MATRIX: Recent Episodes
Steven Richardson
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A short poem I wrote in the Churchillian style as a rousing battle cry to charge our team to victory.
The birds and bees have joined us from the flowers and trees you find them at Macdonald's an champagne bars lapping up our left over cream teas they'll hardly be floaty lite on the breeze after feasting on our fat fantastic sleaze.
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A song for a love honey we called Ann Summers due to her working there, she asked me for a birthday card poem and caused me a writer's block which when I tried to explain she cursed me a look of pure disdain , so I wrote this along the lines of a frigid flustering fool that she'd doubtless be serving at the Ann summers shop. Katie looks at all men with indifference and always takes fun from them , Bravo darling it's all we deserve.
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Humorous little sketch I wrote for Jeanine who was going to see strictly come dancing live in Leeds I wrote the sketch after listening to two old men complaining about the aches and pains in witherspoons Darlington it's narrated in their yorkshire accents, the photo is from strictly come dancing the same night in Leeds sent by JEANINE .--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson6/message
THE MORTAL MACHINEPoetry|Steven Richardson00:0401:52Next|AboutA poem written for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an old model T ford he needs constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running also I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech ; born in the days of the horse and cart he started work at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of a steel river , he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world war they also used the might of the elephants borrowed from a nearby zoo due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel , he told me for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches so that each time a train grumbled over the viaduct the massive mammals would bellow out their destress. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson6/message
A musing about the private member's bills passed with rousing British Parliamentary pomposity it sounds as if they're committing a serious aural atrocity but it's usually being diatribed by someone whos spieling loudly through their own suppository . --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson5/message--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson6/message
A poem written for a sibling son whose quest for frolic and fun wedge hatred in-between his brothers love by what he'd gone and done , it's difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son especially if you're looking through the eyes of the other hard working one who through restraint and strive hath managed with diligent life toiled and tilled the farm in order to fill empty bellies and winter barn now back without a crumb returns the squandering sibling pun doubtless to take the family fortune for yet another hit an run better remember this of the prodigal son who fritted away everything from dad and mum let him now work to the rise and fall of a burning sun whilst you yourself seek out some frolic an fun--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson6/message
Legend has that the Robin gained his red breast from pulling the thorns out of the crown of Jesus at his crucifixion to ease his suffering--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/steven-richardson6/message
A little tune i wrote for James who's very devout in his religion each Sunday we usually have a long discussion with him trying to convert me to his Christianity and me remaining with my humble hallowed humanity both of us remaining respectful to each others theistic thoughts.
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A little tune I wrote from a poem using the as an assimilation to getting old with various parts of our anatomy wearing out with the passage of time.
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A song I wrote for Nina in lock down with covid and the kids a little soft swing Whilst you do your thing hell what else do you do whilst in Morrisons café.
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A song about emperors and kings who believe themselves to be the devine demagoguery If a devine deity did arrive on planet earth these mobsters and megalomaniacs would see them quickly murdered .
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A song about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even after acquiring great wealth he still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.
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The Westminster war of brexit has spilt a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudal few or the milky middle class crew .
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The Oxfam shop or as we call it "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see them , jumble sale junk.
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What was once a stamp for the tramp or cut of a criminal class is now adorning the faces and physique of aristocrat, royalty and supermodel chic .
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A slow smoochy song for Nina ,I thought I'd possibly compare thee to a woodland tree x
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Our fixation with fear is definitely here we're living like mendicant monk our decadent cafe latte lifestyles are all defunct , this virus hangs about us like the prophecy of Macbeth a new strain of black death this damnable covid-19 has killed what was once a hedonistic dream . Project fear is all we hear bombarded constantly into our ear, we've become farmed fish the human hen all crushed together into purgatory pen pellet fed by auntie Bettie and uncle Ben .
10
ENVY

The green eyed monster of sin that secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within usually it's only seen in children as their rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension , however this terrible traits can also be witnessed later in our lives when when the male begins to assert it's dominance as the procreation stage arrives .
501
VOODOO

If ever you should take a drink with a witch make sure you leave the very same night before the break of day or the dawn of light by which time you might just find yourself in a very unfortunate plight of being subjected to her JuJu cat's emasculation bite that leaves you as some sort of strangely sculptured hermaphrodite .
1011
STAN THE MAN

A little Irish reel written in three four time it's about a person called sanctimonious stan there's one in every bar room they're like a voice of doom, a skull on a stick that belongs in a catacomb.
881
BLOOD RAIN

A poem about artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from being a soft mistral breeze that gently caresses into violent blood raining Scirocco that tears the blossom from the trees slamming doors and smashing flower pots and hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .
1391
GRANDAD

Grandfathers are like old sentinels that stand guard over us in our early infant years , stolid as grandfather clocks their old heavy hearts pendulum their rhythm of life into our new born ears, a mortal metronome that keeps a steady beat to the timpani of our tiny feet.
2701
TURING'S TRUTH

The human hunter gatherer brain is so very hard to truth train but maybe not if you start using the new silicon scopolamine dream and drip feed it daily with some digital dopamine served up from our omnipresent Turing machine.
2561
https://youtu.be/pa4LUSsCGo8

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 , from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .
319
NIGELLA

A song I wrote this morning for a girl who ran a grease box cafe in the favela , If cook's could kill then this greasy girl was definitely licensed to grill !! she's always standing by ever ready to kill your sense of humour with sarcasm or ease the stomach acid with her peppermint pill
3441
LINDSAY

A poem I wrote for the everso beautiful Lindsay who is leaving after 11 years she brought her LGBT spirit and colour into our drab fifty souls of grey community bombing us daily with vivid wondrous paintings she takes with her an extraordinary feng shui losing her is like the loss of a perpetual summer's day , artist are the community take them away and you kill it's soul you're left with empty plastic people with tarmac tongues and concret
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The green eyed monster of sin that secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within usually it's only seen in children as their rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension , however this terrible traits can also be witnessed later in our lives when when the male begins to assert it's dominance as the procreation stage arrives .
Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/steven-richardson6/message
The green eyed monster of sin that secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within usually it's only seen in children as their rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension , however this terrible traits can also be witnessed later in our lives when when the male begins to assert it's dominance as the procreation stage arrives .
Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/steven-richardson6/message
A song I wrote this morning for a girl who ran a grease box cafe in the favela , If cook's could kill then this greasy girl was definitely licensed to grill !! she's always standing by ever ready to kill your sense of humour with sarcasm or ease the stomach acid with her peppermint pill
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A poem I wrote for the everso beautiful Lindsay who is leaving after 11 years she brought her LGBT spirit and colour into our drab fifty souls of grey community bombing us daily with vivid wondrous paintings she takes with her an extraordinary feng shui losing her is like the loss of a perpetual summer's day , artist are the community take them away and you kill it's soul you're left with empty plastic people with tarmac tongues and concrete craniums.
