author's Reply:

BlueyedSoul on 11-10-2005
one way or another
creative and unique...imaginative and interesting....drew me in one way or another.
~Cindy

Author's Reply:


just sun (posted on: 21-01-05)
~O~


a dog sits in strong sunshine
one ear crooked
pink tongue
contrasts with the black
of the muzzle
there is shade nearby
but the dog does not move
and the sun is so strong

I sit in a small garden area
fire escape propped open
with a fire extinguisher
enjoying a smoke
I shouldn't
listening for the ring
ready to rush back in
clouds occassionally shroud the sun

there is a chill wind
at this height
the sun is so welcoming
when it appears
so unfamiliar after winter
I am loathe to put a coat on
will shiver in expectation
of feeling the warm sun at my back

a small gap in the curtains
and a shaft of sun
catches spinning patterns
of dust flecks
you are still pregnant
and we blow to make spirals
and eddies in the patterns
in two days it will happen

Archived comments for just sun
Michel on 2005-01-21 11:14:41
Re: just sun
Simple, stunning, instant favourite.

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2005-01-22 06:35:43
Re: just sun
Great title for a lovely, bright and hopeful poem.

Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

Leila on 2005-01-22 17:43:58
Re: just sun
This is a very effective poem, it just works. Like it lots....L
small typo, you have an exta s in occasionally

Author's Reply:


one bad one (posted on: 14-01-05)
;;;;;;

I don't feel like writing this
inspiration just a word in another grey day
and it's been like this all year
so far
I've noticed rain speckles the windows
but the howling winds have abated
for now
the sky has a purple tint
hinting at promised storms
and uncomfortable journeys
having an office job can seem a godsend
in winter, as the worst of the weather
plays out beyond the glass
and now I feel better
I am productive again
and weak though this may be
one bad one usually leads
to something better
in fact, I think I have an idea

Archived comments for one bad one
Leila on 2005-01-15 18:04:28
Re: one bad one
The year has just begun, good luck...L

Author's Reply:

Michel on 2005-01-16 02:14:53
Re: Inspiration
This runs along like a little train - favourite for me.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-01-16 13:53:54
Re: one bad one
I agree with Michel without an 'A' - This trips along effortlessly. Well done on the nib.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2005-01-16 21:34:19
Re: one bad one
Dear bo_duke99: This trickles along with the feel of the thoughts of one, well, thinking, in a slightly anxious, harried way. You make a communication.
At the same time, if you are going to post pieces in a public forum, and readers reach out to you and respond to your pieces by commenting, its incumbent on you to at least acknowledge that you have read their remarks. You are a talented writer,
and we who don't know you, are amiably on your side. Swep

Author's Reply:


Trees (posted on: 17-12-04)
A re-post from the Golden Sun
)_

A small amount of glass was on the path in front of them.

Los looked at it and took a step back. 'Did you put that there'.

Nomo looked at the small patch of glass, 'no, I didn't put that there, why on earth would you accuse me of such a thing?' Nomo's eyes glistened as tears formed.

'Sorry, shall we climb a tree' Los jumped up and down on the spot in anticipation, a large grin signifying that she thought it a good idea.

Nomo's eyes cleared, 'do you think we can, what with our eyes and everything'.

Los made a small noise in her throat to show she had little time for arguments of this kind 'I think the eyes have been a stupendous success, I for one have never seen the world quite like this, and you for two haven't either, so I'll let that pirate wisecrack pass and we'll climb this tree'

'What pirate wisecrack, I didn't say anything about pirates'.

'Oh, it must be my buccaneers' At that they began laughing, hard, and didn't stop for a number of minutes, during which time Los fell and rolled in the small patch of glass but came to no harm.


'I hope a massive amount that there will be owls in this tree, my humour has improved considerably at the thought that there may be owls' Nomo's humour did indeed seem to have improved, but whether this was because of the possibility of owls only he knew.

Los looked up at the tree, which was a sycamore. There was a low branch nearby, about eight feet from the ground, and then there seemed a ready progression of branches available to add altitude to the situation. She was weighing up the situation when Nomo shouted, 'Spinnycopters', and leapt for the low branch, hanging from it and shaking around, quite like a monkey, but not really like a monkey, more like a monkey impression. These actions caused scores of sycamore seeds to start spinning down to the ground.

'the seeds of the sycamore have wings and tend to rotate like helicopter blades as they fall to ground in autumn' hollered Nomo as he continued to shake the tree. He then let go, dropped to the ground and looked up savouring the site of the seeds twisting down towards him.

'You are an arboricultural mastermind Nomo, truly you are, and Spinnycopters are quite the thing aren't they, I mean what with being able to spin and having copter at the end of their names, quite the thing indeed' Los looked impressed and thoughtful.

'I called them spinnycopters when I was eight, does that mean I am a child genius? I do quite well at quizzes and prefer doing adult things, like driving my car and drinking heavily?'

Los continued looking thoughtful, 'knowing you I would say that you are definitely NOT a child genius except that I know the part about drinking heavily is true, and also know that genius is often tortured by the idiocy of the world around them and so turns to drink' she paused.

'Well' demanded Nomo, eager for an answer

'I am going to say that you are not a child genius, but rather that we have identified you as gifted and worthy of special attention, and who knows what might come from that – I suspect it may place too much pressure on you to label you a genius' Los beamed at Nomo to show her judgment had his best interests at heart.

Nomo threw back his head and bellowed 'I am gifted and am going to climb a tree'. He then got down on all fours below the low hanging branch and said 'stand on me guv'nor', which Los did.

From this position she was able to level herself up onto the branch in a sitting position. She shuffled sideways towards the trunk of the tree. Nomo then grabbed onto the branch and hauled himself up until they were both sitting on the branch. They both stood up slowly, carefully, and began to climb the tree.

They had progressed several branches and feet higher in the tree when they stopped to review their situation. They were roughly level, standing on thick branches about fifteen feet up.

Nomo made a lookout pose and stared at the other trees around them, 'I see no ships'.

'What's that about ships?' asked Los

'I see none' replied Nomo

'Thank heavens for that, I'd forgotten about our eyes, and was worried that, well, you know, something had gone wrong with yours. But as you see no ships, and there are no ships, I am confident that you are OK' Los smiled and ruffled her own hair.

'Did you like Popeye' asked Nomo, 'and in particular the way he used to talk to himself as he walked along, kind of mumbling away aboutsk his Olivesk, yuch yuch yuch'

'I loved Popeye but Olive Oyle infuriated me, she was so wet, and so often author of her own downfall'

'How do you mean, shouldn't that be autheress?' Nomo asked

'No it should be author, like it is actor not actress these days, and I think you'll find history is now ourstory' Los looked determined 'and what I meant was that Olive would often flirt outrageously with that big bearded type'

'Bluto' ventured Nomo

'Bluto, she flirted with that Bluto character, even though just last episode Popeye had to save her from him when Bluto tied her to train tracks, and the only way Popeye could save her was to eat spinach that put trains in his arms so that he could punch the real train and the real train would go flying away he punched it so hard' Los looked a little surprised at her outburst, while Nomo seemed positively amazed.

Having absorbed the moment Nomo said, 'What happened when Judas went to mount olive'

'What?'

'Popeye knocked him right out'

Again they laughed hard and recklessly, and Nomo nearly lost balance.

'This tree is too funny, and as such represents a danger to us, we should find alternative accommodation in the interests of safety and sobriety' he said.

Los nodded sagely and seemed about to speak when she stopped, eyes wide and mouth similar. Nomo, seeing her excitement began looking around to try and find the source, but was restricted by considerations of balance. Eventually Los was able to speak,

'There is a horse chestnut tree over there, and it looks climbable!'
Nomo made a high pitched noise that he later explained was glee escaping. He then said 'right let's get down and then get up'.


