The X Factor

Even with the coal fire lit up,
hissing a little with smoke and flame,
the tiles near the mantle-piece
were cool for hand or forehead.

The plain cut-wool rug was an island
in the sea of lino. The little poker
with the sharpish tip - dig it in
a steaming coal vein - a satisfy jet,
bright but quickly dead.

Over at the dining table - well, only
for Christmas and special occasions,
- my brother and the Da acted out
their respective parts. Tonight we have

The Coalfield of England. Northumberland
anddurham was my favourite, all one word
of course. And Yorkshire. And Kent, being
the Garden of England was green.

But the high drama was when trains
puffed along the track, one just seven
miles faster than the other and how long
would it take the bath to fill when

the tap was doing so many gallons
and the drain was emptying pints.
All of this, a little pause for effect,
and then the whole point of the exercise:

Let x equal the answer! Oh occasionally
a or b acted as understudies, or y placed
a supporting role. But x was your real
man, Host, Saviour and slicker than
the Holy Ghost.

So let x equal the almighty
or we'll be sitting round for infinity
and the fire will have long gone out.

Buried In A Blog

Last night, in the small hours,
I lay awake for a while trying
to sketch out a poem in my head.
The title would be something like
Buried In A Blog. Maybe in years
to come, archaeologists will dig
in the ruins, whatever those ruins
may be, unearthing objects of
possible interest. Bits of bone,
coins, some metals. Does vinyl rot?
That led me to remember Keats's
Ode To A Grecian Urn. What is our
equivalent? What would be on it?
And what of Truth and Beauty -
not to mention fame, influence, money.
And how famous or not is Robert Hooke?
Why is/was he over-shadowed by Newton?
Make a poem of that lot? Hmmm...

Gender on a spectrum

This article in the New Statesman caught my eye.

If you want, you can read it here.

Someone asked why the article caught my eye.

This is my reply:

I try to look at the headlines from BBC and Guardian, for instance. I respect both of those institutions for what they are, but they are very mainstream. So I have The Register, New Scientist and New Statesman headlines on my Google homepage.

The Gender On A Spectrum line caught my eye. I like the idea of a spectrum - as opposed to, say, a line or a fixed point. There is probably not a crock of gold at the end of a rainbow - maybe the rainbow itself is of more value than bits of metal.

That took me into the first paragraph of the article. I too distrust the word "weird". Vaccination, flight and long distance/wireless communications are "weird". And the idea of "discomfort" as an incentive to learning - yes, I find that interesting. Maybe the start should not be "Are you sitting comfortably?"

Gender, sex, spectrum? I grew up in Ireland at a time when there was little information about sex. One of the first informed conversations I had was with a friend's mother. I must have been about 9 or 10 at the time. She had some sort of social worker role in Dublin, 20 miles away. She described to me and one or two others how she had visited a convent in Dublin where the nuns looked after pregnant girls and put their babies up for adoption. However, the convent had a large room upstairs out of the way where the nuns had accumulated a number of youngsters no one wanted - and no one knew what to do with them. These children, over 10 of them, were of indeterminate sex. They were fed, physically looked after - but no one wanted them, recognised them, or knew what to do with them.

The woman in question insisted to the nuns that she was unhappy - and demanded that she should take one of the children home for the weekend with her, to spend time with her family. He had a boys name, and to us he was a young boy - about 8 or 9. I only saw him the once, though I believe he spent more than a few weekends at home with my friends family. And I was aware that there was a bit of a 'row' going on about what was happening to the other children.

For this and other reasons, as an adult I worked with children 'on the edge' - through behaviour, abuse and other circumstances. Fortunately, being on the edge, I have only dealt with relatively small numbers - though sometime the number has gone into three figures. But I try to counter the tendency to pigeon-hole children/people. I like the idea of positioning people on a very large map of mankind.

Similary I currently look to debate as an shared exploration on a spectrum of ideas rather than on a yaa-boo posturing from set points.

Does anyone out there have anything to say?

waiting for something to happen

today's hero

Mark Haddon
The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time
and
he is pretty good on god.