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A little ditty I wrote for lillian's birthday who was born on the first of may now aged nine .all rights reserved
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Unfortunately this was based on real life events within hours of a small miss demeanor involving a flood the Chinese whispers got to work and in the gossiping café's of old H-gate every transformation took place looking back it's quite amusing how things can get so convoluted with each conversation people love scandal
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A song about setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today there were no mobile phones or multimedia just the odd phone box for calls with your thumb and forefinger for transportation hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe taking years and years almost a decade to the point where many of us became wonderlust with our own wanderlust , but we did become quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time spieling with strangers , way back when you had the safety of being completely anonymous due to not having any mobiles or media where now the new wage travellers are so guarded due to the sapiens surveillance of God Google and the silicone starzi Siri .
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A crazy sketch about the three minuters club and their bizarre antics, it is loosely based on true life events.
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With courage commitment and candour these extraordinary women did something that had never been done before and that was to bring the age of equality knocking heavily upon the British empire door , legions of suffragettes issued their declaration of war against the centuries of bigotry slaughtering dead the fat old British empires dinosaur .
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A little swing jazz tune written for a friend who has an extremely high sex drive it uses the feminine and the masculine tense due to the person in question being bisexual he once called him self a sexual psychopath.
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A song I wrote about the king of rock and roll it's done in the fifties crooning style . He was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of but also to attack the musical apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet .
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A short ditty written for the god Google children who now speak in fluent geek , They say that the earth shell will belong to the meek I think they might mean the. "GEEK "
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A short song I wrote whilst trapped in rush hour on the M25 you may hear a few cars zooming past forgive the quality , its certainly a highway to hell and your brain boils in its crab faced shell; at night it turns into a Cannon Ball Run a hundred and seventeen miles of MAD MAX fun with motor cycles screaming past like something out of the movie TOP GUN. I say if there's anyone out there with good musical ability who would care to lend me a hand with these songs please give me a email as you can hear I'm only a lyricist. slr34@hotmail.com
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Our green karma Queen casts her svelt shadow over we obstinate boulder brained beasts lighting an alternative pathway towards her spiritual sentient sanctuary .
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I was having breakfast from a cheap cafe overlooking a piece of small purgatory where a young woman was living on the street under an umbrella in the shop doorway when suddenly she awoke relieved herself on a blue bucket and threw it into the street and then began begging from the passing early morning trade whilst I ate blue berries even though at the moment I am in poverty earning very little money there is always someone to let me know that am in paradise compared to them.
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A tune I wrote about Lily my god daughter who was having a love affair with the fridge sticking everything on their as if it be a long white work of art or the empty walls of her heart 💖
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A song I wrote today after seeing an old Keltic companion I haven't seen for a decade a true blue eyed raven headed Bretagne . The Romans drove them to the furthest reaches of the kingdom so did Edward long shanks hammer of the scots who also stole their ancient kings destiny stone and put it under his own throne Then By the act of supremacy Henry VIII made himself a god figure to rule over all kingdoms , and so you can understand by what they did why the Keltic people feel quite a mistrust towards Westminster and why they would like devolution
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A cynical love song . My Family members were 1920s dyed-in-the-wool Yorkshiremen who believed that love be measured in pounds Shillings and pence and behind the white picket fence was a work house specially built to keep wife wain or wench who had a value similar to that of blood stock and foul , children being merely chattels without soul .
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A short story based upon real life events of my childhood at the time they felt terrifying but now looking back they are the source of amusement for writing. Blue bloods are quite simply mad !! , they treat normal reality as an inconvenient triviality , rules to them don't exist and the rest of mere mortality are kept around as fluffers for their joviality in what's usually a porno drama of pansexuality .
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What was once a stamp for a tramp or cut of the criminal class is now adorning face and physique of aristocrat , royalty and supermodel chic .
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A poem about my father's time aboard a super cruise liner where all the old badgers caught a virus very similar to Covid and almost died .
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A poem I wrote to commemorate the courage of Christine the first transexual beauty queen who back in 1953 decided bravely to have her gender reassigned to its rightful sexuallity in order that she may be set free from the burden of having to live with her very unwanted masculinity, but it would be a long haul from the first roll of that snowball before the gay community finally made they're stand for equality at the Inn we now know as stonewall.
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An English king's breakfast could consist of swine flesh , embryos fungi ,congealed blood , kippers, herring , pike , roach various birds , venison, cockles and pilchards . when thinking about the Buddhist belief of reincarnation wouldn't it be a devine justice if these gargantuan gluttons came back as screaming red faced tomatoes in a vegan salad .
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Blue bloods are quite simply mad , they treat normal reality as some sort of bland banality rules don't exist and the rest of mortality is merely to keep them in their constant state of joviality.
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A poem written for a sibling son whose quest for frolic and fun wedge hatred in-between his brothers love by what he'd gone and done , it's difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son especially if you're looking through the eyes of the other hard working one who through restraint and strive hath managed with diligent life toiled and tilled the farm in order to fill empty bellies and winter barn now back without a crumb returns the squandering sibling pun doubtless to take the family fortune for yet another hit an run better remember this of the prodigal son who fritted away everything from dad and mum let him now work to the rise and fall of a burning sun whilst you yourself seek out some frolic an fun
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A short ditty written for the god children who now speak in fluent geek and worship God Google , They say that the earth will belong to the meek I think they might mean the "GEEK
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A short sketch I wrote about a Christmas bash with the Old deaf relatives , cooking programmes and war movies on alternative TV stations with their daughter trying to talk in between both of them without success .
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A musing about road rage and how it affects all of us , simmer the sapien inside a tin can especially in a stop start traffic jam and it quickly reverts back to primitive man and that includes pacifists and your little old Gran .
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Her mother is always in a constant Spring clean dusting and polishing until everything in the house begins to gleam, then again she could be addicted to the smell of Mr sheen or has she been drinking far too much caffeine, perhaps it's something to do with the covid vaccine that's turned her into this dopamine drama queen, what about the lack of vitamin b12 is she missing the red meat protein she's never quite been the same since she read the vegan magazine, oh for heaven's sake someone please intervene and turn off this terrifying domestic terrain cleaning machine .
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With courage commitment and candour these extraordinary women did something that had never been done before and that was to bring the age of equality knocking heavily upon the British empire door , legions of suffragettes issued their declaration of war against the centuries of bigotry slaughtering dead the fat old British empires dinosaur .
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A musing about two relative's who should never have entered into a doomed relationship due to their persuasions and personalities being planets apart one a reclusive miser and the other an extravagant extrovert ; perhaps now with the internet we might make a much better match . com or sexual selection of it with God Google's precision and profiling us to the last detail of our mortal minutiae it should make for some interesting parings that are not left to the seven senses of the sapien .