They were standing at the bottom of the horse chestnut tree.

'Do you know anything about these' asked Los.

'I know some things, they were introduced in the 17th century and they come from the Balkans'

'In space?' asked Los

'In Europe, what was and was not Yugoslavia and all that'

'I see' Los said

'they can live for 150 years and grow to 25 metres' Nomo explained, 'and when mature have scaly bark'.

'this one is about twenty metres I'd say, and it does have scaly bark so it's mature' Los said

'Or a slimy scaly space alien in disguise' exclaimed Nomo

'Don't, I'm delicate' protested Los, 'I think this tree is about 100 years old'

'What are you basing that on?' asked Nomo

'height, scaliness, guessing, and the fact that it has lots of long nails driven into it on this side'

Nomo went round to the side where Los was standing. Sure enough someone had driven long nails into the tree, all the way up it's side.

'This is presumably so it can be climbed more easily' said Nomo

'Presumably' Los agreed

'I feel a little nauseous to be associated with tree climbers if this is the kind of thing they get up to' said Nomo

'nauseous indeed' she agreed again

'Do you think this is how fascism started' he wondered

'Climbing trees with nails?' asked Los

'Well yes, that and an erosion of respect for people and things around them until they are viewed simply as commodities whose only purpose was to be utilised for whatever use you deemed necessary'

'I see' said Los, 'I agree, particularly with the long nails bit. Shall we climb it?'

'What and become no better than common or garden fascists or nazi's? We might as well just start goose stepping around and invade Poland!' anger was present in his voice.

'Well, Poland is a very long way away, but we could goose step around a bit if you wanted, and do the straight arm thing, only if you wanted to' she was hesitant, sensitive to his feelings

'Yes, I think we probably should, if only to get an insight into their mis-guided minds'

And so they goose stepped about under the horse chestnut tree, holding their arms out straight on occasion and shouting things in German accents, some they had heard in war films and the like, some they had made up. After ten minutes they stopped.

'Do you think you managed to get much of an insight into their minds' enquired Los innocently.

'I'm not sure' answered Nomo carefully 'I'm fairly sure that they didn't laugh and giggle quite as much as that, and they certainly wouldn't have shouted ''I am das butcher-meister'' as often as we did'

'your probably right, but we can't be sure can we? If they had done those things I'd imagine they'd have been less angry and irritable with minorities, so I suppose they probably didn't. I am das butcher-meister' she shouted the last bit.

'No, I am das butcher-meister'' countered Nomo, and so they giggled some more.

They noticed a small green ball on the floor, covered in small spikes. Los lent down and picked it up.

'A conker' she said.

'That starts life as a flower which develops when pollinated into a fruit with a spiny green shell.' Nomo stated

'As seen here' she said holding the fruit in her palm for his inspection. 'A flower though, weird'

'Fruit come from flowers' Nomo stated

'weird' said Los

'That will probably contain two seeds' Nomo stated

'One each' said Los, eyes bright, 'shall we open it'

'Yes' said Nomo, 'you do it, your lucky'

Carefully the shell was twisted so that the fruit inside appeared, dark rich brown among the cold waxy folds of the interior. Three conkers were revealed, each with one flat side.

'One for you, one for me and one for who?' asked Los

'One for the pot' Nomo said and took the smallest conker from her hand. He looked at the sky, and covering his eyes against the golden sun, launched the fruit into the distance of the woods.

'Lets go home, I know how to make jelly fizzy, and can spell Mississippi backwards' Nomo stated

'Yes let's go home, and I'll look at pictures of trees in a book. How are the eyes'

'Do you know I'd entirely forgotten about them......'.

Archived comments for Trees

No comments archives found!
news from the star bar (posted on: 10-12-04)
imagination
___________

'what manner of star wars bar dwelling
monkey-toucher
have you dragged home this time'
I've gone and found love
but pilled off me head
I've fallen for a gorgon
eighteen pints in
I've had a festive curry with work
a grope from a typist
three lines of coke and several jacks
with pepsi max
in some lads car
on the edge of a dual carriageway
as he ordered more
so we'd be well prepared for the trip
to his mothers
to move a wardrobe
before we go into town
and now this clown has insulted
the fair honey monster
and he's gonna get it
if I can only focus

Archived comments for news from the star bar
Macjoyce on 25-04-2008
news from the star bar
Hmmm. A strange but enjoyable piece. Have you ever touched a monkey? I think I have, though not inappropriately.


Author's Reply:


Jimmy grins (posted on: 10-12-04)
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Jimmy sits in the garden smiling despite having only one arm in the middle of his chest Jimmy is always smiling people always jump to conclusions about Jimmy, usually because of the arm assumptions are made that he is stupid and that's why he always smiles unaware of his predicament and the disadvantages he faced having only one arm content in his ignorance unable to grasp the severity of his situation, or more than one can I looked at Jimmy smiling and wondering I wandered over being gentle and careful for his feelings I asked him some questions to try and find the truth it turns out Jimmy is very bright but that the lines between reality and fiction have become a little blurred to him having watched a sci-fi movie when he was young Jimmy is convinced he's a member of a superior race of single armed aliens who one day soon will arrive from space to enslave us and to make our kings the one armed scouts they have placed cuckoo like among us Jimmy smiles at our imminent serfdom grins for the power he will wield
Archived comments for Jimmy grins
dogfrog on 2004-12-10 06:42:50
Re: Jimmy grins
Another great poem Bo.

I was thinking that Jimmy is a metaphor for an old fruit machine sat in someone's garden? One armed bandit...

Either way I really like this and think it would work well as poetry or a short piece of prose.

df.



Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2004-12-10 14:23:03
Re: Jimmy grins
I dare say that Jimmy is right. I wish him well. I'll happily surrender to a smiley alien right now.
A very original and interesting piece Bo_duke. Well done on the nib, much deserved.

s
u
n
k
e
n

Author's Reply:

flash on 2004-12-10 14:26:17
Re: Jimmy grins
This had it's moments, but i was more impressed by your Inca effort the other day.

Good work


Flash

Author's Reply:

richardwatt on 2004-12-11 17:35:28
Re: Jimmy grins
Hi Bo,
I wanted to add 'although unsteadily' as the last line here! With a bit of end-stopping and filling out, this would make for a cracking start to a flash piece, rather than a poem since there are repetitions at work within the text. More off the wall than Michael Jackson.

Over,
rick x

Author's Reply:

tai on 2004-12-12 03:25:56
Re: Jimmy grins
Hi bo-duke99, I enjoyed this poem, it is amazing how life compensates in the strangest of ways. Jimmy sounds perfect as a born leader to me.

All the best

Tai

Author's Reply:

chant on 2004-12-13 05:40:34
Re: Jimmy grins
another very strong piece. i thought this was a poem about self-delusion (our own about Jimmy, and his own about himself), and the difference between appearance and reality. Jimmy compensates for his affliction by building a fantasy world. on the surface he is sunny and stupid, underneath he is angry and calculating. his underlying feelings towards his fellow human beings are vindictive, no doubt brought on by a fundamental sense of alienation. thought this was an acute psychological portrait.

Author's Reply:


pen (posted on: 06-12-04)
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))0

I've a special reason
to monitor the ink in my pen
as I scribble and scratch
making marks on paper
writing through the night

If I move
from where I'm writing
I would surely wake both of you
and you'd ask what I'm doing
and spoil the surprise

but the pen that I'm using
contains little more ink
and what there is
has halved since I began

I notice my imagery
has taken a vivid turn
I describe my love as the blood
giving me life
that if it ran out
life's meaning would end

I'm inspired by my predicament
regarding the pen
you will never suspect
so long as I finish
before you awake


Archived comments for pen
Michel on 2004-12-07 13:13:02
Re: pen
Geez, what happens NEXT then??????

