Thief

You can steal my poems, but not my creativity
You'll try to say they're yours, though it isn't so
But I'll write fifty more, right in front of your eyes
I'll write about the lack of creativity and your lies
With pen and ink, i'll mark your card, fraudster bard
And by the time, i am done writing, having fun
You'll turn on your cowardly heels and run, run, run.
So steal what you like, you'll never be me, slimy, slippery;
weaselly thief, my words will knock out, your shiny teeth. 
This is my conclusion and your brief: broken shattered thief!

A Letter To A Patron

Won't you Pay me in: Krugerrands, diamonds or kindness?
So that I may come and go by shadowy moonlight.
Take flight when I please, freely travel where I like
By night I shall leave and in the morning fog, return.
As I travel; lighting darkened, extravagant golden walkways
Meeting, Influencing; strangers that wield a powerful axe.
With coffers filled and mission set,cultivating humanness
So don't give me cheques or useless bits of paper.
For services rendered, another heart surrendered.
No pass controls to slow me down, no red tape and no blue too.
Won't you pay me in Krugerrands, diamonds or kindness.
Without them, stranded on a dried out lake, high rolling seas are calling.
Sailing the winds without a boat, swimming in water, but its just a moat.
If only someone would vote and agree to give me a float.
A Boat! A boat! My loyalty for a boat.

List Of Well-Known Artists, That I Admire

Rembrant
Pablo Picasso
Van gogh
Monet
Cézanne
Gauguin
Jackson Pollock
Wassily Kandinsky
Arshile Gorky
Franz Kline
Mark Rothko
James McNeill Whistler
f John Constable
J M W Turner
Camille Corot
Edvard Munch
James Ensor
Hilma af Klint
Piet Mondrian
Georges Seurat
Henri Matisse
Georges Braque
André Derain
Raoul Dufy
Maurice de Vlaminck
Fernand Léger
Juan Gris
Albert Gleizes
Marcel Duchamp
Kurt Schwitters
Man Ray
Robert and Sonia Delaunay
František Kupka
Kasimir Malevich
Liubov Popova
Piet Mondrian
Vladimir Tatlin
Kazimir Malevich
Anton Pevsner
Naum Gabo
Paul Klee
Johannes Itten
Josef Albers
Anni Albers
Theo van Doesburg
Laszlo Moholy-Nagy
Sophie Tauber
Jean Arp
Katarzyna Kobro
Michel Seuphor
Joan Miró
Barbara Hepworth
Ben Nicholson
Jacques Lipchitz
Max Ernst
André Breton
Georgia O'Keeffe
John D. Graham
Hans Hofmann
Willem de Kooning
Barnett Newman
John McLaughlin
Agnes Martin
Robert Motherwell
Patrick Heron
Kenneth Noland
Sam Francis
Cy Twombly
Richard Diebenkorn
Helen Frankenthaler
Joan Mitchell
Eugene delacroix

Waiting at the side of the road

I am watching and I'm on the side of the road
I'm waiting and deciding which way to go
I'm looking for the right vehicle to stop and hitch a ride
North or south, east or west, travel all directions I find it's best
On my journey and on the quest I seek not one direction, as I choose the rest.
and if I come across you on my way, guaranteed I'll treat you with dignity
because I'm watching and I'm waiting on the side of the road
No cross ways in my path, no folk in road, no divergence from the path.
I'll just be over here watching and waiting, whilst travelling

My Girl

The girl that never asked for a thing
The girl that gave her all
She didn't want attention to fulfill her
She didn't care or sweat the nothing things
And when she was up against it all
Facing death head on, with a great big smile
This girl was classy, so much style
She deserved the World and a whole lot more.
She was beautiful: skin and right through to the core

Lost Moments

This Poem was the result of a collaboration with Well known Stage and Jazz photographer, Juan Carlos Hernandez. Juan asked me to look through his photographic archive and write a poem if I was inspired too. The image I choose was one that he had taken back in 2009. I could have chosen many of his Photographs, for inspiration; they are all very inspiring and amazing images. Here is the link to the Photograph:  http://juancarloshernandezphotographe.blogspot.com/2009/08/stolen-moments.html

Encased, within enveloping Time-Spatial Curves
Cosmic ray showers, fade as Muons decay
Swallowed whole, in that great ocean of sands
Likened to the silence, in-between Musical notes
Memory evokes such, wonderfully fond tales;
Cheap impersonations, that hardly fill the void;
Of stolen moments in, transitory Manifestation.
Hustle and bustle, tempered by the mild gentle wind.
Ebbing and flowing, toing and froing.
Untouched by even, the most severest, of frost.
A young boy never standing still, a childhood lost.
A moppet's memory, of scented meadows, freshly cut.
The way the scent fades, as the years pass.
Those treasured moments never seem to last.
Chasing them is a pointless and thankless task;
And as the Grand 'Ammon's horn', starts to stir and trip
On Neptune's vehicle in the high seas of the Hippocampus
Click, click, Clack, there's only one logical fact.
Steal your future back, Conjure up: 'Omnipresent Style',
Live, every waking instant, as if it were your last.
Fill all of those, pilfered Flashes, with moments; worth stealing.
Too busy fashioning, to look back, creating stolen moments;
That's the task, and that will always last, this kind of trice is always nice.
So the choice is yours: Celebrate or Regret: "Stolen Moments."
Though - as you swoosh on through; Fleeting, flashes;
Cherish and adore, as the phenomenology does unfold,
For, surely this: the very definition, of purest Gold.

The sculptor's regret

She was almost nearly there
Her pursed lips and rye smile
Her grace and slender style
She was almost nearly there
Her prominent cheeks
Her sensual frown.
She was almost nearly there
Her soft gentle eyes,
Her lids hiding lies
And she was, oh-so nearly there.
It was her chin that failed to win me over
And as I tried to slice her guise
Her form was forever lost.
She was almost nearly here.

Splashed Around

I smashed down and splashed around
on a stretched, tensioned board
I abhorred what appeared, amazed by the colour
Intrigued by the form and the journey of up and downs
Then all of a sudden the image clears,
the muddy fuzzy canvas, held full of light
And a slight satisfaction fills your brim
If only one could let it dry
frozen in that time.
But the picture goes on
back down to murky depths.