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Mustang men in middle aged look like mirages of their former selves , once they were war-faced warriors now they've become warfarin worries , they use to be part of the Friday night fever disco scene today they're scared of cottage pie and cholesterol cream.
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Being at sea aboard huge luxury vessels is very glamorous and as a skipper come captain it is so easy to be wined and dined each evening by billionaires with the finest foods and drink the only drawback is that you steadily become an old soak, I worked alongside many captains who became just that, thinking back to a collision at night with JJ the skipper and a refugee boat he had got drunk with a stewardess and gone to bed leaving the vessel on autopilot the similarities to Titanic are on a much smaller scale but just as deadly , doing double dog watch shifts doesn't help instead of 4 hours you do 8 covering for someone or even the milk shift when you start at midnight and sometimes finish six hours later dozing asleep is so easy if the auto pilots on many of our crew used to come on the milk shift smelling of booze - sea watches disorientate you I've seen quite a few old sailors having a beer for breakfast as they come off the first watch at 4 am .
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Buying power tools at the hardware store then attempting some DIY well you truly may as well arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another one of the casualty scores,. around the world run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are much higher than in most modern theatres of war.
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A poem about an angry old man who was released from his angst after being given a course of oestrogen hormone therapy to combat prostate cancer which freed up his feminine side he's a much happier man now that he's let loose his lesbian libido .
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A musing about Lord Kitchener who's Sabre rattling speeches come sermons raised rampant applause back in Whitehall and Westminster whilst unfortunately his young Virgin soldiers were dying by 6000 a day , he had printed into their guide books for war , "avoid wine and women" meaning french prostitutes , with a life expectancy of 17 hours catching a little pox would have been the least of their worries .
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In the swinging sixties to own a car was rare but if it be a jaguar then you were the young nouveau rich the fake faux millionaires and make believe movie stars as were members of my friends and family usually their balloons burst in bankruptcy debt and divorce , too much money in young hands is like playing with the fire of a newly found passionate desire
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The green eyed monster of sin that secret schadenfreude which we keep hidden away so deep within usually it's only seen in children as their rival for survival and parental attention the lowly leftover instinct of our anthropic ascension , however this terrible traits can also be witnessed later in our lives when when the male begins to assert it's dominance as the procreation stage arrives .
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Looking at my Godson watching The Lion king I cast my mind back to my childhood when I first saw a pathetic beast that was being used as a pet come guard dog in a scrap yard , chained toothless clawless and castrated it this lion died of pneumonia due to coldness and cruelty ,man should leave these beautiful beasts on the Savannah where they belong .
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A poem for the king of rock and roll he was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of that but also to attack the apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet
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Back in the 60's heavy industry was extremely hard work the way the men eased their burden was with non-stop humour, today its seen as some social deride like a malignant tumor and has been so badly beaten by our political correctness untill it's become all but a reminiscing rumour amongst the elderly.
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A poem written for a woman who lost the love of her life then tried to replace and replicate her lost fate only to end up living in some dreadful union of hate .
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Listening to these waffling old windbags wheezing about saving our world , those who quaff down expensive wine squandering fifty pounds a glass and then dare to set the price of carbon capture at three pounds a ton and this to save your granddaughter or grandson ?.
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A short poem about lust, that seemingly deadly sin, that if the devil be shamed and the truth told it's an instinctive desire that we all behold .
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A poem for a dear friend of mine who's charismatic appeal with women is so legendary that it led to him receiving a pseudonym of The Valley Drive Lady Killer even whilst laid on the surgeons slab awaiting a serious operation he was still able to twirl the attention of a young nurse who was at the time wet shaving him of all body hair ready for his open heart surgery.
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A poem written about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub , he then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta .
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A musing about giving your offspring a strong polysyllabic sounding name something to inspire them to aspire towards fortune and fame .
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A musing about an artist girlfriend that I lived with in Barcelona Spain at the time I couldn't understand what she ment when she use to say that she was a spiritual suffragette sacrificing love and life for her art I did use to think her a pompous pretentious spoilt brat now after twelve months of lockdown living as a mendicant monk in my own solitary confinement cell I'm beginning to understand her state of mind .
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Living as belfry bats fuelled by booze and nose gay narcotics we shared shrink spiel and serotonin Smarties , arriving at all the piss, powder and perfume parties fluttering feebly back by the light of dawn .
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a musing about an artist girlfriend and her crazy cultural crew, their works of art or gestation periods of genius took almost as long as those of real pregnancies .
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The Westminster war of brexit has split a lot of blood onto the backbenchers but who will win the feudalistic few or the milky middle class .
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Old Colonials talk of empire its quite shocking how they used to think of human beings as nothing more than chattels not just the natives but also the white workers and soldiers such as my old father now 95 years of age he told me during his time in India just after the second world War protecting the British Raj who also looked upon him as a SLAVE OF EMPIRE .
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Emblazoned bright upon his breast he carries that noble heraldic crest , tis the colour of blood and fire be it a blessed response to his lovers desire, suspicion states that he was at the passion of christ , an there by thorny crown was blooded an blessed , is this why today he doth still sanctify the arrival of our christmas fest .
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Setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today there were no mobile phones or multimedia just the odd phone box for calls with your thumb and forefinger for transportation Hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe taking years and years almost a decade to the point where many of us became wonderless with our own wanderlust , but still quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time spieling with strangers where way back when you had the safety of being completely anonymous due to not having any mobiles or media where as now the new travellers are so guarded under the sapien surveillance of God Google and the silicon starzi .
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The crisis of covid-19 has caused our fast spinning world to slow to a seizing after trillions of dollars of quantitative easing it still feels like the whole world has been hit by some dreadful physical freezing now everybody waits with bated breath for the chancellor of the Exchequer to begin his terrible squeezing an just when the pandemic feels over winter arrives and again people start coughing an sneezing gasping an a wheezing .
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Blue September skies signals the end of Summer's lease the autumn equinox in one day changes everything tilting time and tugging tide , it's as though our seasons of life has suddenly died .
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A birthday poem for Neno, I call it Black Rod because for the first time in Britain's Parliamentary history this position of spiritual and temporal power has been handed over to a woman the willow may look soft and gentle but inside lies a heart of oak stronger than a yard arm of English oak .
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Covid 19 as seen through the eyes of a squirrel watching them fighting for scraps from the dustbins whilst under lock down ,they appear so confident without us , I think possibly the only thing they'd missed about our absence is possible the leftovers of Ben and Jerry's ice cream .
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Oliver Cromwell said to his portrait artist , Paint me warts and all he had the skin of and old toad after his death his body was exhumed and hung at Tyburn then his head was decapitated and placed outside Westminster palace the parliament he'd spilt so much blood to put in place. I've purposely placed the old archaic English terms into rural colloquial Yorkshire speech which in certain communities is still in common use today .