Author's Reply:


great uncle's looking shabby (posted on: 03-12-04)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in an Inca culture, or near
they mummified the departed
and treated them as living
strapped them to backs
stiff like scarecrows
faces covered with rafia masks
bodies bound and clothed
effigies of their living selves
the dead continued to be treated as normal
visited and cooked for
conversed with and consulted
tasks were allocated
and disappointment was felt
as jobs were not started
as food went untouched

after weeks of Andean treks
with a great uncle on their backs
who'd lost vitality, strength
persona and purpose, was no more himself
sentiment ceded
to practical needs
and he was left behind
no emotion was shown
they'd already grieved for the shell
of what great-uncle had become
shed previous tears at his rapid decline
come to terms with their own mortality
become irritated at his mute dependency
tired of his impassiveness
bent under his weight
they began to think alike
eventually it was said
to leave him must surely
give him release
given how he was now
how he'd been these last weeks

Archived comments for great uncle's looking shabby
Michel on 2004-12-03 06:43:51
Re: this poem's half-posted twice!
Same poem further up, but no title and no comment box! - so here is my comment on
either/both: STUNNING WORK


Author's Reply:

chant on 2004-12-03 08:06:42
Re: great uncle's looking shabby
i agree with Michel, this is a wonderful piece of writing, lucid, witty, and carried forward by some great rhymes and half-rhymes.

Author's Reply:

flash on 2004-12-03 08:12:03
Re: great uncle's looking shabby
As above, but very original as well.


Thoroughly interesting read.

xxxxxxxx
Flashypants

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2004-12-04 22:52:27
Re: great uncle's looking shabby
Really enjoyed this anthropological tale - very original work.

Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


passing through (posted on: 29-11-04)
"what kind of low rent episode of the Twilight Zone have I wandered into here"
Ethan Coen, Gates of Eden

I know of a man who claimed he could pass through walls with the aid of a door though I never believed him He said he'd cling to the top of the back of the door and stare intently at the wood and the grain therein until he felt distant of himself he would use a toe to push off swing back expecting nothing he said he knew not to breathe something told him when to let go allow impetus to carry him through this morning as I passed his door it was open there were policemen I heard one say, 'they must have smashed his head so damn hard into that wall half of it's stuck in there'.
Archived comments for passing through
tai on 2004-11-29 05:28:48
Re: passing through
My first laugh of the day. Sorry it may be inappropriate, but the end of your poem, did make me lol.

Great read indeed

Tai

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2004-11-29 07:09:14
Re: passing through
bo_duke99: To start with, I like your poem, and the confidence you show to matter-of-factly tell this small story, and end it as you have, implausibly but valid because you've been understated and serious throughout. That said, you might look at cutting the 'and' to start the 3rd and 4th lines of the second stanza, and again before 'allow impetus...'
in the 3rd stanza, and, more importantly, I can't work out the visuals of holding on to the top of a door and 'pushing off' and 'swinging back'. Wouldn't pushing off propel the door holder forward? Beyond that, is this a situation like where a doorway into another room has been walled up, though the door remains in one of the newly created rooms? I feel like I'm going on too much about this, so will desist, but I like your poem. Swep

Author's Reply:

dogfrog on 2004-11-29 09:46:19
Re: passing through
Bo,

This is one cool poem.

Recommendations,

First line - should 'know' be 'knew' ?
Lose all the capitals H on the 2nd stanza, couple of i's
what about 'single toe' instead of 'toe' (signifies barefoot)
Last thing, have a look at all the 'and's - do you need them all?

Great poem
Nice one Bo.

df







Author's Reply:

Emerald on 2004-11-30 12:09:17
Re: passing through
I'm no high brow with poetry, so this poems bizarre twist from the norm, made me laugh - I could picture him trying to slide through a door without touching. The ending was great.

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:


I have held that hand (posted on: 26-11-04)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I have held that hand so often
but all to no avail,
simply observing the side of her face
as she stares to the street corner
she believes will deliver her fate
at first I refused to accept her rejections
tried to reason with her
persuade her there was no way
of knowing for certain
that her destiny would arrive
around that corner one day soon
but she remained determined
avowed and convinced
yet I continued to visit
to hold that hand
as she stared always at that corner
eventually my patience snapped
and I gave up for several weeks
until inspiration struck me
and now I volunteer to run odd jobs
for all kinds of loose acquaintances
and even for strangers
any reason to take me
around that corner
and into her fate

Archived comments for I have held that hand
Michel on 2004-11-28 10:45:41
Re: I have held that hand
A lot hidden -
engaging, intriguing, suspenseful and deftly written

Author's Reply:


John Reincarnate (posted on: 26-11-04)
_______________________________

I had the strangest experience the other day a knock at the door and who could believe it standing in front of me claiming to be here about the cellar my recently dead husband John reincarnate, my man come back I'd told virtually no-one of the cellar how it had started to reek after John had gone how damp ran from the walls and I feared for the house for my future having no idea whether the insurance was current he'd seen to all that and now here was my dead husband pretending to have been sent by a friend to take a look at the problem I swallowed hard and made my decision claiming that there was no problem I turned him away then stranger still, the damp disappeared what had been a cold wet hole was now suddenly a warm burrow below my home I slept there for two nights straight content in the warm dry depth of the earth below my home I wondered about John, but was not worried until tonight when on the TV I saw him appearing in an advert for a new breakfast cereal knowing my John, and how deeply public scrutiny upset him I fear for him in his new career unless the grave has changed him greatly
Archived comments for John Reincarnate
Michel on 2004-11-27 11:05:12
Re: Reading John Reincarnate
i>strange, compelling, evocative and beautiful

Author's Reply:

Nicoletta on 2004-11-27 13:24:03
Re: John Reincarnate
I agree with Michel! Great stuff! Loved it!
Nicoletta.

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 2004-11-27 13:52:08
Re: John Reincarnate
I agree with Michels comments - it is compelling reading - disturbing and draws the reader in.

Emma:)

Author's Reply:


my atrium without plants (posted on: 26-11-04)
...................................................

there is only a small entrance
to my cardboard box hideaway
right at the back of the stores

in the bit they stacked too narrow
where the fork men cannot reach
and so, as the stock will not perish
for so long a time
there is a hole where I go
and have for over a year

true, it is hole I enter
but after a few short seconds
on hands and knees
can stand free again
in my atrium without plants
in my home without roof
in my place apart

today someone found me
normally no-one misses me
I do my stats and figures early
in the small room on the gantry
where no-one ever goes
and so none come seeking

and yet today I was found

a girl clambered in from the roof
having been exploring the top of the boxes
and the various peaks up there
I wonder at her courage

whereas I slipped into a gap
for some peace one day
and found my retreat
she had taken off across the tops
headlong and adventure
and fallen into the same

she asked if I'd built it
I said no
she asked if I wondered who had
I said never
she snorted with disgust
I think we are friends
Archived comments for my atrium without plants
Emerald on 2004-11-26 07:24:54
Re: my atrium without plants
Hi, I really liked this piece. A good poem.