Mass Distruction

Politicians
sometimes jump
to conclusions.
Wars don't.

iniquity

how come
someone
leaked news
to newspapers
re Stephen Lawrence
YESTERDAY?

who leaked that news?

who 'sexed-up' that news?

news which hampers
the ongoing Stephen Lawrence enquiry?

who tried
to avoid
any IPCC
investigation
re Jean Charles de Menezes
the report on which
was published
YESTERDAY?

who tampered
with the police
surveillance log
changed the meaning?

Jean Charles de Menezes

He was shot
in the head
like a dog
on the tube.

It stinks.

And for the first time
ever
really
I don't understand
Ken Livingston.

BBC report and IPCC Report download link here

Egg

It is true,
is it not?
An ant
can 'do' moral philosophy.

19

12 or so, I think I would have been.
My older brother gave me a book:
St.Dominic - This Is Your Life, or
a title of that sort.
It wasn't a big red book. It was slim,
dignified, grey, new, smelled nice.
I only had the odd book back then,
rarely new, never slim.
St. Dominic died when he was nineteen.
The details escape me, but I remember
the number and couldn't see beyond it.

Tomorrow I will have beaten Dominic,
and my self-forecast by forty years.
Another no-no for religion then, not
that another no is needed by now.

The serious question though is why
Belief, Superstition, whatever you may
are stronger than cast-iron galvanized Fact.
Not all the time, of course, but in
kitchens, bedrooms, gardens, building-sites,
factories, and assorted such places.

Put another log on that fire, George.
Enough feckin' facts for tonight.
Who's got a song or a story, for Chris' sake,
get that dog away from the door.

Lucretius said

the Sun is the same size
as we see it.
I'm not sure about that.

He says Death can be feared
if you look into a future without you,
but if you look back into the past,
way back before you that is,
then you are not there either.
And that feels, maybe, a bit O.K.?

I must remember to remember,
Lucretius that is, or was,
a good guy to have around.
Not sure about the Sun though,
or was it the Moon?

That Death bit is good though.
I can live with that...

first draft - belief 2007

You can trust me*
You know you can - don't you
Don't you believe me?
How can you look at me
and say you don't believe me?
After all this time?
I trust you.
I'd lay down my life for you.
I'd do anything for you.
I love you.
I'm your father, mother,
sister, brother.
[use capitals for that lot]
I'm here for you baby,
my man,
[look at gender stats on this one,
don't want to miss a beat]
you KNOW that, for real.

* me is a lying hound.
I'm just being devil's advocate.

faith
belief
hope
knowledge
certainty
proof
[not sure about that one]
charity
mystery
love

but the greatest of these is...

why swim deep
climb high
surf on the breeze
go the extra mile
exceed expectations
earn more than you can spend
[potential corporates?]
buckle the bomb belt
[check]
on your knees and bow

knowledge is flat earth
faith soars into the unknown
knowledge is an apple on your head
faith is a safe landing, without wheels

believe me

I* know

* me is a lying hound.
I'm just being devil's advocate.

You know I'm right.
Right is Right
Fight the Good Fight, Fight, Fight.
I had a dream
You and me
Eternity

[loop tape - tea break]

* ignore - personal diary only,
though keep cutting edge -
that's what they believe in.

Maybe they're right.
Shit, maybe I'm right.

* need to re-assess

apple picking

Grey lichen-covered apple tree branches.
Chest-high stinging nettles test trouser legs.
At least I remembered some old trainers.
A couple of old plastic crates, ladder,
two long-reach pickers with the orchard's name,
and off we went.

What a beautiful morning, I envy
the warden his snug environmental
shelf-lined house - he lives here among
badgers, butterflies, wasps and look straight up
a buzzard hovering high in the sky.

No sprays on these apples - unlike those Kurds.
Joe plonked his ladder under the branches,
well, from far off the apples had looked nice.
Unlike Saddam, or his prisoners, Joe
climbed down, strode off to try somewhere else.

We walked round the huge pond. No bodies floating.
Two woodpeckers rattled out, so Joe said.
He pointed, but it was into the sun.