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A musing for a wonderful women we called Ann Summers due to her working there, she asked for a birthday card poem and caused me a writer's block which when I tried to explain she cursed me a look of pure disdain , so I wrote it along the lines of if I'd bumped into her serving at the Ann summers shop. Katie looks at all men with indifference and always takes fun from them I say Bravo Darling it's all we do so deserve . Art work by Steven Richardson.
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A poem for Neno who used to be a winged traveler in her younger days but now since having a baby daughter Lily named after the immortal horn of Gabriel she doesn't feel the need to leave this earthly piece of ground she has discovered the destiny for which she was bound .
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The only true miracle that we mortal beings are likely to see comes in the form of our genetic immortality that gene transfer continuum better known to you and me as a baby, Throughout the humans brief biological history it has believed in many a different sherman deity an Divinity ranging from Greek gods to our present day Corpus Christi, But when it comes to the real miracle making capability then it's the female of our species that is graced with the life giving fertility. This poem is written for a close friend of mine who described the birth of his baby daughter as quite devine he said she resembled a blue Budda of death an then suddenly gasped and bloomed into life by taking her first extrauterine breath .
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A musing about the private member's bills passed with rousing British Parliamentary pomposity it sounds like they're committing a serious aural atrocity but it's usually being diatribed by someone that's spieling through their own suppository .
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Every day the paparazzi serve us our sadistic sacrifice all flesh red and raw, no good being a herbivore if you read the daily tabloid's blood and gore , You've really got to be a proper cover story carnivore with the stomach of a toreador , let's face it the press room's a slaughtering house stable and the editor's desk is nothing more than the butcher's table.
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A whale song dream turns out to be the squealing brake drums of a distant dust truck it's sound distorted by gusting wind singing through ginnel and garret , bin lids cymbal into the sensitivity of your sobriety announcing the arrival of an unwanted monday morning's anxiety.
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The sloth is portrayed as the epitome of laziness but this little arboreal adaption turns out to be a perfect green dream a hairy little leaf eating machine that has a zero carbon footprint and could save the world all on its own we would do well to put a little of the sinful slow sloth back in our own fast food life styles in order to try and save our poor planet .
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The high functioning alcoholic starts the day with a liberal libation of liquid sin, beneath their Celtic cream coloured skin once beat the heart of Gunga Din .
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A person who is cast in abject austerity remains of that mind set ,even though they've elevated themselves to a privileged prosperity.
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I was quite horrified to read that the human is responsible for the slaughter of three billion aninmals each day i wrote the poem in a pompous manner after listening to a hunter talking about his blood sports, he truly belived it tobe his righteous privalage to kill similar to royalty and the religious who once regularly pleasured their pallets with the flesh of endangered animals with some still doing so today after buying a licence from secret African auction houses in many poorer countries gluttony and obesity are seen as wealthy status symbols .
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A short poem for Todd's forth birthday his name means the fox although the only thing I've seen him foraging for are chocolate lollipop from the icebox .
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If your partner starts wearing black leather and reading Mein Kampt or Le Marquis De Sade order yourself a stab proof vest before they move on to Friederic Nietzsche an try to kill you , written for that crazy little girl who I'll love till I die even though she was a dypsomaniac with a diploma .
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A short song about Buying power tools at the DIY hardware store? you truly may as well arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another one of the do it yourself casualty score , around the world figures run into the hundreds of thousands the body counts are much higher than in most actual modern theatres of war .
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The robin is always first on the scene unafraid of humans or much else this courageous little spiv wares a blood red bib due to scrapping to the death.
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The english aristocrats are completely crazy one use to ride around his country estate on a giraffe dray and giant tortoises he kept every type of animal in his house this is a funny sketch about Thornton Harding the junior and his obsession with exotic pets he's building a kangaroo netball team .
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Greta has an almost impossible sales pitch she's to demand that the incredibly rich dumped that expensive pieces of kitsch , they fly to the cop out climate meetings in their lear jets and show not the slightest hesitation of any regrets, her gargantuan glitch is to try to move these people towards the green dream of a beggars itch, but these dinosaurs who block destiny's drawbridge are mega rich and have no intention of surrendering any of their Kardashian kitsch. To quote Churchill sardonically, , "Never was so much owed by so many to so few".
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When you get to fifty something plus tax seemingly a sexy silver fox sporting those ashtray coloured locks you may want to forget about the fifty shades of grey and perhaps think of putting your sex pistols away .
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A poem about the most famous tree in all of history "Robin Hood's Royal Oak" , a thousand years of living monumental mystery with empty holes and hollow the winter winds howl through creating such a mournful sound of sorrow .
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A short poem written about the money monsters in the city of London thay feed the needy to the greedy down on London's squire mile all the while with their wry smirk and smile hence why this rapacious reptile called Mr mercantile .
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Similar to an Eskimo fishing through a hole in the ice one could easily imagine a soul catcher waiting patiently at the edge of a black hole in order to capture our very essence , then freeze drying us in the absolute zero of infinity giving him our plasma concentrate life , we'd be ready for a re-nucleation or reconstitution, and what better freeze drying facility than the perfectly vacuumed packaging plant of space .
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A poem i wrote for the fire and brimstone preacher who baptised me in an ice water stone trough a wild religious Celt with raven hair alabaster skin and husky dog blue eyes a true blood line of the ancient Bretagne .
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The macabre story about a great grandmother who's ashes were made into a bone china plate by her broken hearted lover , the practice of using powdered human bone in pottery still continues to this day with artists such as Crow and Kraft who call it crafting Cremains .
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Thinking back to my parents fate it's hard to see how they once did romantically pass through the eden gate into the land of milk and money where they fell hopelessly in love and felt the urge to passionately procreate , after which they wore the mortgage mask that twenty five year servile task eventually paying back the bank managers seven percent overdraft , they scrimped and scrapped in a steel city strife an then this beleaguered husband and wife decided to search out a big world party and a brand new life , they both sat before a monk faced magistrate who annulled their vows of matrimony awarding one spouse the house and the other a monthly allowance of alimony, Friends and family did try to console and commiserate all in vain an far too late due to both parties now having hearts made of suede and heads full of hate .
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Every day the paparazzi serve us our sadistic sacrifice all flesh red and raw, no good being a herbivore if you read the daily tabloid's blood and gore , You've really got to be a proper cover story carnivore with the stomach of a toreador , let's face it the press room's a slaughtering house stable and the editor's desk is nothing more than the butcher's table.