On Marks, Get Ready, Set.

If you keep on yearning, wishing you were deserving
Then you'll keep on learning, just pain and regret.
On marks, get ready, set, it hasn't happened yet
Racing, chasing more of the same, how insane.
It won't be better in the end, let's not pretend.
Dreams with dirty and broken seams, achieved!
So now what? You start again further up the track
On marks, get ready, set, it still hasn't happened yet.
More dreams to attain to satisfy this unsatisfied brain.
Futile dreams that offer no respite, provide no insight.
Keep on journeying, pointlessly, instead of sitting still.

Oh Dear

Give 'm what they want.
Don't give em nothing!
Show em the way.
Don't be so arrogant!
Sell yourself.
Sellout yourself!
Give 'm what they want.
Give 'm nothing!
Oh dear!???

Keep the Mystic

Keep the Mystic
But I just want to speak!
Keep the mystic
Familiarity breeds contempt
But I just want to speak.
Look you'll blow if they know you
We're all never as perfect as the image we portray
We betray it everyday day, so don't speak, stay away
Mystic or speak? speak or mystic?
I just want to speak.

Words Grrrr

I hate words and
Words hate me.
We tolerate each other;
Mutually beneficial but
don't make the mistake
of thinking we're friends
I hate words and
words hate me.
We live in a democracy;
Me and my words
Me on the side of facts.
Them on the side of rhyme.
I hate words and
Words hate me.

Keep Stum, Act Dumb

I might write about non-controversial things
Let things pass-by, keep stum, act dumb
I will never be wrong, I'll never risk a thing
Won't think about the World or the people
I could go shopping or for a walk in the wood.
I would never again, be misunderstood.
I might write about the safety net
Won't mention current or real issues
Will never again require tissues
I might never even write again
After all, this type of writing is lame,
No viewers, not in the game.
A none Player in a none game, I must be insane.
I obviously haven't got a brain, wrapped up in chains
Hand me the key and I'll lock it for you.
I might never write again.

Tick-Tock Tyrant Fall

It's not so important; what time a Tyrant falls
The process and the system, that helps build secure walls
The fight is won, his time is done, but perhaps he won't run.
Maybe it'll take awhile, transition in Mubarak style.
But People, don't feel defeated, the tyrant's toppled, of that be sure.
There's an altogether bigger issue, keeping processes in mind and in situ
We want to secure solidarity, right through, from west to east
Democracy the tool, to deliver a relative peace for all.
Tolerance and understanding, the name of the game.
This: empathetic people, is how we can remain
Celebrate our differences, keep deep within our hearts,
the unwavering Truth, of unity and dignity, of rights and freedom for all.
So, hold up your scales high, to balance; extremity with equality.
Replace fear with courage, to understand, we're all human, in every land
We're not all that different, you know? Even though, our egos might deny it's so.
An enormous task: to break from the past - the time to build, a future to last.

One Step Closer

Not much to show for a life
The left over Worldly goods
All Gold gilded and crystalline
Shiny and fun, rare and treasured.

But how exactly is value measured?

Not much to show for a life
The left over Worldly goods
Just a pair of old working boots
Dirty and trodden, common and undesired.

But how exactly is value measured?

Not much to show for a life
No way of knowing good deeds passed.
Undesired treasure, it won't last.
Because in the end,  it's all the same.

I'll tell you how value is measured!

Good deeds and thoughts live on.
Deed recognition, is not your task,
peoples hearts and minds make deeds last.
So they may say about you, on your final day
"It's not much to show for a life"
But you won't care, because you lived, whilst you were here
and your good deeds spread from gen to gen.
And the World takes one step closer.

Falling Flowers and New Born Seeds

The flowers fall at midnight
and new seeds are set to sow
Gentle breezes morphing into gusts
Change is set to blow, clearing, remaining dust.
Culling and pruning on a windy wasteland
Waiting with palm turned to air, catching
Flowers and rose stems, thorns trying to hold on.
Cutting, spiking, spearing thorns, spitting blood.
When morning arises out of the ashes
blood tides stemmed and peace returns.

Mubarak's Boys

Mubarak's boys move into the street
Thugs roaming free like hurricane fools
Last resorts of a desperate 'has-been'.
Mubarak your days are numbered
A generation behind and a worn out mind
Wall-less Cities, populated by empathetic people
Differences accepted with gentle mood
Live and let live, live and let love, love and live.
Mubarak, they're not your people, they are simply: 'people'.
Time is ticking daily, Mubarak don't delay.
Do the World a favour, in Egypt do not stay!
Mubarak's boys are on the streets
They're beating peaceful People down;
and an army made of stone, look on with stony faces.
Tying their laces, combing their hair, don't they care?!
Complacent, complicit fools, regime tools!
Mubarak, there's still exile, grab it whilst you can.
Quick Mubarak run, the people have spoken
Two million feet trampling, on toward freedom
And a World full of keyboards, typing support.
We're living in a new World, where Tyrants don't run free.
We're living in a free World, where people want to be.
We're living and we're breathing change, on winds: wild and free.

In Sands Of Cairo Lay (Lyrics) - 'Fields of Anthenry', Adaptation/ Re-write

I wanted to do something to honour the brave Egyptians that have fallen in the name of Freedom, Humanity and dignity. I have re-written/Adapted the lyrics to 'Fields of Athenry.', and named it 'In Sands of Cairo lay'. I have also added an extra verse. If any of the musician talents out there, wish to finalise the composition, (not far off the original - just possibly needs tweaking; or maybe you can put your own style to it), If you want to record it, Let me know, would be nice to hear it.