We were lucky ones, with a picker each.
That mother and little boy over there,
he jumping to reach some little fruit.
So Joe gave them his picker and ladder
- with a 'well, you use the picker like this'.
You can bet it's not like that in Dafur.

After a look at some wild flowers, rabbits,
and lottery-funded hide for badgers,
someone called it was time for coffee,
so we joined the little band by the cars,
a large pot of tea, milk in a jug,
mixed Fox's biscuits out of the packet.

We'd only picked two boxes of apples,
Michael said the Bramleys were good.
Joan and Lily made back for the pears,
and there was a Red Admiral by the wall.

As we packed up, Joe said Lewis Hamilton
had grown up nearby. We were quite surprised
we both followed Formula One racing.
That's another Sunday morning ticked off.
Nothing much there to write home about.

I Should Be Proud

Missed it - the radio programme that is.
Caught a trailer - Martha Reeves just talking.
I Should Be Proud: black men in black bin bags.
Yes, in the killing fields of Vietnam.

Debate about global warming cools down.
A cliche down, another comes around.
(got to do a few things here - so if you have
some ideas for this bit, do feel free)

Funny, wife being black, doing the ironing.
We were passing comments on the steam iron,
one of the latest sorts it seems. You can
even iron hanging curtains with it. Well,
when questioned on this the answer was "No".

Then the phone went, a black cousin, telling
how an art teacher at a staff meeting
offered a display of, erm, gollywogs.
A mother of two mixed-race adopted kids.

Claiming devil's advocate I wondered
was she trying to provoke honest debate?
Did this parallel using "nigger"?
A burst of steam from the iron left a doubt.

Which is best? A "wog" in the face
or a job application in the bin
with boxes all ticked and satisfied grin?

I'm glad I'm not in a black plastic bag.
Not a dead hunk of flesh from Vietnam.
I don't dream of hugs in Guantanamo,
or wait for that Big Bang in Iraq.

Nice one, Martha.
Be proud.

This man - a hero?

I love what he said.
I love the way he said it.

I'm a coward.
He was brave.
I love the way he walked in water.

sacred heart almighty

the doleful face
fair skin
long almost ringleted hair
combed tache 'n beard
looks not at me
no wonder he doesn't look at me

the palms of the hands
are pierced
but the key is the heart
la pee de la resistance

lurididly bathed in pale pink light
liver brown
circled with barbed wire thorns

this cannot be serious
can it?

walking looking back

light north wind
high cool cloud streaked sky
hedges
fuchsia blackberry honeysuckle
haws rose
hips nettles fertile ground
rats
far off scurrying trailing tails
dead
fresh spilled guts on tar
hedgehog
gentle face curled in peaceful death
rolls of hay
where cocks used to stand
field of leeks
stubble speckled with black flakes of crows
twin brother tractors
tilling scratching soil
telegraph poles
iron gated railings
and the deserted gate lodge
whose estate was this?
fields of greens
browns yellows stretch
looking into the distance
to the Sugar Loaf Mountain
near the end
of the lane the solid dark truck
Motorway Maintenance
chiming with a beat
“Beware this vehicle is reversing”

Un Holy Alliance

Cross of Fingers
Monks of Burma
Aung San Suu Kyi

here
here

and From Our Own Correspondent
gets up close and personal
in a BBC sort of way
here

Just asking...

Is it ever of any value
to say, "I told you so?"

Blue Ribbon

It was dull and gloomy
heading west through Wales.
The last run towards Anglesey
looking down towards the coast
a strip of brilliant sunlit blue
wide and deep enough to swallow thousands
of armies and more rewarding
than blood red streams and pools
of oil and poppies in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Coole Park

It may be Yeats
(but I doubt it)
or the Laurie Lee essays I brought
but Ireland does move me to write
of charred sausages
microwaved colcannon
apple tart and Maud Gonne.
Celebrated Autograph Tree
- more trite bark than bite.

Ne'er a swan of any sort in sight,
the lake is low and peaceful though.
I cast a cool eye on life on death
try to forget the Ford Focus
with leather seats mark you.