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A poem written for a crazy young woman who I fell hopelessly in love with during the summer of 1992 whilst working in the South of France aboard yachts in the port of Antibes . Together we stayed in a huge stone pile called the chateau Laval courtesy of Jack et Michelle Olga was a green-eyed goddess with olive skin and a temper that she'd borrowed from the dog cerberus , I was a dotting fool but hay to everyone who's ever suffered from the lightning strike of love at first sight or as the Italians call it "amoure a prima vista" or in the French" le coupé de foudre", all I can say is that like myself i hope that you've never recovered and never do because it's a beautiful feeling of being processed by the madness of passion.
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This is a poem i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyled freak.
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A poem about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even after acquiring weath still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.
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A preacher man told to me that all of us come pre packaged with the seven shades of sin which are basically our primitive seven instincts of survival that we needed whilst hunter gathering on the savage African Savannah through evolution and ecclesiastical endeavours we have been trying to adapt our mammalian species to a more sacred sentient state of being ever since .
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A song to commemorate the courage of Christine the first transexual beauty queen who back in 1953 decided bravely to have her gender reassigned to its rightful sexuallity in order that she may be set free from the burden of having to live with her very unwanted masculinity. but it would be a long haul from the first roll of that snowball before the gay community finally made they're stand for equality at the pub we now know as stonewall.
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A short story based on real life events when I first ever traveled abroad to France and we lived like tramps on the street washing in fountains stealing food from shops as vagrants and vagabonds until somebody came up with a great idea of putting together the tramps brigade who lived on the swamp in cap d'age the next thing we were all assigned duties and discipline
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A short story about crazy maniacs who shared space and spilt blood with me , you should never really put three bisexuals and an asexual under one roof especially if one pushes everything and everyone to the limit of their patience
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Our green karma Queen casts her svelt shadows over the obstinate boulder brained beast lighting her alternative pathway towards a spiritual sentient sanctuary .
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This is a poem about the complacency of people and their attitudes towards the temperature rise of two degrees you'd think that the powers that be were waffling about a couple of cream teas or the price of peas, some have the audacity to blame the up and coming new economies such as the Chinese after we have been pumping out the smoke and sleaze since the early 1750's others think that it's just a temperature tease and come the next year we'll all be back to the big freeze I don't know what it's going to take to move the world's most powerful trustees maybe when it begins to back flush the drains up around everyone's knees .
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This is a song i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyle freak. All rights reserved.
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A poem I wrote for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an old model T ford motor car needs constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running . I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech ,he was born in the days of the horse and cart starting work at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of steel river , he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world they also used the might of elephants due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel , for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches , each time a train grumbled over the viaduct these massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.
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A poem about a very beautiful woman called Claudia who's powerful persona ricochete around us like a midnight thunder , on first meeting she would still and seduce ya with her silent stare of medusa .
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A poem about lord Kitchener's sabre rattling speeches come sermons his soldiers were dying at the rate of 6000 a day aged between 16-18, he had printed into their war guide books that they must avoid wine and women meaning prostitutes and drink with a life expectancy of 17 Hours catching a little pox or slaughtering a little sobriety would have been the least of their worries .
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Two haiku poems , TEAR DROP shows how a Tsunami of sorrow can start from the slightest ripple. REVOLTING, a poem describing how if you distract the populous with something revolting it can avert a revolution as with Rome's Colosseum or today's violent multimedia games , sedate the sapiens savagery the status quo can then survive .
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Medieval doctors use to dress up as huge birds with long beak's believing that the soul was delivered and despatched by the avian transmigration i.e Stalk''s, babies, Raven's = devils, Cookoo's madness etc. Loosing a family member to cancer that small egg shaped lump seems to hatch into something of vulturous bird flesh eating bird .
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Growing up in a witches coven with all them casting spells over everything and everyone I couldn't understand the stars then or now they were always fighting for the Sorceresse's supremacy calling each other with crazy names Pluto June or Evil Aquarius .
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Being at sea aboard huge luxury vessels is very glamorous and as a skipper come captain it is so easy to be wined and dined each evening by billionaires with the finest foods and drink the only drawback is that you steadily become an old soak, I worked alongside many captains who became just that, thinking back to a collision at night with JJ the skipper and a refugee boat he had got drunk with a stewardess and gone to bed leaving the vessel on autopilot the similarities to Titanic are on a much smaller scale but just as deadly , doing double dog watch shifts doesn't help instead of 4 hours you do 8 covering for someone or even the milk shift when you start at midnight and sometimes finish six hours later dozing asleep is so easy if the auto pilots on many of our crew used to come on the milk shift smelling of booze - sea watches disorientate you I've seen quite a few old sailors having a beer as they come off the first watch at 4 am .
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Her swan song is what you hear just before your love boat runs aground and the scent of sulphur be the final pheromone you smell as you slowly begin to drowned .
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We used to be the bonhomie brothers to revelry these ghosts of the good Life that now haunt past each other in the street with a gaze averted towards your feet , their spirits and spectres have all been exorcised by a big dry of sobriety which has turned them into normal members of society ; now they they don't strut so proud or shout too loud , now they just shuffle past you with their eyes cowed and heads held bowed.
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My words may seem callous and cruel but then they are the comments collected from the clientele who share café space with these poor disabled individuals , by the grace of good fortune there walk we .
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A short sketch about a friend who was always in the dry out clinic or a shrink clink where he would telephone and try to explain what his psychiatrist was doing , exasperatedly he would shout back that it was nothing to do with the drink !!. "Belfry" was the name for his depression a pet black bat .
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Greed a deadly sin or an instinct of survival which was very much needed to succeed and survive especially in a hunter gathering situation .
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A poem I wrote about a crippled girl I lived aside who had a soul so beautiful it cast long shadows of perfection over my dirty old anima.
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The British boarding schools were without doubt what built the British Empire, anyone subjected to this kind of brutal cruelty or treatment could easily subjugate a sufferance over someone else especially another nationality creed which the British empire managed to achieve for a few hundred years each school had peculiar traits Eton used to be famous for its flage Friday where boys would be placed onto a birching block and thrashed.
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Sooner than later we as a species will have to address our crazy situation of over population , due to land perishing and pollution in the final stages we may very well end up as refugees building our own blood lined barricades of revolution .
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A poem about leaving behind the industrial Revolution of Sheffield at the age 19 . The Armageddon come apocalypse of the first industrialised disaster I left behind catching the minute past midnight train and i never look back, the same could be seid to the young people of today , free yourselves of this synthetic silicon slavery!! and seek out the natural world .
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Prostitution is one of the oldest professions in the world which was here before the four angels of Samuel it's about time the government took control of this sexual slavery let's face facts the chancellor's been selling cigarettes and booze for hundred of years they're both forms of narcotics best not allow the criminals any room to manoeuvre best to take over all their operations Save the girls any more torture legalise this profession too .
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A musing about an old friend who has now divorced and gone back onto the Mating sites looking for lust not realising that his old sex pistol has long since turned to rust , men of curtain age with faint hearts and feeble flesh really they need to be extremely careful I told one chum that his Bumble dating site might be better if it was called crumble due to the flaking dusty disposition of its clients.