 I have 'not' re-written these lyrics 'lightly', and in no way, am I taking away from the original work and its meaning and context to many people - in particular the Irish (Half Irish Myself), if anything it pays homage to the song: the fact that I choose this over any other. In my opinion the musical composition, perfectly captures the meaning that I wanted to express with my lyrics. The original version was written in the middle of the 1970's by Pete St. John (real name Peter Mooney). Here is Peter Mooney's website, if you would like to go and thank him, for creating one of the best songs, that ever saw the light of day http://www.petestjohn.com/contact/




Here's the music . . .well - some of it http://www.ireland-information.com/downloads/midi/thefieldsofathenry.mid



I couldn't get hold of a good instrumental cover, would have chosen a harp or pan pipes or maybe the Egyptian Oud. The link above is to a very rudimentary mobile/ cell phone tune - Hit play and sing along, the music will finish before the lyrics, sorry if you were blasting it out. We The People -  Stand by you and support your fight for freedom, from oppression. United we stand, in every land.


Title: In Sands of Cairo lay


By a lonely coffin hole
I heard a young girl crying
Brother, They are taking you away
For you Spoke Mubarak's scorn
So your young might see the morn
Now a final procession carries you away

Chorus

Low lie, in the sands of Cairo lay
Where once we watched the small bennu bird fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh
 
By a lonely coffin hole
I saw a young boy sleeping
Nothing matters my wife, when your free
Against the Famine and the Crown
I rebelled they ran me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.

Chorus

Low lie, in the sands of Cairo sigh
Where once we watched the small bennu bird fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh

By a lonely shallow grave
She watch the last star falling
As your freedom ship sailed up into the sky
Sure she'll mourn and hope and pray
For her love has gone away
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh
[Music stops here but should carry on]

Chorus

Low lie, in the sands of Cairo lay
Where once we watched the small bennu bird fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh

By a lonely cold morgue
I saw a phoenix rising
Sister, They are taking you away
For you Stole Mubarak's corn
So your young might see the morn
Now a final procession carries you away
For a finer future, that you helped to lay.

Chorus

Low lie, in the sands of Cairo lay
Where once we watched the small bennu bird fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely in the sands of Cairo - sigh

Lyrics by: Gwylym Owen with the help of some of Petes amazing Lyrics that I left in as the essence of the song..

Not sure how accurate this Egyptian Translation, Anyone - is welcome to improve it and i'll update it.

العنوان : في رمال القاهرة يكمن بواسطة ثقب نعش وحيدا سمعت فتاة تبكي الأخ ، فهي تأخذك بعيدا عن تحدثتم مبارك الازدراء حتى الشباب الخاص بك قد راجع موران الآن موكب النهائي يحمل كنت بعيدا جوقة قليلة تكمن في وضع رمال القاهرة أين مرة شاهدنا الطيور bennu صغيرة تطير كان حبنا على الجناح كان لدينا أحلام وأغان لغنائها وحيدا حتى في رمال القاهرة -- تنفس الصعداء بواسطة ثقب نعش وحيدا رأيت شيء صبي صغير نائم المسائل بلدي زوجة ، عندما مجانية ضد المجاعة وولي العهد أنا تمردت ركضوا بانخفاض لي الآن يجب رفع طفلنا بكرامة. كانت جوقة قليلة الكذب ، في رمال تحسر القاهرة أين مرة شاهدنا الطيور الصغيرة تطير bennu من جانب قبر ضحل وحيدة هي ووتش نجم آخر سقط على السفينة حريتك أبحر في السماء على يقين من انها سوف نحزن ، ونأمل ونصلي من أجل حبها قد ذهب بعيدا انها وحيدا حتى في رمال القاهرة -- تحسر انها وحيدا حتى في وضع تحسر [موسيقى توقف هنا ولكن يجب الاستمرار في] كذبة قليلة جوقة ، في رمال القاهرة أين مرة شاهدنا الطيور bennu صغيرة تطير كان حبنا على الجناح كان لدينا أحلام وأغان لغنائها وحيدا حتى في -- رمال القاهرة رمال القاهرة -- تنفس الصعداء بواسطة مشرحة البرد وحيدا رأيت فينيكس ارتفاع الأخت ، فهي تأخذك بعيدا لكنت سرق مبارك الذرة حتى الشباب الخاص بك قد راجع موران الآن موكب النهائي يحمل كنت بعيدا للحصول على مستقبل أكثر دقة ، التي ساعدت لوضع. وضع جوقة قليلة الكذب ، في رمال القاهرة أين مرة شاهدنا الطيور الصغيرة تطير bennu كان حبنا على الجناح كان لدينا أحلام وأغان لغنائها وحيدا حتى في رمال القاهرة -- تنفس الصعداءحبنا على
 الجناح كان لدينا أحلام وأغان لغنائها وحيدا حتى في رمال القاهرة -- تنفس الصعداء

Fields of Athenry - Original Lyrics

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young girl calling
Micheal they are taking you away
For you stole Trevelyn's corn
So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.

Chorus

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing
we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters Mary when you're free,
Against the Famine and the Crown
I rebelled they ran me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.


Chorus 

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing
we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
 
By a lonely harbour wall
She watched the last star falling
As that prison ship sailed out against the sky
Sure she'll wait and hope and pray
For her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

Chorus
.
Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing
we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
Lyrics and music by: Pete St. John

If

If I don't, then I won't
If won't, the I didn't
If I didn't, then I couldn't
If I couldn't, then I shouldn't
If I shouldn't, then I shan't
If I shan't, then I can't
If I can't, then I will.

Average Joe

Songs full of human struggle
A strong man's lip quivers
The child's wide and bright eyes
A wife and a mother being left on her own
The field toiler, that struggles but still can't provide, for his family


For the life a Joe is as hard as hell, funny then how many saints survive
The special people, that can see far beyond. The special people, that live the song.
They all will live on, and one day we might even sing, about bluebirds and doves
and how people beat the silence and how people sung along, cause the people are so strong.


Songs full of sorrow and truth
The old fellow is crying for what he has lost
and the soldiers fight on, nailed to the cross
The poor and the sick and the weak
and as I listen to these song, a tear appears on my cheek


For the life a Joe is as hard as hell, funny then how many saints survive
The special people, that can see far beyond. The special people, that live the song.
They all will live on, and one day we might even sing, about bluebirds and doves
and how people beat the silence and how people sung along, cause the people are so strong.