Emma:)

Author's Reply:

Slovitt on 2004-11-29 07:12:45
Re: my atrium without plants
bo_duke99: You've got an attractive, understated voice, and this is a pretty good poem. 'I think we are friends.' is just right to close. Swep

Author's Reply:


new job (posted on: 15-11-04)
long time no stuff
_______________

new job
less time
life sucks
poems rock
Archived comments for new job
marym on 2004-11-15 05:34:11
Re: new job
oh... i hope you will write more...
in anticipation,
mary

Author's Reply:

blackdove on 2004-11-16 10:42:36
Re: new job
I totally agree.
Jemima

Author's Reply:


inadvertantly sketching (posted on: 24-09-04)
what are tha odds
_______________

they're here for the assessment
they look nervous, small gestures
involuntarily betray the nerves
that jangle away within them

a sweep of wind pitter patters
leaves against the window
the blinds are down,
but you can see them swirl
through the glass in the back door

the kettle boils and it begins
probing questions and long
sympathetic looks
remember to seem sympathetic
but I don't feel involved
begin to doodle on a pad
on my lap, I have a red pen
which enhances the experience
black and blue being my usual
doodling medium
I become a little tranced out
half listening to the hum of voices
partially distracted by the flapping
lifting leaves beyond the back door
always sketching absently away

I am asked a direct question
what do I think, what do they expect
me to think, I don't want to be sent away
be observed or studied
I am about to state my case
pitching it eloquently I believe
will be enough to swing the deal
the man opposite glances at my pad
I look down at the same time
as the woman next to me
all three of us forget to breathe
as we stare at the horrific carnage
I have drawn
the rabbits with spikes in their eyes
particularly disturbing
I grin at them and shrug
as if to say what are the odds
of me inadvertently drawing that
here, today
I don't fancy my chances much though

Archived comments for inadvertantly sketching
marym on 2004-10-15 16:19:31
Re: inadvertantly sketching
... and what do they see in the picture - "your state of mind"... interesting poem...

Author's Reply:


determined the trees (posted on: 24-09-04)
stoic and resolute
_______________

I had a man on the phone just now,
and could hear the wind whistling
outside the building where he was,
whereas beyond my window
the trees remained relatively unmoved
though occasionally ruffled by gusts
that must have come
from the opposite direction to the usual wind
because they have, over time
been blown and coaxed into slightly leaning
some at quite sharp angles
but today with the wind
arriving from the opposite direction
the impression is of tough old trees
braced against the breeze
a notion reinforced when you add
the sound effects of blustering gales
as there were moments ago
you could almost hear the grunts of effort
as the trees continued
their determined resistance

Archived comments for determined the trees

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one size fits all (posted on: 24-09-04)
as always, purely a work of imagination unless marked otherwise
_______________________________________________________

a hint of hatred in the eyes
makes me doubt this man
he seems to be getting results
people agree eagerly
but it seems they agree with almost
anything
such is their need
he asks about a John
I know a dead John
but then so will most people I think
he says this John is looking to speak
to a man in his thirties
I glance around the room
I estimate about twenty fit the description
including myself
still saying nothing, but feeling a little guilty now

what if it is me he's after
ordinarily dismissive,
I am feeling a little doubtful
as to what I truly think about all this now
wonder what will happen next

he looks hard around the room
I catch that dark flash in his eye again
'John says he is looking for a man in his thirties'
he repeats, maybe John's gay, I think
but maintain my poker face
in the thrall of his gaze
I am sorely tempted to admit
I fit in with this description
when he changes tack completely
'wait, no, John HAS a man in his thirties
who wishes to speak to US
sometimes the messages are so garbled
the lines aren't always clear from the other side'

this time I allow myself to smile widely

Archived comments for one size fits all
Macjoyce on 16-11-2007
one size fits all
Rightly, John, you are sceptical of the medium. But you cannot dismiss them entirely.

I like the idea of a gay ghost looking for a partner. Do you think they have dating websites in the next world?



Author's Reply:


he noticed the flowers (posted on: 24-09-04)
me, real
_______

He noticed the flowers spilling
Over the edges
Of the stone wall surrounding the flower patch
In the corner
Near the entrance
Another instance
He thought
Of my life and the things that bring
A wealth of beauty to it
endeavouring to burst
Beyond their demarked boundaries
And teach me
A lesson about life
He inhaled slowly
Through his nose

Archived comments for he noticed the flowers
tai on 2004-09-26 14:59:41
Re: he noticed the flowers
Ahh...the simplistic beauty of life! You expressed this well.

Tai

Author's Reply:


the lizard (posted on: 24-09-04)
my scaled friend
______________

I can hear the regular buzz of the crickets
beyond the dark wood of the shutters
thick whitewashed walls
and a whirring ceiling fan ensuring
that the interior bears none of the discomfort
of the scorched world outside

her arm moves slightly and she murmurs
in her sleep
is she apologising in her dreams
doubtful in the extreme

a lizard appears on the wall
behind the TV, moving slowly
head switching from side to side
it seems to be green and yellow
but it is hard to be sure in the half light
I wonder how long it's been in here
we've potentially spent a week
sharing our quarters
with this cold blooded creature
virtually impervious to our existence

she makes a noise again
a kind of half laugh
that dies to a happy gurgle in her throat
I haven't genuinely laughed in months
the lizard changes position
is now facing the floor
but is in no danger, I wonder
at the adhesive powers

am I the wall and does she stick to me
only because I am there and familiar
and she is able to
I am decided against her
I address my scaled friend behind the TV

''we've potentially spent a week
sharing our quarters
with this cold blooded creature
virtually impervious to our existence''

Archived comments for the lizard
niki on 2004-09-24 09:14:14
Re: the lizard
ooohh! harsh! did like the insomniac changing of allegiances though. you could always venture into the scorched world outside... πŸ™‚

niki x

Author's Reply:

shadow on 2004-09-26 18:43:27
Re: the lizard
I like this very much - it's the sort of thing repays rereading and ruminating on ...

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2004-09-29 22:45:57
Re: the lizard
This really appealed to me after having spent some time with a lizard this year!

Kat πŸ˜‰

Author's Reply:


play by the rule (posted on: 24-09-04)
xmas past
_________

my stick dry lips crack in chapped anticipation
of your softening attentions
as I hover under mistletoe
you see me, wait for your chance
it doesn't come
he is watching
it seems he understands the whole scene
is waiting to see if you dare
if we'll breech the line
of what he considers acceptable
play by the rule surely his watchword
but he's the one having endless affairs
while we try and fall in love
amidst the pieces of your broken life

Archived comments for play by the rule
niki on 2004-09-24 04:19:43
Re: play by the rule
what odd conventions we play by! i really enjoyed this little insight

niki x

Author's Reply:

littleredsteve on 2004-09-24 05:59:29
Re: play by the rule
Powerful last three lines, bo duke. Like a punch to the gut. (and one small point: do we 'breech' lines, or 'breach' them? I'm not sure)

steve

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 2004-09-26 08:09:18
Re: play by the rule
The old fashioned part of me wants punctuation in this, but it is a good poem with a lot of insight; that last section is so sad.
As littleredsteve suggested you have a typo - "breech" should be "breach" and I think it should be "while we try to fall in love"? Best wishes, Elfstone.

Author's Reply:

jay12 on 2004-09-29 20:27:11
Re: play by the rule
A very emotive poem. Sounds like its really happened. I wonder if I'm right?

Jay.

Author's Reply:

deepoceanfish2 on 2004-10-11 11:52:01
Re: play by the rule
bo_duke.

This is a fine piece, which deserves more readership and ratings. Nice smooth opening:
my stick dry lips crack in chapped anticipation
of your softening attentions
as I hover under mistletoe
you see me, wait for your chance '

I would change nothing, except possibly the format. to enhance the feel. This is just my opinion though. A fine read, indeed.