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Today the cardinal sin that we call greed was ultimately born out of the necessity for us to gorge and feed whilst trying to out run a savage predatory rival in what was the flight or fight of our stone age survival, greed also ment that we could sire and seed across a much stronger lineage to the next burgeoning member of our breed; later religion took over the lead and ordained that its newly found christian creed should be brought to heel and made to heed in order that it's gluttonous heathen soul be freed through abstinence and fasting allowing at last for its salvation to succeed .
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A poem written for two old Bohemians who through reckless behaviour in younger year did so destroy the fragile entity of love , and are now left with just the ghost of her to haunt their old hearts .
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A poem for supertramp who had a unique way of curing his halitosis by drinking your aftershave as well as the rest of your bathroom cabinet dry. Beware beware of the ambre solaire .
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This invisible foe the fear is here our café laite life styles are over we're living as trappist monk in self isolation cells our secular society is all but defunk .
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A poem for big Manchester Pete the hardest looking man you'd ever meet a face made for trick or treat but inside his heart was softer than boiled sugar beet .
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A poem written for a sibling son whose quest for frolic and fun wedge hatred in-between his brothers love by what he'd gone and done , it's difficult to understand the parable of the prodigal son especially if you're looking through the eyes of the other hard working one who through restraint and strive hath managed with diligent life toiled and tilled the farm in order to fill empty bellies and winter barn now back without a crumb returns the squandering sibling pun doubtless to take the family fortune for yet another hit an run better remember this of the prodigal son who fritted away everything from dad and mum let him now work to the rise and fall of a burning sun whilst you yourself seek out some frolic an fun
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A musing about our Star Trek scientists who make it sound like our intergalactic fate is just a walk through a subway station into some subatomic particle Stargate .
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The Belles Angels a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather and lace they murdered every midnight hour slaking an slaughtering sobriety , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless you all .
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The human hunter gatherer brain is so very hard to truth train but maybe not if you start using the new silicon scopolamine dream and drip feed it daily with some digital dopamine served up from our omnipresent Turing machine.
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Steve McQueen once said he came from the gutter and that he'd not done bad for an orphan boy . Every year he used to go back to the borstal where the bungalow boys beat him back into line he became head boy there then after a fifty different jobs from lumberjack, getaway driver, pimp and gunrunner etc he finally found his niche a Co star James garner called him crazy McQueen, Bruce Lee said he was the toughest son of a gun, and Robert Vaughn admitted he had what you can never train pure natural talent which a thousand years studying at RADA wouldn't give you The X factor, vulnerability and violence mixed with stunning sex appeal that gave men and women a red light late night hot sweat dreams. The photo is a mugshot taken from one of his many DWIs . Steve McQueen the semi deaf dyslexic kid from the streets he certainly was an still is an inspiration very similar to Sean Connery who also had a hard up bringing on the streets of Edinburgh it also gave him that cool confident charisma l to just be them selves and no one else on and off set or as McQueen would say the ability to "hold your mud”.
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Greta has an almost impossible sales pitch she's to demand that the incredibly rich dumped that expensive pieces of kitsch , they fly to the cop out climate meetings in their lear jets and show not the slightest hesitation of any regrets, her gargantuan glitch is to try to move these people towards the green dream of a beggars itch, but these dinosaurs who block destiny's drawbridge are mega rich and have no intention of surrendering any of their Kardashian kitsch. To quote Churchill sardonically, , "Never was so much owed by so many to so few".
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A musing about a girl born with a greasy spoon who we nick named Nigella from the Favela , if cook's could kill then this girl is definitely licensed to grill !! .
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The Oxfam shop or "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see it , jumble sale junk.
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A short poem about riding aboard the busiest train in Europe ,the 7.32 Woking to Waterloo ,one hundred million passengers a year pass through Waterloo which makes for some terrifying or tantalising flesh to flesh points of view .
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Krystyana Skarbek was a polish beauty queen come countess and the longest serving spy in Churchill's SOE , with a life expectancy of six weeks she lasted seven years as a field agent fighting against Nazi tyranny only then to be betrayed by her own trusted powers that be , Britain with a stroke of their Judas pen turned her into a refugee and also leaked her name to Stalin's newly formed KGB , on the day that she was due to fly out to be married and finally set free she was stabbed fatally
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A poem I wrote about the suicidal tendencies of snails thay started out as jellyfish swimming free in wide open sea so I can now understand why bonded onto terrafirma they may suffer from depression or suicidal Tendencies throwing themselves to their deaths under our feet on every garden path or rain wet street .
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A prick of our precious pride is all that's needed to derail and deride our sensibility into taking a walk back onto its wild side.
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The building blocks of life are made from nucleic acids , Lysergic acid has also been around since the dawn of time doubtless it was eaten by our early primate species increasing hallucinogenic and conscious brain capability hence where the homo sapiens may have got their synaptic kick start .
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Vanity? Is it a sin ? or just the selfish substance that we need in order to win?.
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A poem come prayer for a baby who died at birth and never got a chance of life If ever you've been close to someone who's lost a new born then you do feel if it were possible you would swap souls with them and give them a chance at life.
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THE STATION. - A selection of sapiens found at the train station such a cosmopolitan lot.
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A poem about falling into destitution especially ex soldiers and sailors who you find in the beggars brigade of most British towns, how easy to forget these courageous service personnel who once protected us .
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These old sentinels guard over us in our early years stolid as grandfather clocks their old hearts pendulum the rhythm of life into our ears a blood metronome beat sounding to the timpani of our tiny feet .
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In the swinging sixties a sexpionage spy scandal took place called the Profumo Affaire unfortunately two of its players were amateurs and didn't know what the rules of the spy game were ; one was sacrificed as a scapegoat and the other Christine Keeler lived life under a long dark cloud until she died and all because they were enlisted by MI5 into taking part in a Russian honey trap for Queen and country which went dramatically wrong . Dr Steven Ward a brilliant osteopath and gifted portrait artist was demonised and double crossed to the point where he took his own life with an overdose of sleeping tablets the poison chalice , Baron Profumo who was the cause of it all retired in disgrace cleaning toilets and working for a charity where he was eventually awarded an OBE to pin next to the MBE and bronze star that he'd won as a military hero in the war . A wax statue still stands of Steven Ward in the house of horrors at Madame Tussauds a terribly cruel homage to say he was only doing what the British secret service ask or no doubt ordered him to do . The scandal also brought an Iron Curtain crashing down on the conservative government of Harold Macmillan .
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This is a poem I wrote for an innocent looking girl called Alice who when tempered up turns into a hell's angel of malice she resembles a fairytale princess fresh from a folkloric palace yet soon as she opens her mouth you think she's been drinking from the poisoned chalice with her hands in the air she stands about four feet tall but after a rise through with alcohol she turns into a native neanderthal, forget all about etiquette and protocol this little tomboy is more likely to be found scrapping on the terraces at an away game of football.