Songs about death and some about life.
Songs about loss and hardship and spite
We'll listen to them all, but will we listen
Do we listen at all? Songs full of angst and tears
Passing the knowledge, so we might learn to embrace
The song of life, and sing the world a better place.


For the life a Joe is as hard as hell, funny then how many saints survive
The special people, that can see far beyond. The special people, that live the song.
They all will live on, and one day we might even sing, about bluebirds and doves
and how people beat the silence and how people sung along, cause the people are so strong.


Songs of my life and songs of yours
These songs are so sad, but will we never learn
Songs of the ages, songs of the sages
and songs about wages and songs about slaves
Won't you help to write a good song for today
The future and forever more, We can sing this song together.
We can sing this song forever and we can be in our own band.


For the life a Joe is as hard as hell, funny then how many saints survive
The special people, that can see far beyond. The special people, that live the song.
They all will live on, and one day we might even sing, about bluebirds and doves
and how people beat the silence and how people sung along, cause the people are so strong.

Cake Face

Have your cake but don't eat it
Liberty or freedom, make a choice
You can't have peace without a cost
you can't pay for people, you've lost
Have a sleep on your feet, or lie down awake,
Have a wife or a lover, and as you'll discover
You'll always want another,
But remember the golden rule
Have your cake but don't eat it.
Maintain peace with a war in the east
Sustain society by destroying its values
Killing children for a brighter future
Have your cake, but don't go and eat it.
What a life.

The Perfumer

The perfumer in the perfumery parlour,

Performing his perfuming.

Creating and chasing,

Mixing and stirring,

Pouring and whirling,

Until that thing has been found.

From up in a tree, from down in the ground,

The perfumer picking and plucking,

Jumping and ducking.

chasing not displacing the harmony.

the perfect perfumer performing for glee.

The peaceful performance of the free.

Empathetic Butterflies

Skin stretched to limiting degrees

Tear, rip and split

Opened like a zip

Mask by mask

Bit by bit

Ego letting go of its grip

Mind starting to stir and trip

Painfully processing,

Pupa emerging, from silken cocoon

Worthy though - the trauma

As beauty born its crown

Flapped its wings on all good things

Spread its joy throughout the land

Ego left behind

Banished from the mind’s

Virtue in its place

Sublime, bewitching, fascinatingly exquisite,  

Metaphorical meme

that beautiful butterfly in the wind.

To Be Bearded Or Not To Be Bearded? That Is The Question.

I am thinking of growing a beard, is it, all that weird?
I know, there are much more weighty issues, to ponder
But just bare with me, my smoothed skinned friends
We'll start by looking at beards, through an abstract lens,
A beard isn't a mustache, it grew to form a critical mass
And covered the form like a natural mask, hiding the past.
But it never lasts, as the mask is a sign of a fine aged wine.
I can think of many the wise man, that donned a curly mess
I wonder if I deserve, such a noble disguise and would it get
in my eyes, make them blurry and blind me, from within?
Should I grow a long beard or just stay with simple skin?
The cold whether beating my face, with beard all gone, erased.
Itching my chin, annoyingly, as whiskers primed, ready to grow.
My mind grabs hold and shouts no, no! This isn't the time to start
being blind, That wouldn't be kind, it wouldn't be fair to grow a beard
and pretend I don't care, it wouldn't be right with my thoughts, out of sight,
I'd enjoy the warmth and the coziness of a wiry hidden World
Though, I doubt it would take very long, for me to overheat.
So shall I change the image that you already have of me?
Or should I just have a shave and with every slice of the blade
My mind cut free, resigned myself to being bold, free of masks: Story told.

Deadman Walking

You're looking at a dead man walking
You're talking to a man in mourning
You're sharing now, but when I'm gone
You'll wish I stayed, for just a little while longer
My path is set, I have no regrets
So please don't miss me when I'm gone
Enjoy it while it lasts, take what you can
Hold on to that piece of me, to remind you I was here.
We're all the same in starry starry nights
We come and bestow and when its time we go.
You're looking at a dead man walking
You're talking to a man in mourning.
But for now I am here, with my heart on display
And a mission to complete, to bring the brighter day.

Sometimes

Sometimes you just wanna scream
but you know it won't help any.
So you scream silently and dignified.
You have no words to express anymore
just a huge sullen sigh, falls from your eye.
and the bridge is calling, all the while calling.
And I am falling, just free falling, with eyes closed
no care in this world, as I float down to fated ground.

Sleeping

To all of those that had to go
and all of you that still remain
Upon the final journey: separated.
Broken hearts shot down in flames
and the waken miss the sleeping
And those that sleep, do so in peace
Restful gentle sleep, no more pain
and though we'll miss your smile
It won't be long, until we're back as one
and for eternity we'll be together
the pain of that earlier separation
will be a long forgotten memory
and we will miss you no more.
We'll be here waiting, just waiting for your call.

Type-O

What quantity of order do you wish to impose
Getting eat-up by mistakes in my prose
Ignore the content that speaks from the soul
You'll never bestow order on that black whole
What are your rules in the end?
Try to comprehend: chaos is on the bend.
Type-O, gives the flow, that aesthetically attracts.
There are no ends and lines are circles.
Why question, then, my illiterate way
Abstract artists have the same to say.
Expressed in paint or through the form.
This is the place where my words are born
This very same place were the world is erased.
Spring of my wisdom's well, so tootle off;
now be on your way, i have but one final thing to say.
Learn to un-spell, it'll serve ye well
Ditch the broom too and that pointed hat
if you can't see through, that its all a trap
Take back your mind, demand your life back.
If you can't manage that, at least try to laugh.
Gramaticaster oh. . .what a disaster
verbiscent, longer than the words you lent
But still you insist on supervious resent.

Spaceman

Some days, I am walking on the moon;
Wearing moon boots and head in bubble.
It can get cold and lonely, up, in outer space.
Negotiating rough terrain, without a buggy.
A flimsy flag pole, is all i hold, as support.
Have you ever been to the moon's other side?
Lost your footing in the dark? Stumbled, fallen?
Sometimes, I find myself lost in lunar land.
Come back to Earth, with a thudding bang.
Astronaut rocketing, fuel tanks falling.
Atmosphere, stratosphere, in, out, with no fear.
Some days I get fed up with friends made of;
Cheese, when I am visiting, people on the moon.