Regards,
Adele πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


semi detached (posted on: 20-09-04)
____________________________

can someone tell me why
I feel such a sense of fear
and imminent loss
when I look at rows of suburban houses

it's usually semi's that do it
make me feel so desolate
I don't dislike houses of this kind
I grew up happily in one
and understand their merits

but staring at row upon row
of homogenous housing
makes me feel simply desperate

Archived comments for semi detached
tai on 2004-09-20 08:15:57
Re: semi detached
Don't know your age Bo_duke99, but it sounds like it may be time for you to break out or move on!

Enjoyed your expressing it in this poem though!

Tai

Author's Reply:

blackdove on 2004-09-20 13:44:41
Re: semi detached
Hello Bo,
It's strange but I get exactly the same feeling. Perth's its because they all look the same and somehow soulless for that? Yet as you say you grew up in one and because they look the same it doesn't mean the people living in them are all alike too, does it? But there is a sort of quiet desolation about them that your poem captures. I am sure lots of us have had the same feelings and you've managed to capture that in your poem. Just that moment where thoughts collide with the same idea.
Enjoyed it.
Jem

Author's Reply:

marym on 2004-09-20 16:06:53
Re: semi detached
... loved this one, bo... truly only a poet can find such expressions that are simple...

take care, mary

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2004-09-20 18:54:16
Re: semi detached
Enjoyed this - different.

Regards
Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

niki on 2004-09-20 20:15:19
Re: semi detached
i get the same feeling from looking at Lowry's. like life is one-size-fits-all. loved the poem πŸ˜‰

niki x

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 2004-09-23 08:59:49
Re: semi detached
I Know what you mean, I'm forever wondering what goes on behind the curtains I sometimes terrify myself. Nicely done Val x

Author's Reply:


Winston the girl, 7 and mention of Arthur (posted on: 17-09-04)
______________________________

in a pub, in a booth, supping pints with friends
I'm on the outside, looking in, they sit deep
in the dark leather of the interior
I am exposed to the world,
at the mercy of careless passers by
and the dribbles of their drinks
as I sup deep at the black I hear something
a kind of low resonant droning
glancing I determine it is coming
from the booth next to ours
which contains a girl with flashing dark eyes
and a small glass of liquor without ice or mixer
she catches my glance, I smile she doesn't
but she does begin to speak

''Winston Churchill was a druid, the most powerful,
but he did not die, and has seven druidic sons''

I listen intently as she continues, while my friends gurn
and raise eyebrows and giggle at her
when she has finished she sups up quickly
departs without another word or look at me
although she shoots a dark glare in my friends direction

I told them exactly what she said,
strangely I can remember it to this day
after the opening two lines, she recited
what sounded like a poem or verse, as follows:

''what the original Arthur
on who they based all legends
though that was not his name
sought in Avalon and journeys to the beyond
was an end
to human yearning once and for ever to come
and though he received a bright prize
at the end of his search
it was not the reward he expected
as an end to yearning would be
an end to humanity
and the eager endeavors therein

so the hero still sleeps
though seven are abroad
who bear his seals''

Archived comments for Winston the girl, 7 and mention of Arthur
marym on 2004-09-17 06:42:23
Re: Winston the girl, 7 and mention of Arthur
do you mean to convey ~ the glory of the hard work of one is enjoyed by the coming generations...

i got lost towards the end... your works are different, bo...

take care, mary

Author's Reply:


Hearth (posted on: 17-09-04)
of stone
_______

I built a fireplace
Good and strong and hearthed in stone
And now I am alone
With the thought that a word
Of kindness, from the lips of a stranger or bosom friend
Couldn't touch me
Would mean nothing
I too
Am good and strong
And hearthed of stone

I say it aloud
And break the syllables in my favourite word
''good and strong
and hearth-ed of stone''
I sing now, low,
''My stone hearth will not break
My stone hearth will not break
And your clock ticks no more in my home''

I don't think it means much
I'm still alone

Archived comments for Hearth
Macjoyce on 21-03-2008
Hearth
A good hearth these days is hard to find...


Author's Reply:


Hidden Chimneys (posted on: 17-09-04)
will it be the same
_______________

massive and green the hills rolled ever away
through an enormous picture window
I stared, blinking less than I should
occasionally startled by hurtling birds
and hovering seagulls, tipping wings
rising and holding, change angle then away

music started and then she rolled away
I remembered a dream from childhood

I am trapped in a confined space
then I have the sensation of moving
I try and push up but am trapped all around
I become aware of flame at my feet
I try and scrabble away from the fire
but there is nowhere to go
then blinding white ecstasy as it takes me
every answer at my disposal
every question utterly inconsequential
and the joy of floating as I look down
on a flat roof and chimney
with drifting puffs of white smoke

as the coffin disappears behind the curtain
I wonder will it be the same for her
a sudden furious need takes me
I must see the chimney
I dash outside, concerned stares in my wake
but I circle the whole building three times
and see nothing,
they must try not to make them visible
don't want the realities to be too obvious
oh to be a seagull and master the winds
I would view what I willed
I feel reassured

Archived comments for Hidden Chimneys
marym on 2004-09-17 06:27:22
Re: Hidden Chimneys
should the poem stop with this "oh to be a seagull and master the winds" -- ?

an inspiring write, bo... take care, mary

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 2004-09-18 01:17:57
Re: Hidden Chimneys
To be aware of being cremated, hmmm.
Yep, although the subject matter is generally taboo,
this has probably happened.Ouch!


RODEL

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 2004-09-18 11:32:27
Re: Hidden Chimneys
I like this piece it is chilling but very powerful, I am inclined to agree with mary though it should have stopped with.. Oh to be a seagull and master the winds. Grat work. love Val x

Author's Reply:

blackdove on 2004-09-18 15:54:01
Re: Hidden Chimneys
The idea is horrific because if is possible, great idea and I also think the line 'oh to be a seagull and master the winds,' is strongest as an ending.
I really enjoyed this poem bo
Jem

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 2004-09-19 07:28:50
Re: Hidden Chimneys
Fascinating poem bo-duke99 and a little bit grim! May I make a suggestion (and you may have very different views on this) - I think it needs more punctuation than just the three commas you have placed in it. Good one. Elfstone.

Author's Reply:


I saw a bear in cage once (posted on: 10-09-04)
13 years since
_____________

I saw a bear in cage once
not a very big cage either
just an unexpected addendum
on the side of a Romanian shack bar

brown and magnificent
matted and pathetic
stare eyed and rocking with spit flecked muzzle
and a ring through a weeping nose

we watched for some time
seemingly sucked into a news report
confronted with this living vision
of an anti-cruelty leaflet
we didn't drink in the bar
didn't even discuss it

that night we were bothered again by the singer
he sang 'Fata Draga', at least,
that's how it was pronounced
he claimed to be an orphan
and cadged cigars until someone pointed out
that not being an orphan at his advanced age
was quite an achievement

the next day we went on a trip
to Dracula's country retreat, no really
Bran Castle, also playground to communist tyrants
once housed the greatest treasures of the nation
but now we were solemnly shown
empty dust outlined squares on the wall
and told of the looting of the countries history
by those leaders gone before

that night someone in the lobby
shouted that there were bears
foraging in the hotel bins
we got excited and ran round the side
and down an incline towards the bins
and the bears
halfway down I realised and shouted
'we're running headlong towards wild hungry bears'
we didn't stop though
luckily they thought we were crazy
rather than dinner
and disappeared into the night

I enjoyed watching the wolves scurry
on the hills opposite
but the howling chilled me

Archived comments for I saw a bear in cage once
royrodel on 2004-09-11 08:54:55
Re: I saw a bear in cage once
I can't 'not' like this.The way you described the journey took me there.