Driver pass by.

train of thought

mind
the
gap

Iraq, John Wain in

We just stay put.
Keep them on their toes.
They'll start to split.
Quiet there!
Settle down, this'll be a long night....

Iraq

3,606 US troops have died since the 2003 invasion
3,606 young people
That's a lot of youngsters,
brothers, sisters,
partners, children,
friends, communities...

three thousand,
six hundred
and
six

If lives* made cents,
how much is that in dollars?


*Iraqis don't count. They are free.

Size Matters

She said mine
was a bit short.
So a poem
has to be long?

Sleeping Beauty?

Alastair Campbell is no beauty;
nor a princess, even if he met one
in the mirror.
This business about spin -
what happens if someone wields a bodkin,
a sharp needle?
Maybe that is why he sticks things
in his hands:
a prick here, a prick there,
the blood spreads
all over the map.
Truth aborted.

What rhymes with drains

Washing up the supper things
- stewed gigot chop, some fish,
new potatoes, carrots and peas,
if you must -
at the bit where glasses 'n plates
lead on to a few pots
a poem came to mind, line by line;
that will do, I thought.
So neat it went down the drain
before I even pulled the plug.
Maybe it will surface, somewhere,
sometime. Though it won't cause
ripples

Religion

Enough.
Had it up to here.
Silly arguments, disagreements, rows.
Not speaking.
Fights - and worse.
Wars of sorts 'n bombs blowing apart.
Raised hands, shattered legs, blood.
You wallow in it if you want to.
Sackcloth, ashes, guilt, bonemeal.
Don't ask me hear for credit.
I've given it up for lent.
No offence - just bog off.
And don't knock next door.
They're out.

Killings In The Key Of Life

market

capsule 07.07.07 capsule

Sun
No, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Tony Blair accepted a senior position in Murdoch's News Corporation empire. A seat on the board, or whatever.

Stars
Just think, what we see around us as the Milky Way: all the stars in the sky we can see and cannot see, could just, say, a drop of rain in a bigger scheme of things.

Rats
Are not really very nice. Unless you happen to like them. Or if you are a rat...

Religious People
Some of my best friends are religious. Actually, that is not true. I have relatives who are religious. I don't have friends who are religious. It wouldn't bother me if I did, but I don't.

Sprats
I like sprats. They are one of the few foods everyone in this house likes. Bring them home from the market. Head, tail, clean and wash them. Leave them in a bowl with chopped onion, salt, pepper, thyme and a big squeeze of lemon juice. Flour them, put them on an oiled tray and bake them in a very hot oven. They should be starting to brown and crisp a little. We have them with brown soda bread, with lemon to squeeze over. Or with boiled rice, fresh tomato and pepper sauce and fried plantain. Although many varieties of fish are threatened with extinction, sprats are plentiful and likely to become even more so. Also, they are relatively cheap and very nutritious. They are delicious.

Space
Although there is a lot of it, like water, sometimes there is not enough space. There are human beings who do not have much space. Other who do not have enough water, or food to eat. There are people who suffer all the time because of what others do to them, deliberately.

Rocket
It would be good if this capsule launched into space from a real rocket. Instead I am send it into the Internet, virtual Space, by was of a blog, a virtual rocket. I hope it ends up with someone who reads it - the rest is up to them.

Breadrin

There, on top of the freezer:
brown soda bread;
coconut bread - more like cake
for buttering. And it was a fresh
coconut from Ridley Market,
cracked with a hammer
between the eyes.
Lincolnshire Plum Loaf,
- more like a fruit loaf
for buttering.
No, indeed not,
the cupboard ain't bare.
An' Bix Beiderbeck breaks
into song - well it was
Seger Ellis - eighty years
ago but still fresh out
of the oven:

"There's a cradle in Caroline
A bough in a tree, a bowing to me
There's a cradle that I call mine
A carpet of green, you know what I mean"

MP3 Banks And Fields

Houses in De Beauvoir 'town'
have spaces in between;
all look different.
Flats, blocked not quite
in De Beauvoir, are tallish,
flattish, sameish.