Raising The Roof

Let us raise the roof, seeking truth
and running not walking through life
Running forward and then backwards
Getting up, after being knocked down
Fix broken noises, then play the sound
A magical rhythm, a wild primal beat.
Shuffling the feet, a tired redundant seat
and all the while, raising the roof
And all the while seeking the truth.
and sometimes flying in the night's sky
Hedonistic and wild sweating parties.
Dancing, following, where my heart is.
Living life with no regret, chains broken
All weight from shoulders disappear
As we live our lives, not through fear.

A poem about a poem

A poem about a poem - Forgive my dulcet tones.

Double Speak With Forked Tongue

Scream, now go faster;
from one disaster to another.
Clashing words that lack finesse;
writing more, producing less.
Shouting hypocrite, hypocrite!
from every line and paralysis sets-in
Reading the writing an awful din.
My ink poised ready to commit the sin.

Furrowed Brow

Furrowed brow, lines are forming
Worn out nails and cracking skin.
The aging oak's, sapling memories.
Fire in belly, quenched and dull.
Life is spent and leaves start to fall.
Ebbing, gently pushing through, to the end.
Hoping for bright lights and trumpeters.
To guide you home and release all fears.
Silently dancing with angelic souls
Passing peacefully in fetal crouch.
Procession in, procession out.
Weary weathered face, released.
Body worn and beaten, ceased.

A Mind In A Park

The mind is a hive man, you just can't hide
The mind is a dive man, a hollow pride and then

[Click. . .click. . .click]

Filled with the system, the man, uncle Sam

And the gap is getting wider, the rift needs to shift

[Click. . .click. . .click]

We're going backwards, in our progress. . . man
not talking technology or plastic bits of future waste

[Click. . .click. . .click]

I mean to be free from the grind, to claim back time man
To slow the pace, to turn the race man, into a leisurely stroll

 [Click. . .click. . .click]

A walk in the park man, a talk in a mind man, a mind in a man
A park in a man, a walk in a man, a mind in a park man, a mind in a park.

[Click. . .click. . .click]

Clock into reality, even when it's dark man, we need to find the light
We need light man, we need light, if we can't see the wick, man
if we can't see the wick, if only we could see the wick man.

Mediocre Bore

Like looking down cock Shaw lane
millions walk and drive and talk

Think, that a broke son of beat poet's mom
Got nothing to bring to a mediocre party

Why don't you see beyond your dome
Your own hippodrome, your safe home

I've been up and down so many times
Bottom and top look the same, all lame

Took back my brain, made it sane
what a shame it's such a lonely game.

Cock Shaw with blind folds tightly wrapped.
Just walking on eggs, worrying they'll crack.

Don't be a drag, an old fad, a character sad
get mad, get moving, there's a party over hear.

Aint no mediocre mocking fool at this gig
just all the hip chicks and sub cool crows

And none of us could give a fig, for fools drunk
on blood and as they swig, We'll dance, you dig?

You dig, you dig, you dig your own hole
You mediocre fool, you stupid useless tool.

We're gonna gig man, were gonna jig, were gonna dance
We're gonna have a party all of our own.

Your not invited, so on your way home,
refused at the door, leave your mediocre,
mediocre no more , leave you disgusting mediocre bore.

Zeus' Fiery Fame

There is a platoon of satellites in the heavens
and Zeus will soon ignite a fiery flame, for
not playing along with this long game, over and over
Same of the same, Maim after Maim, in what name?
There is a blanket of frequencies over our heads
And we become beacons, for gloomy Sunday tunes.
They're firing rockets at the moon, actions of a loon?
Bust and boom, part of the doom, part of the play.
Finding, claiming, maiming again and again
All this pain caused with no shame, divide, share
Bounty kill. Market the water, market the rain
Market air? have you lost your brain. Market me?
I'm not worth anything in your game, I choose to refrain.
I'm not a Pablo's hound or a Skinner's pigeon pecking fool
There is a squadron of satellites in the heavens
and Zeus will soon ignite a fiery flame.

Come And Go.

Go and stand in a wood all alone, then it becomes easier to hear how pathetically irrelevant, an ego truly is.

Go without a proper meal for a week, then your materialistic yearnings, may just erode the veneer, that protects you from truth.

Go into a dying child's room and watch the tears, the fears and the pain, then your Calais heart might wake again.

Go amongst the lepers, the homeless, the tortured and abused and your lack of empathy may be, by light; refused.

Go and step outside of that bubble, that soft cosy cocoon, that comfy laurel for your backside, commence forth with Truth.

Come and find the joy, but also seek out the pain, for if we can not see, then we are blinded and the pain may grow and grow.

Come to a place of even ground, take on board every sight and sound, but don't let it get you down, let it inspire you, move you.

Come and appreciate what you have, no matter how little, don't stop striving, but realise life is now, not yesterday, nor tomorrow.

Come to me, come to me now and I will come to you, but not in guile or superficial niceties, I mean really come to me.

Come out of a wood and stand with the people, then it becomes easier to imagine, a world of peace where tyranny ceased with egos released.

Come and Go, my gentle child, face the headlights, create your own insights. Come and go for freedom, born a brighter day.

If Poets Were Rock Stars

If poets were rock stars,we'd be on your Lear,we'd jettison off, whilst sipping Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac & Quoting the Literary giants, whose shoulders, upon which we stand. We'd sing sweet nothings into the wilderness and know for sure, that the sweetness will be touched, received and passed and forever it would last. We'd have time in our hand and meet everyday to research and bounce view off view, we'd come to a conclusion and then a few, with opened mind we'd swap our rhyme, sing then sit, to fine dine. We'd cross that fine line, use any sign, that symbolises change, we'd rearrange and put back together the estranged, we'd sooth the enraged and we'd find the aged and serve them elixir cocktails.