You should be a reporter for some news organization.

RODEL

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 2004-09-12 08:33:05
Re: I saw a bear in cage once
Once started I had to finish this chilling account, brillianly written Val x

Author's Reply:


sevens for nines (posted on: 10-09-04)
octagonal tens

the beauty of the coming autumn
grabbed me today
held me while a leaf span
swayed and sashayed
on down to the ground

can any other season
offer such rich variety
opulent with fruit
and secret spice of death

lifes bounty well affirmed,
tales of final demise
undeniably present
and all is resonant of the grief
at this seasons change
and shrinking sunlights demands

in the midst of all this
bittersweet and turmoil
who can deny the beauty
even without mention of colour

Archived comments for sevens for nines
Bradene on 2004-09-12 08:31:19
Re: sevens for nines
I love this, it's so true Val x

Author's Reply:

uppercase on 2004-09-12 16:30:53
Re: sevens for nines
There's a sadness that comes with the fall of the year. I call it a colorful death....nice poem...Erma

Author's Reply:

marym on 2004-09-17 06:46:48
Re: sevens for nines
even without mention of colour ~

exquisite poetry, bo...

Author's Reply:


open truck (posted on: 02-09-04)
___________________________________________

riding in the back of an open truck
over dust dry land
arid and hopeless
helpless to influence weather
the storm of indignation
that greets no rain
sets me on the road
once again
in the back of an open truck

my own land, a farm no less
mine, 50 acres,
fertile these 15 years
as long as he'd been there
at least
within a year all useless
a drought to dry the topsoil
then massive flash floods to wash it away
and repeat, angry gods, then repeat again
3 times and charmed
now no growth can be summoned
from this grit and stone folly
where a farm once was
and so I travel with my hands
and the right to make my own back ache
my passport to a pittance of pay
but at least I can know
that today mine will eat

things being the way they are
the best part of my day
is the security I feel
knowing I'll earn
on my way to be another man's labourer
riding in the back of an open truck.
Archived comments for open truck
CleanMan on 17-01-2006
open truck
Nice work. I liked the gritty atmosphere you created, and sustained throughout the work.

Author's Reply:


You four me (posted on: 27-08-04)
Some times
__________

You're a beauty she said
But I'm a fella I thought
Fifteen and kissing and hard below

Take my hand
Put it where you want
I'll do anything you ask
Tonight I'm yours
I dunno what I want
I thought
And so was very traditional
Asked for what I thought I should

Would you mind a nipple
That turned inward
I've a friend you see
She wondered
I believed about the friend
so naοve
We sparked on my doorstep
Before she drove off
Determined not to get carried away
By the moment
But we missed the chance
It never came

I want to she said
I really want to
She was a little wild eyed
I wouldn't
She cried
I left

Black and beautiful
Busted and curved in all the right ways
I made sure to use a condom
Because she was from Africa
Thought I was sensible
Knew it was probably prejudice
and doubt
At four in the morning
Apropos of nothing
She announced in a thick African accent
When I was a little girl
Giraffes lived near my home
I think it was Kenya
Where the giraffes lived
near her home

Archived comments for You four me

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A silver cup I wish to shine (posted on: 27-08-04)
"so familiar and yet so strange"

'I have a silver cup I wish to shine, do you have a Chamois'

Grandad always enquires of me in the same way

and as usual my heart breaks as I refuse

first time he'd asked I gave one to him

and wondered which cup he referred to

I then watched amazed as he grabbed the cloth from my hand

clasping it to his chest, curling his body around it, to protect it

to deflect away the imagined snatches of jealous hands

with a look of blissful contentment

he reverently placed a corner in his mouth

and began to suck slowly, meditatively

deliberately,

and the picture of rapture that was his face

disarmed me completely

that was why I thought I might do it again

provide the Chamois cloth he desperately craves

but it's no good for him, they say, will only degrade him

will make it worse, so I politely refuse

my once proud Grandad

mind befuddled, confused, strange to the both of us

and he smiles so sweetly,

and says in the voice he's always had

'Oh well, no matter, I may call tomorrow, to see if one has come in'

Archived comments for A silver cup I wish to shine
thehaven on 2004-08-27 10:02:03
Re: A silver cup I wish to shine
A lovely poem and described thecondition of senility well.

Mike

Author's Reply:

Skeeter on 2004-08-27 13:18:30
Re: A silver cup I wish to shine
very toching, this, and it revealed itself, and its message, with considered pace, which made it all the more effective, for me.

Author's Reply:

Penprince on 2004-08-28 07:40:42
Re: A silver cup I wish to shine
I like the way you made it slide...

Author's Reply:

Kat on 2004-08-28 14:08:22
Re: A silver cup I wish to shine
How this poem shines for me...

Regards
Kat πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:

uppercase on 2004-08-29 13:27:20
Re: A silver cup I wish to shine
Heart breaking what some of us go through near the end of our lives. This is a really good piece. I enjoyed reading it...Erma

Author's Reply:


Clean pub (posted on: 20-08-04)
not a usual day, but not a one off either

walk in to a clean pub
first thing
just gone eleven
meeting a mate, having a long one

sit with the paper
sipping at Guinness
sunshine streams
brass glistens
I wrestle to turn the pages of my broadsheet
but become accustomed
by the time I've finished the sport
moved on to the paper proper
or that's how I see it

dust motes swirl
landlady wipes the already shiny
clock ticks
I have another
read reports of an individual
known by initials
being plotted against
by people he must know well

a van revs it's engine
a taxi driver comes in
asks for directions
I've almost reached international news
when my mate walks in
and I abandon the paper
to the crack and the beer



Archived comments for Clean pub
Lare on 08-12-2005
Clean pub
Yep...I can sure identify with this one...right on...or...as the ol saying goes..."Here's hoistin' another one for you, mate..."

Just me, Lare

Author's Reply:


beyond their forever (posted on: 13-08-04)
(///////¬

Ghosts and spirits of those gone before return routinely to the earth occasionally to be trapped by low atmospheres, and later released by lightning no morals make it over to the other side for them life is half forgotten suffering and hurt a distant concept so they are careless with us can be reckless in their games trust well that they sport with us though gods they are not and they know of love no longer in that cool dry forever they are countless and unaccountable argue think and socialize and for the most among them the discussion inevitably turns to whether there is anything beyond what has become their here and now the impossible painless aeons as yet experienced by many only hinting slyly at what else is yet to be known so building in them a binding faith in a one true eternity a forever of forevers yet to come
Archived comments for beyond their forever
marym on 2004-08-13 14:55:53
Re: beyond their forever
mmm... this one made a difficult read for me, bo... i ought to read this once again as the vocab. in certain places put me off... take care, mary

Author's Reply:


the cartoons are coming true (posted on: 13-08-04)
coincidences that kept coming

the cartoons have started coming true
firstly a man with a large red moustache
muttering impenetrable angry swearwords
just audible, with a red face to boot

then a canary that sang from a cage
on a windowsill two doors down
now found dead and stiff
in a dark cornerof our patio
that never quite catches the sun

the black and white cat
that constantly slinks around nearby
turned up ten minutes later to collect it
evidently using the dark corner as a cold store
'suffering suckatash' I bellowed
and he swiftly departed
but that's no good to tweety

a man with a hat with flaps was spotted,
but he had no gun
so an unconfirmed Fudd as yet
though the road runner meep-meeps
at between 7 and 8 every night
outside our house, though I've yet to catch sight of him

the final straw came when a friend
with a need to be noticed
bought a skunk, and built it a large run
in her garden
said skunk has inevitably begun
to make amorous advances
toward her cat

I'm going to leave some whitewash in the garden
at the first sign of a painted feline
I'll ensure monsieur Pepe gets the elbow
I mean it's not right
he knows it's a painted cat, not a skunk
part of me believes that he prefers cats
especially mingled with the smell of fresh paint
not content with coming alive
some of the cartoons have the most despicable perversions

Archived comments for the cartoons are coming true
marym on 2004-08-13 14:51:58
Re: the cartoons are coming true
... very interesting, bo... i really missed your writings.