Finding myself striding out
too fast, stopped under a tree,
fished out my MP3 player,
walked on, more slowly.

Large black male, Royal
Mail, rooting from the red pillar-box;
suddenly looked my way as I passed,
dark swept-around sunspecs;
tapped me on the shoulder:
"You have a nice evening".
"You too".
Nice guy.

Our usual postie sits
plays with next door
comic-cut cat. Gives the old
man time to get downstairs.

Yes, compress some audio files,
easier to store and carry.
Lives? Leave those
empty spaces in between.
Don't go for lossless either,
guaranteed to fail under
cold grey slabs of mud.

Goodbye TB

new blood spurts
bright red
chequered flag
well done
check rolex
podium
champagne spurts
pits

Tom Tom McO

I TELL YOU NOW:
I set out for Damascus.
I met my destiny,
driving down the Falls Road
in a chariot of fire.
That is the way
of the almighty Lord,
as set out in
The Holy Bible.

We bow our heads to God,
His Son Jesus Christ,
our Saviour,

Éamon.

Puppy Love

I’d like to write
in small clear words
like the Pet Shop Boys.

What I wrote
would not be as
popular.

And it would not be heard,
either,
like the Pet Shop Boys.

Nothing so popular
as cute puppies in a window.

Rape'n'Death in Darfur
gets boring after the
first few rhymes.

Excuse me! Could I have a quick word?

sometimes
a word
is not
enough
not even
quite a few
of them
not
even
set
to
music

Permanent Pen On Vinyl

Bhundu Boys – I can listen
on CD via
laptop or player
earphones, speakers, surround sound,
Ipod,
Ipaq,
Walkman,
Grundig,
down the street,
at the kitchen table,
on the cream leather sofa,
the two-piece African chair,
in bed,
in the garden,
in the sun.

Those hands, smiles,
voices are dead;
so young,
so early
so long.

[Rise Kagonga is still in Scotland,
but don’t let life get in the way
of love of money.]

Change

If we are going have change,
we need to change.

If we are going to change,
we need education.

Not “Education, Education, Education”,
for money, industry and appearances,
Education
as in Learning,
discovering how things work,
helping each other learn,
making things better
spreading contentment,
comfort and happiness.

No,
not, “Education, Education, Education”.
More like, “How, How, How”
And, "Ho Ho Ho".

More fun,
less shooting
from the hip lip.

Spitter Spatter Lies

Scooter
-spit

Libby
-spit

Bush
-spit

Cheney
-spit

Rumsfeld
-spit

enough to give 'prison' a bad name...

Bush
Oil
Enron
-spit - spit - spit

Waiting In Limbo

Nothing new here:

Guantánamo

A Breughel in the West Indies

At the centre and heart
a clay oven
roofed with corrugated
iron.
The woman
in the red dress - and apron
feeds a loaf
in on a long wooden paddle.
More risen loaves
wait on a sturdy
table.

Two boys, bright shirts
squat in the yard,
playing marbles.
Two hens,
proud, combed, red,
peck and scratch.

A man,
blue trousered, white shirt,
laid back hat,
back from work,
chats with woman sitting
on the throne of her door-step.

I love this picture of a warm
and natural life. Even
when it hangs
over
our gas-fired Aga.

moneeeeeeeeeeeeee.....

sometimes
good people
just don't know
how low
people
can go

sometimes
good people
just don't want
to know

some bad people
just do the right thing
even though
they know
it's wrong

moneeeeeeeeeeeeee.....

wicked
right?

Open Government

Suez
still secret
50 years on.

from New Labour manifesto, 1997:
Open government
Unnecessary secrecy in government leads to arrogance in government and
defective policy decisions. The Scott Report on arms to Iraq revealed
Conservative abuses of power. We are pledged to a Freedom of Information
Act, leading to more open government, and an independent National
Statistical Service.

guns 'n stones

When the Rich fight the Poor:
that's War.

When the Poor fight the Rich:
that Terrorism.

[Did Tony Benn say that?]