 If poets were rock stars, we'd be on your Lear, we'd jettison off, to see what's left of old Rome, we'd go to Cairo, journey into the tomb, find that special brick, that unlocks all of the mysteries, as we travel and settle into the centre of that great pyramid of life, we'd realise there's no up and down, no need to wear a kingdom crown, in the centre, it all feels gentler, equal, equals, equal agenda. We'd commission an exploration, to locate and raise Atlantis from the murky depths, reverse that day and night to fortune.

If poets were rock stars, we'd be on your Lear, we'd jettison off, Eat caviar and sturgeon we'd be free from every burden, except to say, we'd pay by unburdening others, speak for those who know not what to say. If poets were rock stars, we'd be on your Lear, we'd jettison off, to a far off and exotic land, that hasn't yet been spoiled by human hand and on the way we'd play useless games with words and cross our minds as one, as we channel wisdom and treasure finds. No confines, no chain or ball, no limit or ends, no cage or net, travelling supersonic in our jet, no time for regret, as the future hasn't happened yet, but it won't be long before its here. Glimpsed it in the now and as it passes by and fades, instantly replaced by infinite shades. Shades of potential, neither dark nor glow, Its up to us how we chose to bestow.

 If Poets were rock stars we'd be on your Lear, we'd jettison off, and land by a lake, we'd visit the lady that in Loch Katrine lay, We'd sing limericks and lyrics to lift her spirits. Together we'd heal all clan that are rifted. We'd tell stories of human hearts and how humans came apart and why humans should start to start and see real smart that we all belong to each other.

If poets were rock stars, we'd be on your Lear, we'd jettison off and we'd come back home, we'd smells the familiar scents in the air, we'd breath a deep breath and forget our despair, we'd see sights and sounds that bring us joy.After a break it all looks great as we celebrate and now we're home, We contemplate, and as we do we realise that our rock star guise, and supersonic Sky's can not disguise what's in front of our eyes, maybe are our lives personifies a rock stars lies. We may have it all and more, as i said once before its up to us how we choose to bestow, the future is ours until it travels and passes, until it fades, infinite chooses in infinite shades, so try and look for the brightest hues, apply them to your daily views, if in doubt consult your muse. If poets were rock stars, we wouldn't be poets.

She's a Lyrical Wizard

She's a lyrical wizard
waxing, wailing Lyrically
she's a wax on writing kungfu queen
Lyrical princess, the reigning role
of rock and roll.
Majestic lady of musical array
Her joy does bring the bands to play


Played my heart on one fine day.
Flute of love from mandalay
drum formed the beat of a later day.
Produced a future from the fray
Gave me words so I could say
set the future from today.


She's a lyrical wizard
waxing, wailing Lyrically
she's a wax on writing kungfu queen
Lyrical princess, the reigning role
of rock and roll.
Majestic lady of musical array
Her joy does bring the bands to play


My mind made up about Cupid's luck
My mind messed up where the arrow stuck
The futures here she helps me look,
for fine songs that Cupid's struck.
Offered up by a phantom ladies luck
Fairy door, sprinkled dust, needs must



She's a lyrical wizard
waxing, wailing Lyrically
she's a wax on writing kungfu queen
Lyrical princess, the reigning role
of rock and roll.
Majestic lady of musical array
Her joy does bring the bands to play


That spirit of the rhythm that she helps to bring
That magical ting of the bell that she rings
Lyrical spirit and the songs she sings
My heart reborn by silent strings
soul restored by all good things


She's a lyrical wizard
waxing, wailing Lyrically
she's a wax on writing kungfu queen
Lyrical princess, the reigning role
of rock and roll.
Majestic lady of musical array
Her joy does bring the bands to play

From Layman to Shaman in One Shot

As I sit on this toadstool
All - micro-fied my vision
I ponder and wonder
still cannot arrive at a decision
Step back! not twice mind
Once is enough to do the trick
Macro-fied precision
and all becomes clear.
far away but somehow still near
vision views one, two, then three fungi
thousands now appeared
a period past, they melted and merged
as they seem submerged,
into one and another.
This micro-macro-fied mushroom metaphor
became a thrown for all.
this beautiful fungal toadstool.
The decision to make, became clear
There are no decisions from up here
it isn't near, it isn't clear,
it isn't far, it isn't obscured
it isn't polite nor is it rude
it just isn't, and how do I know?
because I was told by this fun-guy.
We had a belly full of laughs
and some reindeer tea.
standing on my toadstool
My vision set me free.

Seven

Nearly at the seventh, and life is about to renew.
Seven winding paths, I have travelled through.
At last I can see shores ahead of time;
Time to leave this sea of mine behind.
Seven lonely, arduous hills I have climbed.
Stumbled many times on the road I have taken.
Thought I had seen the shore before;
But sadly was mistaken.
Seven mirrors I did break;
My soul dragged through the bracken;
And now I put to good use, all that I have learned;
Because its been seven years now;
And tide is ready to turn.
Oh how I long to view the sands of life;
One grain at a time, appreciate every last one.
For seven years, this shore will be mine;
And when it goes and passes by;
To the sea I will take again.
I'll take another look, reflected in my mind.
Sea of souls and stormy weather;
Reflection of my pain.
Seven snaking lanes, for seven years the same
when its done complete, I'll do it over again.

Grandad And His Friend

I wrote this poem last Christmas (Did it really pass that quickly?) The poem is a childhood memory of my Grandfather. He was an admired boxer who raised a lot of money for charity and also a fairground champion and Psychiatric nurse. He was one of the most gentle people that I have ever had the pleasure to know, everyone trusted him and thought highly of him and the Robins that returned year on year to land on his shoulder and feed from his hand were testament to this gentleness.