Author's Reply:

Skeeter on 2004-08-14 07:15:45
Re: the cartoons are coming true
This is great to read, very unusual, interestinga and original. You do seem to have a quirky time. Like it!

Author's Reply:

zenbuddhist on 2004-08-17 07:36:06
Re: the cartoons are coming true
aye and the water suppley`s been contaminated with LSD.....*G*

Author's Reply:


and yet another friday (posted on: 12-07-04)
explosive pods to scatter the seeds

have you all wondered about the origin
of the evil in the men
who conspire upon meeting
who can strangely see the glint in each others eyes
and at first glance agree to bind
in self serving union

what dark electricity do they recognise
in those first instants
what malevolent aura
can they discern so early on

the large forgiving piece of my heart
demands that they are hurt
in their pasts
and that any pain passed on is dwarfed
by what they suffer still
and what they endured then
but then again,

and I feel so strong
that bad rhymes abound,

anyone with a beating love
and an open eye would hurt no-one
unless careless
as we always are,
but I detect in this breed
pre-meditation
a perverse inclination to screw all and sundry
an evil spewing foundry at the heart of such men

though always they draw the eye
never let them inside
in case
it all brakes under their glinting gaze

women make nests
and this brings it's own, different darkness
to some among them
Archived comments for and yet another friday
riggy on 2004-07-13 13:11:54
Re: and yet another friday
bo, this is so heavy, I had to read it a couple of times just to let it into my brain. I do like it very much. "the large forgiving piece" - at first I thought no-- UNforgiving, but reading it through again, whether it's a typo or your words, it works. For me anyway. πŸ™‚ Thank you.
meg (riggy)


Author's Reply:


friday now (posted on: 12-07-04)
my aunts

Friday now there may be another storm a half empty bottle sits undecided in the refrigerator having waved mistakenly at a car earlier I wonder at the numerous people in the world remembering how similar oriental people appear to me I feel glad I don't live in the East for fear of straining my elbow though I know they can't tell us apart either, we also have large noses
Archived comments for friday now
Skeeter on 2004-07-12 16:47:58
Re: friday now
This made me laugh bo, hope to god it was meant to or I'll be in trouble. But not only laugh, it made me pause and think; and in the end I thought: 'I like this, this is quirky, a real voice.' I feel it should be 'innumerable' though, and I'm afraid I still don't get the 'straining my elbow bit'.

Author's Reply:

uppercase on 2004-07-15 12:35:26
Re: friday now
I get the straining my elbow bit.. It means people in the East, would look so much alike that he would be waving at everybody....I like this poem....Erma

Author's Reply:


not that day (posted on: 12-07-04)
five slightly drunk minutes

can rock and roll
put it away, the words came back
make the whole place shake

broken back
the games mine yet,
play to win,
against the loser, who hears the violins
only inside their own mind

there's no worse company
than a winner got lost
wailing for the could have beens
missing what they never got
now the world laughs at everything
and nothing more's a shock
please help me out my friend
everyone else got lost

empty phrases on another friday
that wasted away
and tomorrow may be a bright new day
feel sure I'll have something to say
but what's the point in the lines
if every time
I feel preachy when near to the truth
and cool when bullshit abounds
but at least I mean the way it sounds
Archived comments for not that day

No comments archives found!
Coming round (posted on: 11-06-04)
so much effort so soon after

it's three hours since the operation
well, three hours since I came round
they said I'd been back in the room
for two hours, but that still means
eight hours on the table
by my estimation that makes for a lot
and here I am aching
cut asunder, wondering where is my
Buddhist honeymoon period
instead I'm clenching my jaw against pain
and reaching
reaching as far as I can
gingerly moving and reaching again
small white flashes accompany the pain now
and a voice that might be inside my head
speaks encouraging words
and I am made of stone
unwavering in my task
and so I shake with the agony of the exertions
surely I can't make it, won't make it
all is white now and I hear static electricity
and then I feel cold in my fingers
and the steady rhythmic shudder of the life within
strangely in the cirumstances
I am comforted by this steady constant purring and whirr
this recurring lifebeat
as I bring towards me
the clock from the wall
I remove the batteries and stop that ticking
now I can sleep

Archived comments for Coming round
marym on 2004-06-12 06:32:42
Re: Coming round
I liked this poem now and before ~ thanks for a wonderful poem. Regards, Mary

Author's Reply:


in summer white flume (posted on: 22-03-04)
...to keep my memories...

a slow river slakes its way past
near where I used to live
in summer white flume
of unexplained origin bubbles froth
all over in slower corners
though nothings fast
in that slow belly

at the waterfall
green moss and sandy grass
make inroads into a dry stone bunker
jutting into the river
grey and tumbled and perfect
one year its grey stones diverted
part of the water
and up that course
fish leaped
excitement of water
dark loom, flash in sunlight
and splash back
only to reappear and allow
glimpses through prisms on scaly tummy
silver blinding flashes from tailfins
and caught in a net for some among there number
no-one explained why it had happened
a scam by the netmen I partly suspected

a different year the white flume came early
and built strong
until the river ceased to run
and I walked the mud caked concrete
of the bare boned waterfall
swung on the mysterious door frame structure
of ruined wood in the middle
stared at the strange
symmetrical chute, cut into the middle
under the structure
slipped on moss, and wondered
in bitter disappointment every year
that the waters never failed again
perhaps to keep my memories gold

Archived comments for in summer white flume
e-griff on 2004-03-22 03:49:08
Re: in summer white flume
you might like to fix
- nothing's
- among their number

I would also advise mud-caked and bare-boned

the repetition of structure and middle is a bit disconcerting to me, at least.

Overall I felt the atmosphere of this, much of it was very nice imagery, I would say it needs a 'once over' and a few tidies to be at its best, when it would shine.. Nice stuff.

Author's Reply:


Angles at the edge (posted on: 19-03-04)
¬



Angles at the edge of my chest
Of drawers have held me
Rapt and enthralled
For weeks now
There is something about the manner
In which the edges meet one another
And head on their disparate ways
That it would be impossible for me
So I won't
Explain
That is
The only thing I've noticed for the last few weeks
The incredible
Shade catching
Colour flashing
Insight jolting way
those edges get together
on my chest
of drawers
of course they're not really
mine that is
they belong to here


Archived comments for Angles at the edge
marym on 2004-06-23 05:48:27
Re: Angles at the edge
.... wow, original subject and unique in its treatment. much enjoyed, mary

Author's Reply:


Light fades (posted on: 19-03-04)
NIGHT COMES

As night comes the light fades
Lessens
ever more dilute in a sea of dark

As light fades the night comes
Brightness passes to other parts
Dark fills all the air

In time dawn brings
a tide of light
To drive the night before it
To make day once again.

Archived comments for Light fades
Claire on 2004-03-21 15:58:05
Re: Light fades
Compacting this into one verse would make this stronger - I think. I'm no good at poetry by the way!

The last part seems to be a bit off. Not needed. As the title states it is about night coming not dawn breaking.