When the Rich fight the Rich?
[No, preferably - too much to lose.]

library table

at one end of the library table,
sixteen, sitting opposite two nuns.
dreams of writing about barbed wire
and discovers he can write with his
left, just for spite.

down the other end
fifty-eight, sitting fronting
laptop. thinks of writing how
clean a chicken can be inside.
discovers he can cut with his
right, just for fun.

so it's never too late to be
dirty.
'half-baked' is not very good.
and they shouldn't really believe
things
without knowing, but they would,
do, have been,
very well done.

Would you believe

John Cornwell's 'Seminary Boy'
was interesting,
stained glass
dark wood
but at the end
it seemed like something was missing
- for him at least.

Yann Martel's 'Life of Pi'
was interesting
full of light
bright colours
and nothing missing
- for me, for one, that is.

migrant labour

Chris Stewart's "The Almond Blossom Appreciation Society" is worth reading, if only for his discription of a short stay with a Moroccan Berber family.

Rabbit on

The flowers on the kitchen table
looked happy and fresh,
white, yellow and blue.
Sunlight streamed through
the basement window.

Harriet, only five but
with an eye for pretty things
stood and admired but
said nothing.

A few days later those flowers
drooped, wrinkled.
"What happened to the flowers?"
"They don't last long when
they've been cut - especially
in the kitchen".

Harriet was stunned. She
looked at me, stared,
"I don't want to die!"

What could I say? It was easier
for her brother - well at least
he and I watched Star Trek
with its occasional sense of
cosmic recycled dust

Months later, in the heat
of Summer,
we were in the garden. Still
hot dusty bare earth. Just
their old swing. And a hutch
for Bandit, the white rabbit.
At our old house he used to
come in the kitchen and sit
watching television, we said.

'Uncle' came round with his
sledgehammer. To drive metal
stake holders for a new fence
- Bandit liked to jump the brick
walls as well.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
in the dusty heat of the sunny
day. And the rabbit stretched
out, quivered. "There's something
wrong". "He's not well, dying,
dead".

Harriet had disappeared. I looked
downstairs, upstairs, in her room.
Back in the garden, there she was,
kneeling in the dusty earth,
beside the rabbit,
stroking it very gently. She looked
at me, stared, calm.
"See, I'm not afraid any more".

So we buried Bandit, the rabbit,
by the wall, where the apple
trees grow now, and the lawn with
visiting foxes. And the newted
lily pond where the swing used to be.

note

Did someone say
Art, Religion and Science
make up an important
- triangle?
Philosophy is a much
nicer word then Religion
- well, I think so.

two hundred years

slavery
a slide show
boom boom pictures up there

greeks
gladiators
galleys

road to timbuktu
woman with grinding stone
blacksmith craftsman sits on the sand
relative calm before the maelstrom

gold coast stone cannoned fort
fort fort christiansborg elmina
fresh captives neck and foot
chained branded neck rings
leg irons masks collars spurs

oil painting handsome
liverpool ship under sail
loading diagram spoon fashion
slaves on wildfire deck
girl hanging from foot
sick thrown overboard
to avoid import tax
arise sir john hawkins

posters slave stores
auctions inspecting the goods
separating families

plantations big houses
wooden shacks
cotton gins 'n sugar
rum punches whipped
scarred back five generations
solemn faced posed photograph
distilled fermented pulped
held out to dry smokey fire

black nursemaid white children
college servant with broom
starched maid amuses starched girl
mulatto clothing styles separate
male female brazil havana peru

tubman ferry house fugitive slaves
run away jack advert
underground railway map
site 1 site 2 slave picture
bundled belongings on back

abolition opposition
commemorative plaque
coin mug medal lincolned
freed slave couple
emancipated workworn hands

bill passed houses built
dynasties founded honours
allocated bristol liverpool
britain united states

more modern photos sex
people traffic new enslaved
child sex abused carpets
bricks footballs trainers
shirts fair trade markets
new bonded labour
profit money
honours for sale
legacy dead in the water

I learn; You know; We teach; They educate

those who can
do
those who can't should learn
or do something else
those who can should teach
if they can

you can tell
you are a teacher
if someone else
learns how to from you

sometimes teaching is
easy peasy
sometimes it
is boring hurts or can't do

go on
give it a little go
you have probably
taught someone
something
already

grumpy old men

they don't want to listen
to grumpy old men
asking irritating questions.

they want to hear
something sweet
with a turn of the hips
'n a bit of a - wow!

ok we can't
turn back the clock
but we can still
remember to smile...