I remember him telling me a story about him getting in trouble with his mother (My Great Grandmother). You see, she didn't like him boxing, as back then the rules were nearly non-existent and there was a high risk of serious injury or even death in extreme cases. He found out about a boxing venue in Liverpool where he could win some money so that he could give it to charity. He was very young and didn't have any way to get to Liverpool, so he stowed away on the Milk Train. He had his fight, but his opponent wasn't playing fair, he'd put metal inside his gloves and one of the blows that my Grandfather received took a chunk off his nose, in the third round. When he complained that the guy obviously was packing weight, he pleas fell on deaf ears and at this point he realised it was a house scam. He knew he was a little out of his depth, not being from that area and being totally alone. Not to be deterred, he came out in the fourth round and knocked his opponent out, got the money for his charity work and stowed away once more on the milk train back home.

He told me the fight was nothing compared to the wrath he suffered when his mother saw his bloody face and disfigured nose. "Was it worth it, yes! and would I do it again, yes!" To me this was an example of A Gentleman, he was strong mentally and physically, but he was so kind and generous that you wouldn't even know it. Anyway, this is my tribute of-sorts to this great man.


Every year a robin came
and every year that bird appeared
knew that frosty Christmas neared
Big red saint, all white his beard.

Every year a robin came
Rested gently on grandfather's arm
Grandad with his smile and charm
Gained their trust, year on year

Always when this robin appeared
knew that frosty Christmas neared
Those days of past have melted away
but in my heart those pair do stay
Grandfather and his red breasted friend

Every year a robin came
and every year that bird appeared
knew that frosty Christmas neared.

Greek Creation Myth

Spontaneously divine - the outset, ahead of time, anterior to the start

Chaos ruled on randomness’ mess and filled the void of emptiness

With mother Earth first to spring, full of power and prowess,

Goddess Gaea, high and low, mountain top to dell, river, lake, sea and swell.

Golden Palace: place of order, wherein men and Gods do dwell.

                                           

Chaos then spewed forth Tartarus, deep within Gaea’s Globe.

Tartarus’ underground, dark and damp primordial home.

Neath Hades, lies tormented cell, pitted third World of hell.

The place of eyes for eyes and swords for swords

A place where karma returns; from whence it came.

Sinners sins, sin's against, sin's sinners, down gloomy shafts, etched in minds.

And again, Chaos yawned and out fell Eros, God of sex and desire

Fairest of them all, that never did decay, fertility born on that fateful day

Eros with his charm and wit, was unbeatable, by nature’s endless course.

Eros desired parthenogenesis to be dismissed, mix the bits to create a new;

Create an egg from before the two: Entwined the silver with the gold.

Cough and splutter, Chaos did, and Erebus, filled the space of in betweens.

Caped God, cast a shadow to all four corners of Gaea’s ruddy lands.

Tartarus did nod and agree, he’d liked what Chaos had released. Silent;

Erebus; dusk in dress, son of the darkness’s mess, relentless without rest!

Nyx was next from the void-less mess that chaos manifests.

Erebus’ sister, of such shadowy complexion, hypnotic Goddess;

Of sleepy dreams, guards the door to creations secret streams.

She forms the night in Gaea’s realm, in a cave of echoing chants.

Just by chance, she happened upon romance, with Eros’ wish fulfilled.

Married her brother Erebus, under spell cast so well, by Eros’ intervention.

Born a daughter of the light, the dark dank two of the night, did delight;

At the sight of Hemera, born the day, that separated dusk from night.

At second sight, more delight, created Aether out of night. Atmospheric joy;

Did bring, Gaea, round from Chaos spring, to primordial even ground.

Gaea’s broadened breast, by herself did beget, her son Uranus;

Cloudy sky rolled in.

Eros scorned and without sweet love: Gaea mothered an equal

Brought forth her seed, to cover her fruitless seas and mountainous ranges, 

To marry starry mantle to earth and all within it.

Ourea and Pontus in similar fashion were born of the fiery passion 

From Gaea’s eternal breath.

All is set now, and the story starts, the world of creation and all of its parts.

Life's Gamble

Whatever the hand you are dealt in life

 you must never fold

Whether starting life

big, brass and bold

Or starting out in the cold

For life is just a game

But one that we must play

Whatever the world throws at you

You must gamble away

Your past doesn’t determine your future

Though your future determines your past

So take from these words that which are true

You choose in your life, what you do

Alas’ I think you are starting

to see that life is about

Choices and choosing merrily

Of that I have no doubt.

Another Artist Dies Today

Today, I cleaned out a dead artists home
His final painting completed alone
Brown shades of impasto on cotton canvas
Mattress darkened hue
Blood red phlegm on linoleum too.

Dirt in every conceivable place.
A failed artist lay in disgrace
No respect in his final resting place.
To ill to receive or ask for support.

Living four floors high,
pushed him closer to the sky
Couldn't walk, you see?
He had a family, kids an' all
but no help for him did come.

So much pain,
looked as though
he'd suffered for days,
before he finally withdrew.

I cleaned his place
muck and all
Now this artist
into the Grand hall
can walk tall.
No shame on him, for his torment.

Another wasted artist
on borrowed time lent.
Wish him peace, he knew hell well
Free from pain, he's left his cell
heard his name,
followed the call.

Another wasted artist died today.

Building a sculpture stand from recycled materials.

Okay, so you want to have a go at clay sculpting but you don't have a stand to place your work on, maybe you don't have the resources to buy one of the sparkly newfangled stands that the big name stores provide, or simply like the idea of building your own out of recycled materials. Whatever the reason I am going to walk you through the very simple process of making your own sculpting stand for free, or as near to it as possible.

So first of all let's take a look at what materials we will be using to make the stand:

Materials Required

Adjustable swivel office chair
Bedside table
Wooden board (you can use a tabletop or kitchen work surface, whatever you have to hand)
Four nuts and bolts
(Optional)
T-shirt iron on transfer paper
Water-based satin gloss paint
Wax

Tools Required

Power Drill and pilot drill-bit
Philips head screwdriver
Iron

Step 1

If your bedside table has feet, like this one that I salvaged, unscrew and remove them using your screwdriver.

Step 2

Unscrew the bracket that's located under the chair's seat, then remove the seat and then lift the bracket off the chair's adjustable stem (Hydraulic piston).

Step 3

Mark four holes, using the chair bracket as a template, line the bracket up with the centre of the bedside table top to ensure even distribution of weight.

Step 4

Drill the marked holes using the pilot drill bit, then simply force the screws from the bracket into the pilot holes using the screwdriver to ensure that the bracket is securely fixed.

Step 5

Once the chair bracket is attached to the top centre of the bedside table, go ahead and turn the table upside down and place it on the chair stem.

Step 6

You may already have four holes on the bottom of the table from where the feet were once screwed, if not you will need to drill four holes.

Step 7

Line up your piece of wooden board, once it is in the desired position, mark and drill four holes through the board, so that they line up with the four holes in the top of the sculpture stand . I originally used a kitchen cabinet door, but wasn't happy with the end result, so am holding out for a recycled table top instead (Photos don't show the wooden board for this reason).

Step 8

Thread four bolts through the bedside table and wooden board, then tighten the nuts so that the wooden board is securely attached to the bedside table (countersink and fill the board with wood glue so that you have an even surface to make your clay sculpture on).

Step 9

Optional - Add a piece 2x2 wooden plank to one edge of your sculpture stand's work surface, this can be used as a straight edge to help with modeling the clay. You can also mark out a rule on the wood, so you can easily measure your clay components.

Step 10

Optional - The next part is just about adding some style to your stand and isn't necessary, but fun all the same. Prepare some images that you want to use on your PC, print the images onto iron on transfer paper for t-shirts. Iron the transfer paper onto the wooden parts of the sculpture stand, for a quick and quirky makeover. You could also paint and wax the stand to create a shabby chic antique effect and then iron over that, you could even paint on the transferred image to add even more flare to the piece.

Notes.

I tested this sculpture stand with 50kg of clay and it handled it easily, although the bedside table was made from pine, the quality of the build was very good so it was a robust piece of furniture with good joints etc, hence its strength. Whatever you decide to use, make sure it is weight bearing. The chair base is obviously weight bearing way beyond 50kg.

The purpose of bolting the work surface onto the bedside table, rather than screw it, is because when you drill your armature into the surface to secure your sculpture, you will eventually have so many holes, that the surface will not be able to secure the armatures. You can simply undo the bolts and replace the surface with some new wooden board. You could of course, use a flange and pipe armature set-up to reduce the wear and tear of your sculpture stands top.

If your bedside table has a draw, then that's a bonus, this can be used to keep your tools together in one convenient place.

If your bedside table isn't large enough to be at a comfortable working height, then you can place spacer blocks of wood between it and the wooden board surface.

Adding some kind of lighting may also be appropriate, I haven't gotten around to that yet and if I do design something, I'll post another tutorial on how I did it.

I hope that you found this tutorial interesting and helpful, if you have any questions or would like to get in touch with me, you can find me on twitter @iliteratepoet.

Death and freedom

A wanderer in the depths of my mind
Death is the theme
Freedom is the goal.
Curiosity keeps me, from completing my soul.
No escape from this crazy race
The mind's a terribly beautiful place.
So I bid a farewell
From this pitiful hell
The mind's an inescapable tawdry cell.
A prison, a pit, an illusionary dream.
The theme is death as i scream
Freedom, freedom, freedom.

About the campaign

The National Campaign for the Arts decided to run this campaign after being approached by members who were concerned that the public had no way to make their views on support for the arts heard.

Using volunteer time and skills from our campaign partners (and not public subsidy) we have sought advice about the best way to reach as many people as possible who care about the arts throughout the UK. We know that there are a lot of you out there: it’s estimated that three-quarters of adults and even more children take part in the arts every year. Collectively you will be a powerful new voice for audiences and participants.

We want to be able to help you to provide support for the arts in your area. That support could be about volunteering or lobbying or even setting up your own programmes of arts activities. We’d also like to listen to you and your views to help us prioritise our future work.

We’ve set no time limit on the campaign. We hope it will develop and evolve over time. We will keep updating the website with new resources and keep in contact by email with, particularly when we have news of something in your area.

If you care about the arts, please do take the 30 seconds it takes to sign up. You’ll be in good company.
About the National Campaign for the Arts

The National Campaign for the Arts (NCA) is the UK's only independent lobbying organisation representing all the arts. It provides a voice for the arts world in all its diversity. It seeks to safeguard, promote and develop the arts and win public and political recognition for the importance of the arts as a key element in our national culture. The organisation has three objectives:

1. Provide a united voice for the arts, especially for arts organisations across the UK and for all artists, staff and volunteers who work in the arts.
2. Campaign for better access to the arts, so that everyone in the UK has opportunities to experience the arts and to take part.
3. Campaign for adequate and sustainable levels of resources and support for the arts.

The NCA is a very small organisation with three full-time staff, but has a large and broad support across the arts sector.

To ensure its independence, the NCA does not receive any public subsidy. It is dependent on membership subscriptions and the generous support of individual and corporate patrons to carry out its vital lobbying and advocacy work.

Find out much more about what we do on NCA's website.

Jed and I

Jed and I were walking in the night.
Sith drove by, brandishing his sabre light.
I turned to Jed and said: "sith gave me a fright!"
Jed replied: "I thought he'd died?"
Sith drove back, in his black Cadillac;
Got right out and started to laugh.
I turned to Jed and quietly said:
"what's with him, why all the din?"
Jed replied with watery eyes; declared:
"Sith is going to kill us!"
"Jed!" said I, "there's no need to cry;
Sith's time is Nye!"
Jed replied with bloodshot eyes:
"What are you going to do?"
Jed-I, said I: "The night's gone by;
Sith has left, the darkness gone;
Endless battle, the light side won."

Quagmire quarry

Listen close, to find the key
in the story, of quagmire quarry.
deep down in the ruddy earth
find the gold buried mirth
treading trek, taking good care
a quagmire quarry everywhere
attempt to walk up quandary hill
two ways to say! but underlying ground-
it can be found, eternally bound
climb up to a higher terrain
find the temple in your brain
down in quagmire quarry lane.
Deep within that sanctity,
three worlds meet as one!
all seeing high - on quagmire quarry hill.
Enjoying, life's lighted sun.
Quagmire county, completed, done.
Found the keys of a champion.
Hear the keys of a quandary none.