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The old post office Harrogate is located about a century behind Greenwich mean time, if you should slip out of sync or cross the line then the old soldiers will bark you back into their very discordant malign, they believe that you've committed a terrible war crimes my crossing over their precious ensign , but lets face facts it's been completely worn through by so many a shuffling shoe, but to them it's still sacred mark in time similar to the Siegfried line or the bridge at Oppenheim , a piece of their treasure disciplinarian design , that we should all . worship in patient purgatory until the end of our time .
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Living as an artist's muse you can understand the expression of The Doom in the room what artist's don't realise is that there ego's can be so burdensome to everyone else and probably has to be in order for them to achieve , this is usually why their muse's are usually so miserable. Whilst living with an artist as a muse I was painted with my own blood she thought it to be a wonderful contrast of colour red onto the stark white canvas my Anglo-Saxon skin reminiscent of the old English flag .
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After the third slave uprising of Rome a hundred thousand men lay dead on the battlefield another six thousand slaves were crucified along the appian way and left to rot as carrion crow fodder also they were a lesson for anyone else minded to rebel against the might of Rome ; the appian way at that time was a freeway into the capital city . Bizzar to think that there are still 40 million slaves in the world today , Africa and Asia carrying the most at twenty five million , at the height of British the Empire's slaving days it transported nine hundred thousand to the new colonies so as you can see this terrible trade is obviously still thriving and increasing in our supposedly modern and civilised century
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When you're a teenager there's always one out of your crew who takes too much powder and drinks too much brew we use to call him the Glastonbury gladiator , funny but with them having so much testosterone and adrenaline they also make brilliant parents when they've finished with their thirty year teenage rampage .
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If ever you should take a drink with a witch make sure you leave the very same night before the break of day or the dawn of light by which time you might just find yourself in a very unfortunate plight of being subjected to her JuJu cat's emasculation bite that leaves you as some sort of strangely sculptured hermaphrodite .
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Today there are approximately forty million slaves ten million of which are sex slaves, these poor poverty stricken women are used as weapons of war I was reading how some had been sold for as little as a packet of cigarettes at the auction block all colours including white . Today in the west girls become slaves working out suburban back bedrooms cellars or even in the case of a friend from some pantry steps using Web cams they account for a third of all organised crime profits .
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A poem about men and their midwife crisis as a matter course men feel the need to try out a new horse so they get a divorce and set off in search of adventure usually riding a Harley-Davidson towards the sun and what they think will be some all new sexual fun .
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Carrying a vicarious redemption on behalf of someone else is a burdensome weight the preachers daughter still carries hers each moment of each day a beautiful quiet soul who was given the sin substitution by her callous caretakers her atonement isn't due any time soon .
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Hidden deep in her silver box were the secret letters of her long dead lover who in that moment of war when passion was in fashion she fed it red and raw to her hungry dog d'amour .
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A short humorous story I wrote about a man who was carrying a vicarious redemption on behalf of something else a burdensome task which was only relinquished by his death where upon he was given the cold cruel truth by his absent minded time lord who tries to make amends but far too late .
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Treachery and treason never go out of season the gunpowder plot was the spy master's crowning piece of glory he'd managed to use the plot to catapult James the 1st from being a doomed king guaranteed to be assassinated into a national hero who united both Scotland and England into the union of Crowns a feat never before thought possible all by engineering a plot that was in its early stages and failing untill as an agent provocateur he coaxed it into a piece of political theatre using his mediaeval Machiavellian genius , Robert Cecil 1st earl of Salisbury was known by Elizabeth as the pygmy and by James the ist as his little beagle ,he also thwarted the Pope's attempts at a Catholic conversion .
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A musing for a girl called Ruby a teenage dream queen that's been hand made in heaven to a cat walking cool talking size seven fully loaded and as dangerous as a hot stick of nitroglycerin she glares an glints back guilty as the guillotine .
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A musing for Lily's tenth birthday with leather jacket to match my own design of cause - mother not too keen I have a sneeking suspicion she'd like one too . By ten years of age kids of today are silicone valley sage a decade old an they're ready to fledge the family fold , far too cool for school they just let TiK ToK Rock an Rule !! .
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The femme fatale overrides all of our rationale her swan song is the sound we hear as our love boat runs aground and the final pheromone we scent is that of sulphur as we start to drowned .
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There's now a full alphabetical list of varying genderization an A to Z of sexuality so very difficult to choose from all these variations no wonder most of the population leave it to computerisation , using the dating come mating sites to mix match and marry our many differing persuasions
.
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William marwood's long drop solution brought about a revolution in the British Empires approach for delivering a more humane method of execution .
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The loss of a lion's mane is similar to that of a man's hair as it recedes they both become a little timid and tame loosing pride and prowess both these mammals are now out of the mating game .
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A short minute musing about how if you infect a friend's computer with a virus they treat it as if you have infected them with the clap .
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A poem about artist girlfriend who's Spanish African temperament could turn from being a soft mistral breeze that gently caresses into violent blood raining Scirocco that tears the blossom from the trees slamming doors and smashing flower pots and hearts into pieces washing them down the drain like biscuits in the rain .
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A musing about the Boer war whilst tens of thousands were dying of desease and starvation due to lord Kitchener's scorched earth policy he himself was heartbroken about losing his pet starling thank heavens he's not here sorting out the coronavirus .
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The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin that collaborative companion that shares our secular sin so silently from within accompanying us from a womb to the tomb an then ultimately giving evidence at our final doom . software one day maybe so sensitive and bio hybridized to our DNA that it could just become our very own soul cage I almost feel as though my computer tech is reading my mind in some sort of strange tech telepathy they were recently saying that the cloned Polo horses which have identical DNA from their donor artificially computerized to perfection have all the exact instincts even down to being scared of the same things in the stable yard as the doners even though they have never seen any of the apperatus before daddies daja vue
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When you turn on a virtual assistant Alexa , Siri or Cortana , for the first time even as an adult but especially as a child it feels like You've turned into a God or Goddess of wisdom children will almost certainly give up on any parental guidance and move into a cyber space or a Walt Disney crack house world .
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When children acquire their first language they sing like a fresh fledgling on the first day of spring with that easy natural swing which to them is a brand new play thing without any restraining ring , their simple melodic crooning needs no interference or fine tuning but unfortunately school comes along with its lexicon Lego box tongue "dislexicating " what was once a beautiful song leaving that innocent syllable swing broken as a veritable birds wing the kids then become too frightened to fly and drag their dislocated diction around in a sling untill eventually as teenagers they at last cut loose from the apron string and once again begin to sing.
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The birds and bees are leaving their flowers and trees to join in order to join us us in lapping up our left overs, they'll hardly be floaty lite on the breeze after eating our fast food of sleaze .
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The last update of a human brain was in the stone age hence why we still carry the trait of wrath , some believe it's one of the seven deadly sins whilst others say it be just a left over instinct from the sapiens savage days of survival on the African Savannah .
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The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin that collaborative companion that shares our secular sin so silently from within accompanying us from a womb to the tomb an then ultimately giving evidence in our final doom .
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A poem I wrote for a terribly crippled girl Daniella she lived in agony all her life but there wasn't a day I didn't see her smile , a soul so beautiful it cast long shadows of perfection over my dirty own anima and many others .
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Short poem I wrote about the neo omnipresent computer that seems almost all controlling and God like in its invisible power and presence.
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A poem about a miserable old neighbour called stan who once had everything a palace and a kingdom but then unfortunately lost everything and was reduced to that of a normal man , alas such a tragedy to fall amonst we the mere mortal clan .
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We watch the bloodstained refugee whilst sitting at home with wine and a takeaway TV , What is happening in Ukraine is yet another terrible tragedy President Putin and America with allies recently reduced the middle East to ruins displacing tens of millions of refugees another tyrannical war game any of us with half a brain can see that it's the blood of the innocent yet again that is spilling down the drain !! .
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A song I wrote in the old music hall traditiion of two verse chorus which is similar to the church stanza chorus stanza chorus I've also sang it in the baritone barber shop of a beggers opera style like that of my father who born in 1925 still bursts into song similar to a Mississippi minstrel .
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The booze has dammed the soul of many a Keltic kin once upon a life time ago we were the Gunga Din.
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A song I wrote for a crazy young girl who's beauty could have caused Aphrodite to scream a blue rage of jealously and it was fairly obvious to see her maker man was OCD and once you're under her spell you just can't break free . all rights reserved.
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A short song I wrote for my god children who love to alternate things to risky rhetoric especially in cartoons and almost all things their word play being a speciality children always push the boundaries of imagination and give chancy candid connotations as if they're the most natural notions of naivety. . , all rights reserved.
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A song I wrote yesterday with my godson about his father's nightly drinking habits we call it the old and filthy. all rights reserved .
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A musing for lily age 9 and her cat Sean who's got incredibly fat getting stuck in his own cat flap due to him having been neutered and putting on a lot of weight The new front door was also fitted without taking his measurements . Narrated in a Yorkshire accent due to Sean being born and raised there.
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Twenty years ago it came as quite a shock when someone we knew became bisexual especially as they'd been such a lady killer and then became such a man eater, still what then seemed such a big squeal is now an every day done deal.
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As you get older looking for love is similar to rummaging through a scrap yard come jumble sale you sift an shake through the worn torn fragile and fail usually to no avail things are stretched out of shape almost befitting the proverbial grey whale instead of the once sleek male or female then suddenly there it is the right one for you the little bunny rabbits bob tail an together you dovetail perfectly as you'd been handmade by thomas chippendale .
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Living our lives as nocturnal belfry bats fuelled by booze and nose gay narcotics we'd flutter back at dawn after sharing shrink spiel and serotonin Smarties at all the high octane piss and powder parties in H-gate is there any wonder that we all became neurotic suffering from nervous breakdowns and depression the Spanish au pairs around at that time always sounded and sang similar to Carmen Miaranda rolling their R's like a pair of castanets . All rights reserved
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This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 , from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .
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A poem about the rain cycle's continual celestial cleansing this perpetual purification of precipitation shows no discrimination of skin treating us all to the same asperging sanctification from sin .
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A poem about emperors and kings who believe themselves to be the devine demagoguery even as children they had whipping boys to take their punishment and guilt sacred scapegoats for them to stripe and slaughter ; If a devine deity did arrive on planet earth these mobsters and megalomaniacs would see that that quickly murdered .
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A short poem written about the savagery Of humans towards mother nature scaring her face with our callous hands of cruelty but she will soon shake us fleas into infinity and once again reclaim her beauty.
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It's about time the human realised that a tree is flesh and blood not just timber or a price of wood , these beautiful living entities give us shelter shade and our lifesaving breath ,without them we are condemning our selves to a curtain death
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A poem for Katy on reception who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk towards her straight into a paradise of quicksand .
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Upon seeing a cold cadaver staring back people begin to timidly tread in fear of the dead circling round as though it be some spectral apparition of dread .
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Looking at some tramps in cider park I felt so sorry for them but more so for their poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and the pets shivered in the cold. The musing is seen and spoken through the dogs perspective .
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Another crazy sketch about the life of Thornton Harding the junior an aristocrat who's mad about his pets , he calls them by the strangest names, such as his dog ,Warrington greyfriars Benson who i might add is allowed to do anything even driving his car .
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All Medieval religions outlawed usury as a sin, profit of any kind wasn't allowed it still stands as a judgement against you today the road to PERDITION is going to be litered with alot of the righteous as well as the devil's detritus .
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A song wrote about a mafia boss who was born in Le panier Marseille the last bastion of Beelzebub , he then rose to become France's ultimate crime Capo Di Capo lasting fifty years before being gunned down in Paris for an old corsican vendetta all rights reserved .
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The four elements of life, if we do not learn to respect them as ancient cultures did then they will cease to respect us .
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Walking into a very expensive veggie vegan boutique i listened to the sermon of a spiritual salesman it felt as if you we're about to sign papers for adoption the high priest of the Celtic druids worshipped his wild woodland produce I got the uneasy feeling that my blood was going be sacrificed under an oak tree called Zeus after i touched a sacred sprig of his mistletoe obviously punishable by pain of death .
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A musing I wrote about the sixty three year love affair between a member of the royal family and one her dutiful long standing servant known as G M for short, the Queen mums old cool companion .
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I wrote this little ditty after listening to a dear friend who's a lay preacher telling me that i may not be entering into the kingdom of heaven , i answered by stating that i did not want to go to heaven and he asked why surprised stating did i want to go to hell ? , i mentioned i would be quite happy to remain in limbo or purgatory rather than enter into the either where billions upon billions of souls from our past bitter waring human beings would be residing ; after experiencing the enormous divide that we have on this small mad mud island called Britain i really couldn't think of anything worse than to be crushed into a garden of eden with ever so many more people than there are here unless of course that their cantankerous contemptuous souls had been completely cleansed of all human trace in heaven's giant launderette , I have visions of souls on coat hangers totally transparent similar to the plastic covers at the dry cleaners.
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A little Ditty for Unis the Philipino irish girl who worked at the crown hotel and blew the minds and trousers of all those old pensioners from the Harrogate rotary club .
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The strange phenomenon of dizygotic twin estrangement when nothing of similarity seems to have been shared apart from their indifference towards each other .
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