I told you so

Saying "I told you so"
Is not good;
It does not help intelligent
debate.
You may as well start
"Now. Are you stupid? Or
is it just that you don't listen..."

text.discussion.reality.uk

Kitty: PURRRR. I'm here!
Chuffy: [Waves] Hello Kitty. Welcome!
Sammy Seal: I'm here too!
Chuffy: [Waves] Hello Sammy. Welcome!
Kitty: It's working fine then.
Chuffy: Yes, its working.
Ratty the T-M: So this is where you all are! Hi.
Chuffy: [Waves] Hello Ratty. Welcome!
Sammy Seal: Hi Ratty!
Ratty the T-M: Hi Sammy!
Chuffy: We have a new server up - la.de.outlaw.uk
Kitty: Oh good! Well done Chuffy.
Ratty the T-M: VERY well done Chuffy!
Swannee: So this is where you all are? What a lovely place!
Kitty: Hi Swannee. Do you like my cushion?
Swannee: I love your cushion. Do you like my new river?
Kitty: I love your river. Does it have fish?
Swannee: Some lovely trout, but No Haddock!
Chuffy: [chuckles]
Ratty the T-M: No haddock.
Chuffy: Well, maybe the occasional haddock..
Hetty Hen: Is it time for a vote?
Kitty: I prefer fish - a nice fresh sardine would go down well.
Chuffy: VERY well [chuckles]
Mrs Chuffy: well well well [smiles sweetly]
Troll: [trip trap] B******s!!!
Sammy Seal: Oh! Here is a troll!
Kitty: Have you got any fish, Mr Troll?
Sammy Seal: I'll prod him with my fishing rod [prod]
Troll: F*** off!
Ratty the T-M: Oh, one of those rude trolls.
Swannee: Just keep him away from my lovely river.
Kitty: Oh, I hate draughts. Close the door on your way out, Mr Troll.
Troll: F***ing Bonkers, the lot o' you.
Chuffy: Bye Mr Troll. Thanks for calling.
Swannee: Has he gone?
Chuffy: Yes, that got rid of that troll. Sammy prodded him with his fishing rod.
Blather: Well done Sammy. And good news everyone: my test from alt.gossip.dorset.uk has arrived!
Ratty the T-M: Good to have a post from alt.gossip.dorset.uk
Kitty: Do they have fish in Dorset?
Sammy Seal: Maybe smoked haddock. In Dorset.
Kitty: I can never make my mind up about smoked haddock. Maybe just a small portion, preferably poached.
Swannee: Not from my river, I hope. I don't like trolls on my lovely banks tickling my trout.
Kitty: Now that is a good idea.
Tiffen: I like strawberry jam. Does anyone else like strawberry jam?
Chuffy: OK all. Who likes strawberry jam?
Mrs Chuffy: I like strawberry jam - lots of it.
Zebedee: Oh, yes from me.
Mrs Chuffy: I've changed my mind. I don't like strawberry jam. It gives me terrible wind.
Swannee: The wind blows down my river. It blows in the reeds and makes music, like a lyre.
Troll: Who are you calling a f***ing liar?
Chuffy: [waves] You are back, Mr Troll. You must like it here.
Troll: F*** Off, Pillock.
Chuffy: Oh,go away then.
Mrs Chuffy: well, I'm going to hit my pillow. Good night, everyone.
Sammy Seal: Nite Nite
Panda: Nite. I've only just got here. I have to work tomorrow
Chuffy: AAARRGH!
Kitty: Just give him some haddock.
Swannee: Not from my river. There are no haddock in my lovely river.
Hetty Hen: Nite Nite
Kitty: Sweet Dreamy-byes!

And goodnight, Everyone.

Hello

Try this one:

Write a poem using:

Tony Blair

Richard Branson
Labour
Virgin

Only one additional verb allowed
Though it may be used more than once

[Everyone has a poetic licence - you may use yours here]

be quiet

nothing wrong
with silence -
being still

you can
be silent
and still
be there

Measure 4 Measure

Father Manic Priest
shouted at the frightened class.
He hurled himself into a corner,
flung an arm, hand, against the wall.
"They nailed one hand There!"
Ran to the other corner of the room.
"They nailed the other hand - There!!"

Father Nails-Holding-Up-Braces,
he as Parish Priest, was Number 1.
"Make sure you count money
at least three times - if you get
the same sum twice, you're OK.

Father Lean-As-A-Rake,
counted Lent by the ounces.
Gave a basic sentence of 3
Glory Be's, Hail Mary's, Our Father's.

Father Melodeon had four eyes
in his head, to left, to right
and they met in the middle,
in an un-priestly grin and
not that far off the ground.

Sip, rinse, spit...

Maybe freedom
comes in two flavours:
freedom from
and
freedom to...

Sip, rinse, spit...

deferred?

what is the attraction
in a dream deferred?
well it does seem to grab
in a sprung laid back kind of way.

i defer
you defer
he does, she does,
it does - surprisingly sometimes
we don't,
you don't
they never do, do they...

so i'll defer
'n dream...
you do what you want
maybe we'll realise,
know, no,
maybe some other day...

Train Of Thought

A sunny evening,
outside the Hope and Anchor,
and I was twenty-two.
Swelled with London Pride

looked across the Lea,
where nearly green fields
met marching pylons,
thought "I like this sort of scene".

Now Hugh Masekela hammers
rod on iron in the spotlight,
hammering a South Africa choo
chewing men into the mines.

He remembers all those deaths,
some of those little victories,
and those few men who rose above
it all - many with no names.

Mandela, like a sign of the cross,
stands on top of the hill.
But the fields around are full
of tyres and crosses.

And x marks the spot head
or foot meets ball and shoots
over the line of human dignity.
Or figures with grace on ice,

or dance floor, of course.

Face in the water

A bottle of whiskey.
Yes, I promised Alan that
if he could teach me to swim.

Glide!
Streamlined, like sharks,
arms straight ahead,
hands pointed front,
legs straight,
feet pointed back.

With more confidence,
less panic,
more lung control,
we could kick off the side -
in the shallow end, of course,
and usually get to the other side.
Or just stand up, splutter, and laugh.

It even worked, eventually,
lenthwise in the pool -
swimming towards the shallow end,
of course.
When we relaxed, we could glide well
over half way, before cocking it up
trying to make strokes.

So, yes, here I go again:
kicking off from the side.
But at least I know I can write
doggy-paddle.

Homework

I chose the cardboard box
the one a christmas pudding
and sauternes came in.
Snipped it with scissors,
stuck it with glue,
into a cube.
This was to become a liquorice
all-sort,
a model,
for school - you do understand?

Then a coating of lining paper,
a painting of lines - white,
orangey brown and black.
My sense of colour isn't strong, but I
do remember the taste and texture
layer
by
layer.

For some reason "packaging" was required,
nothing to do with the all-sorts,
but still for technology -
tomorrow being Monday...

Just as well we have a recycle bin -
the pizza box, butter paper, tomato
wrapping, and other assorted clutter,
will really be recycled into education

and I hope all the driving to rehearsals
will be put to good use for the Hugh
Masekela performance at the Roundhouse.

flame

The universe, even Earth,
has been around a long, long time.

The little things we call Mankind
last but a beat of a moth's wing.

We smear the surface of the earth
and foul the air.

Arrogance does not persist.

painting on walls

through here

Fork x-ism

Spread the word

Fork Baghdad

Tripped over
the hoover
in the front room

Noticed
heavy duty fork
in the DIY shop

Dubya
tripping soil
in Iraq

bang blang
bloom boom