Author's Reply:


BIRDS 2 (posted on: 30-01-04)
As opposed to birds

She sometimes notices birds Wheeling and circling, the ether mastered Beating wings defeating gravity Defying sanity, better than air Not lighter One perfect day as she stood at a bus stop she didn't usually use a cascade of copper leaves swayed and drifted slowly down and all around was burnished and gold as the shower continued for quite some time those at the bus stop coo-ed in excitement and she felt responsible as if she'd brought this to their lives she was adrift in the instant then she noticed a magpie eyeing her warily from a nearby gatepost it spoilt the moment and introverted her mood
Archived comments for BIRDS 2
chant on 2004-01-30 04:29:59
Re: BIRDS 2
cool!

Author's Reply:

marym on 2004-02-01 06:06:37
Re: BIRDS 2
πŸ™‚ Thanks Bo, your poem brought a smile to my face.

Author's Reply:

dargo77 on 2004-02-02 08:03:45
Re: BIRDS 2
I really enjoyed this work.
Dargo

Author's Reply:


the men who once were generals (posted on: 26-01-04)
.

in america
the men who once were generals
did forge with human steel
and smelt foreign lands into corporate hands
for the game can be played but one way
and these men claimed
to play it in His name

Archived comments for the men who once were generals


chant on 2004-01-26 06:06:15
Re: the men who once were generals
good one. thought this was very effective; you do a great deal in only a few lines. skilful.

Author's Reply:


not colour blind (posted on: 26-01-04)


Not colour blind
Rather
colour impervious since birth
monochromed certainty
his only reality always
scuba diving he catches a flash
in coral
of what can only be
colour
he surfaces and discusses
explains and interrogates
returns to paradise
occasionally to find
heart stopping moments of perfection
intermittent transforming joys
that teach him only
of the comparative mundanity
of his existence
but the joy of which
give him release enough from this grief
to bear the world with a smile
at the thought of colour to come

Archived comments for not colour blind


uppercase on 2004-01-26 08:55:53
Re: not colour blind
I like this poem imagine not being able to see colours,and then catch a flash and to know what it's like, to have the joy and happiness of being given that gift that we take for granted everyday. Nice poem very nice. Erma

Author's Reply:

richa on 2004-01-26 16:13:15
Re: not colour blind
It made me realise how lucky most of us are, and how little we appreciate it. Thank you. Needed the wake up call.

Author's Reply:

ruadh on 2004-01-27 04:48:58
Re: not colour blind
I think we all need a little reminder about the things we take for granted. Well done.

ailsa

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2004-01-29 07:18:21
Re: not colour blind
One of those interesting pieces that takes a few reads, for me at least, to get your head around. Worth it in the end though. Cool post.

sunken

Author's Reply:


mango the sandwich girl (posted on: 23-01-04)
everyday

mango the sandwich girl goes by
and another day craves to get past
to be lost into time without me
making my mark on it

more missed opportunities
flash past on red buses

the magic of the mail creeps by in a red van
missives and gifts
delivered to your door daily
but my postmans surly,
despite my romantic expectations of a cheery wave

a wind blows contrary to an old girls progress
not content with slowing her
it mocks her attempts to bend into it
straightening her up, fighting her tilt
it must be blowing at waist height
and higher
for though she can go on
she does so slowly, with her shoulders back
and her head up in an exaggerated pose
of perfect deportment
stick a book on your head
nobody shouts
and then mango the sandwich girl returns
laden with sandwiches
and receives one grin from me in passing
which she returns without thinking
I wonder what her filling is?

Archived comments for mango the sandwich girl
Sabrina on 2004-01-23 15:08:47
Re: mango the sandwich girl
There is a lot of good material in this piece to fuel another poem. I understand the picture you wish to illustrate is the every day life of an individual who is not making a mark anywhere, whose high mark of the day is a visit from the sandwich girl, but I haven't got enough information about the voice of the poem to feel sympathy or empathy. The illustration of the old woman bent into the wind is beautiful. It seems like a separate piece rather than an observation by the speeker. Using her as a symbol of mankind struggling against the winds of fortune would be a good foundation of a poem, I think. You have an artistic sense of wordplay

Author's Reply:

marym on 2004-01-24 13:08:45
Re: mango the sandwich girl
Nice to go through this piece again ~ just haven't understand even now why "mango"... You and Chant have a certain way to express life ...ummm... shall I say "differently in essence"? Thanks... keep writing. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:


in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer (posted on: 15-12-03)
Gil Scott-Heron inspired

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
you must fight to your last man
for the peace we deserve
and your right to choose
between two identical offers of government

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
anyone can be anything
as long as those dreams
are in line with the needs
of the market and what we deem society requires

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
you may go wherever you wish
as long a you seek approval in advance
and have available finances
otherwise you must be smuggled like contraband

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
those with the folding wherewithall
can shop for weapons of all kinds
buy and trade sexual favours
purchase parts of bodies and
even pay to shoot a man, just to watch him die

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
some local products must be discontinued
relative poverty in many countries
providing unfair advantage in wages
and provision of working conditions
means they must be stopped to ensure our parity

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
we will gurantee security for all
even if that means striking violently
against any opposition to our peace
no matter how many they number
or how large a majority vote in their favour

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
you must decide whose side you take
in a simple choice between good and evil
god's on our side, you know because we told you
no matter the morality of our actions
to be against us gives succour to Satan, no question

in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
you must choose to act in our interests
which we are determined to protect
we can't risk events running out of control
but the consumer is as ever free to choose
whether to die for or against us, each consumer free to decide
Archived comments for in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
kenochi on 2003-12-17 04:09:49
Re: in this time of unparalleled choice for the consumer
"and we will not see
pictures of Willy May
in a red white and blue jumpsuit
that he has been saving
for just the proper occasion"

I quite liked this, but I sort of had the music playing in my head while I read it, so it worked with the rhythm and everything. I not that into poetry generally, so I don't really know how well this works for someone not familiar with GSH.

Author's Reply:


wet fate (posted on: 12-12-03)
Poem no punctuation

the bluster and blunderbuss
of grey skied gusts
keep me home bound for now
though I know I intend
to venture out
at some point
until the bushes cease that
mad flailing
there'll be no persuading
me
to take that fatal step
that might provoke fate
into delivering me
unto a soaking

a sudden calm has fallen
yet the tree tops dance on

Archived comments for wet fate
teacup on 2003-12-16 00:05:45
Re: wet fate
This is very appealing!

The rhythm is nicely staccato, like rain and then calm with the tree tops keeping up a slower steady pace


Author's Reply:

marym on 2004-01-24 13:21:46
Re: wet fate
... "bushes cease that mad flailing..."... will that happen? A game of fate... it all reduces to... beautiful wordings....

Author's Reply:

Sabrina on 2004-01-24 19:19:23
Re: wet fate
At first I saw merely what was presented, the picture of a blustery day and a fella who was waiting it out. But the last bit unnerved me, there's more too it here. Then I thought of a fella who's had a tiff with his wife, he won't be going out to the pub for a quick one for a while, 'sudden calm has fallen' has the wife resorted to icey silence 'yet the tree tops dance on' is she walking about tossing her head in that way women have when they aren't quite through with you?

Author's Reply:

Michel on 2004-01-24 23:11:15
Re: wet fate
Evocative ... of so many tense, quiet Sunday afternoons where the wind menaces. menaces and ... you feel it will snap at any second ...

Author's Reply:

CleanMan on 17-01-2006
wet fate
Good work. The last two lines add a bit of mystery to a seemingly ordinary description of a rainy day. The reader is left wondering why there is movement if everything is calm. Well done.

Author's Reply:

Buschell on 08-02-2014
wet fate
Repost this one for 2014, the year of the jet stream's dicontent. You say it's humour? But I like it as more than just funny. Dazza.

Author's Reply: