Dream Village of the Viking Lore

Dream Village of the Viking Lore

I never imagined the darkness of this wooden house when I first dreamed myself here; in this night now of being here I never expected such a dread as there is – frozen to the edge of a bench bed. No sleep. No waking. No listening. I know the sounds are there and I know which beings reside in my mind.

It is morning. I am spinning from the bed and bouncing towards the new light. Hrimfaxi’s dew wetting my feet as I drop clothes down to the waist and drench myself in the mountain’s waters. They well back up naturally from this man-drilled hole. Dark depths echo in the torrent I bathe with. I am awake in this ancient life force like I never have been in wakefulness. Beings sent me these feelings and I am braver in a day.

I shall leave the embrace of being a Viking in the Viking hut in this Viking market in this Viking village in this Viking history. Leave the sense of becoming for a while and go dress up as a person. Adrian is going fishing, a strange mix I have planned of this dream in this moment. Not being a fisher before I have planned yes, for in the store back in the real Scarborough was a telescopic rod and reel which would fit in a suitcase easily; the collection of additions life-collected by my brother-in-law who has neither never fished either are with me in this adventure too. With thanks to him I pick up my knapsack.

I have walked this riverside path of the steep-walled fjord before in a realer reality and in this there was more light then than in imagined semi-anxious realities of now. Then I had walked high from the surface along cliff edges and looked down. There was a ripple in a circle as if a fish had jumped, this was a powerful ring however, it had a white water wave as a wall, ever growing across the waters, until the whole circular wave was as wide as the wide river itself. There was something large down there. There was somewhere very deep where something lived and breathed. There was a very real creature in here.

I headed there now, if one looks back at this point they see along the line of the slender river with its clearer shallower waters that feeds these deeps that there in this world and not so is the serpent being. It drifts in and out and weaves in and among and looks at me from its slow journey down wall-side way and knows I recall its visitation to my mind. When a winged serpent speaks inside your brain you recall well its words that I would be safe, safe within my very real fear; well-deserved fear would serve me well but I should not yield to it for I would return from my adventures with success in my heart. “Go young soul,” the wyrm bellows, “Go hunting deep.”

So it was that modern man me journeyed some way from sight of dwellings, away for sounds of morning, away from this dreamed up reality of Viking worlds and before anything of man could sail its large journey up these fjord waters I had them all to myself – and it was fearful.

Others have clambered down this narrow rocky cutting to be closer to the waters and others had seen the depths. I was in timelessness and sat upon a rock.

I decided to dredge-fish, this was a term I probably had dreamt up, but I wanted something big. I telescoped out my compact fishing rod for the first time and the line spun up along its length as it stretched and hung there ready. I drew out quite a length and fixed a sizable lead weight to the line. Then at the very end I tied a lure; a large plum creature of rubber with its curled barbed teeth of hooks – sizeable indeed. I was after something large. Something fat. For I had myself to feed and I had people to greet and welcome. For serpent whispers had foretold that I would return.

I held on to this prediction for the fears of my imagination were welling up from before time and threatening to become real for me.

I cast. There was a dull thrum as if Nidhogg’s entourage were driving the air with their wings. Ploop. The line was far from me and it drilled down. When I felt that it was at mid-depth I started to steadily wind. The strong weight held the line at this depth and the lure was moving.

There was movement, there was impeding darkness, it was a gloom of age and ancientness not of anything of difference between day or night. This was a thickening of the air a density of existence and I was engulfed.

Substantial silhouettes were forming in the drowning flow and things were coming up towards me. I felt a presence behind me. Huge stretched high-eared shapes were mixing around each other and lankily looking down towards me in awareness. Live stone was thumping the path and filling all senses. They were right behind me. The water broke.

Mantatee creatures were milling in the water, filling all space. In my mind they were climbing and changing as they rose out. Bellowing painfully to the ears and opening toothed maws these Draugen-beings were filling my awareness. The stone things pressed from behind. There was one short moment of life left to me in which both sides considered their actions and their reactions to each other when snap the rod twitched suddenly and dove downwards. Another reality of dream was with us; the catching of the fat thing from the depths.

I was alone in my battle, and battle it was, I feared I may lose the rod, or the fish at least.

I had to let it swim, let the reel spin. I slowed it, held it, reeled it, let it spin. I slowed it, held it, reeled it, let it spin. As I tired I felt the beast did.

Oh how the air burst as it was filled with fish. The thoughts of the presence of other beings was dispelled and I was along in a battle of death.

It was round and tall and fat and golden green in a pale sheen. Even its exhausted flips in the air were almost enough to pull me from the rock. I flipped back and it shot over the rocks to land in a hollow a mere rock away from the waters. Thrashing it was. With line still attached I dripped my rod to the bank and hurriedly put on my strong thick gloves.

I grasp its gill. My Njardar knife is in my hand and I stab downwards, the neck is pieced, I twist down and sever the head.

As I got the thing I consider using these remains for deeper fishing bait to catch an eel to later jelly. I decide this is for another journey.

Partway back along the ledge I think to stop and hide the thing. I return in Viking garb and travel back to the village with it hanging over my shoulder.

There is a crowd round as I fillet. Half is hung over the fire to smoke and the other two fillets are in a pan to cook.

Will there be more I am asked from the crowd. I tell them, as I also tell you, that yes. The bees crowd around my head and whisper darkly that I must share with you all again and tell you of bees and beings and life in the dream of being a Viking in a Viking hut in a Viking village.

For it will come to pass.

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Four For The Sea – Adrian At Art Class

Four For The Sea – Adrian At Art Class

All excited about getting along to these new arts classes – Art and Afternoon Tea, The Coffee Beans Cafe, Scarborough – I dreamed up the idea of four pictures that become one.

I had been looking at models of rows of cottage smade out of blocks of wood in arty shops. I decided to walk and think. The way to the Coffee Beans is along North Bay, so my windy walk showe dme the castle upon th ecliffs, the high rows of holiday buildingd and a woild sea.

I also watche dwith joy at the way a seagul holds it’s winds when landing, especially in an updrafting breeze.

I had planned to ask to work in pencil and watercolour then suddenly came up with the idea of separate pictures onth epne page, positioned in such a way that the viewer has to fill inthe gaps; let you do some of th ework for  achange.

Four images of the sea – oh and a cloud.sea four propsea four wharfesea four housessea four castlesea four.jpgArt and Afternoon Tea is just that. It promotes well-being and supplies material while being willing to work with different ways of experiementing all around the table. One can book in week by week too without having to commit to a full season.

I would say that Sarah’s classes in the Coffee Beans in Scarborough, North Yorkshire is worth travelling to but that would be without the afternoon tea. Include that and you have to come! At £9 per session just supplying materials would be marvellous, but a coffee, a cream tea, sandwiches and a cake make it a miracle in a pinny.

The taster session is only a fiver!

Not only that it is set on this bistro cafe where the food is second to none in the area. Go for a meal or a cake and ask about these sessions while you are there.

(Mine’s a merlot)sea fourrough sea plansAnd a link to the Seahouses images

Plus my very first arts classes

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Desert Isle Tracks as requested by Coast and County Radio

Desert Isle Tracks

It is a hard job picking ten top tracks, but that os what Coast and Country Radio have asked me to do.

Here is a preview link to the final fifty or so faves on Spotify.

This is where it will be broadcast.

I am recording a week on Thursday (the 9th) for the Paul Spencer show which goes out on Mondays 6 till 8 pm, so we will be on the Monday after which is the 13th November.

Here is the list in order below:

My desert isle list

Fave artists at the top and first song on each list is my preference.

Dan Webster – Fishing –

Alda – Real Good time – pre-release scoop of the remake of the top ten hit – www.alda.london

Paul McCartney – Early Days – Queenie Eye –

Buffalo Springfield – Expecting To Fly –

Cyndi Lauper – Funnel of Love – Who Let In The Rain – I Drove All Night –

Robbie Williams – I Love My Life – Go Gentle Through Your Life – You Know Me – She’s the one – Party Like a Russian – Get a Little High – Advertising Space – No Regrets –

Leonard Cohen – Nightingale – Undertow – To a Teacher –

Fine Young Cannibals – She Drives Me Crazy – Johnny Come Home – Suspicious Minds –

John Prine – If You Don’t Want My Love – Morning Train –

Johnny Cash – Hurt – The Man – Personal Jesus –

Rickie Lee Jones – Ghost Train – Sympathy with the Devil – Weight – Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying –

The Rolling Stones – Waiting on a Friend – (Edward’s Thrump Up; background while we talk?)

Bonnie Raitt and Rickie Lee Jones – Angel from Montgomery –

Kirsty McColl – Autumn Girl Soup – Mamba de la Luna –

Hasy Fantazee – John Wayne is Big Leggi – Shiny Shiny –

Donovan – There is a Mountain – I Love My Shirt – Jersey Thursday

Fun Boy Three – Aint What You Do –

Tom Waites – Downtown Train

George Harrison – When We Was Fab – What is Life

John Mellencamp – Cherry bomb (or if not Jack and Diane)

Adele – Chasing Pavements –

They Might Be Giants – Particle Man – Hey Now Everybody 6 seconds long! – Aren’t You the Guy 7 seconds long! –

Harry Nilsson – Lime in the Coconut

Lou Reed – Walk on the Wild Side

Kid Creole and the Coconuts – Annie I’m Not Your Daddy

Jim Stafford – Spiders and Snakes

Nancy Griffith – Paradise (or by John Prine)

T Rex – Mustang Ford

Take That – The Flood – Shame –

What Yer Gonna Feel Like With a Chimney On Yer?

Disturbed – Sound Of Silencecoast_and_county_radio_web_logo

 

 

 

 

 

Seeing Seahouses – A Holiday Album in Watercolours

Seeing Seahouses – A Holiday Album in Watercolours

I was inspired to experiment with watercolour landcapes

Seahouses Sea Stream

Seahouses Sea StreamSeahouses Cliff Walk

Seahouses Cliff WalkSeahouses SeaweedSeahouses SeaweedFarne Island CloudsFarne Island CloudsA North Bay ImaginedA North Bay

I saw a Spectre, it will see me later

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I saw a spectre, no a person, not a ghost, it was a man in a hat. None of that covers it. Something was wrong. I sought advice.

I nipped across the road to my pals Julie and Arthur (those of Carowagon fame).carowaggon

“I think I may have seen your ghost,” I said.

Julie had earlier sent me some footage which was inexplicable. A view from the skylight shows the tall Dog and Duck steps next to our house. There are two mysterious figures on the steps; the lower figure looks like some sort of priest and the one higher up and above our house appears to be a boy. Both are in black and white and seem quite old fashioned. They look real enough but why on earth are they dressed like a century or so ago, especially so early on a morning.

My sighting had come a few weeks after seeing the footage. I had awoken very early and been unable to settle so eventually had decided to get up and take a walk.

I had turned right on Quay Street which is parallel to the seafront and passed Arthur’s and then left through a cobbled lane towards North Wharfe.sandside map

I stood looking at the lights of the boats for a while and then wandered to opposite the way through towards the end of Quay Street, (yes this was a short walk, as I was getting hungry), my plan being to turn right and head home. Before I could turn I noticed a figure passing me heading towards the seafront. I would have noticed him anyway as there was no one else about but he seemed to be suddenly there.

I was halfway up the short street and there he was to my left, I hadn’t noticed him coming out of the carpark or down Long Greece Steps to the side of the car park. So I looked at him in surprise. He looked back in the same way. I looked away and looked back, he did so a couple of times. It was as if we were both thinking, ‘where did you come from and don’t you look strange.’

Later that day I went into more detail during my visit to Julie and Arthur. Why I had said I thought I had seen ‘Julie’s’ ghost was that he was dressed very similar to the boy in the footage. That was why I had looked at him, he was out of place. I hadn’t felt like I was seeing a ghost, it seemed like a man, yet I felt that something was wrong.

Partly that was the way he was dressed; tight black trousers, (although, unlike the boy figure, his were full length), boots, a long jacket with many buttons up to the neck, a white ruff or frilled shirt and to top it all off I could just say a black flat cap but it was very large; too large.

Now he could have been in a period drama – but at half past six in the morning.

It was at this point that Julie pointed out that the footage of the other out of place figures was filmed at around the same time of a morning.

Arthur asked me how old I thought he was and I said about fifty or perhaps a little less and that he had large round glasses and a moustache but that his face and all these features were quite grey.

I realised that seemed strange as he seemed like a real man. Arthur looked up at this and said perhaps it was a timeslip. It would make perfect sense that this was so, as if 2017 and (let us say) 1917 had interlinked for a while. This would certainly make sense of the mutual surprise and confusion.

It was a couple of days later that I awoke early again; this time with a start, a sudden thought: it was a timeslip but not to the past.

I leapt out of the bed, dressed, and hurried out the door – yes, at that point I was hunting my portal to the future. I was looking for a visitor from the future; one who thought he blended in.

There was something I hadn’t told Julie and Arthur the earlier evening; I had doubled back. On that first morning after the guy had passed I had rushed down Quay Street and taken a right up one of the cobbled alleys, back to the seafront. There he was.

He rushed up to the edge of the wharfe, held up a device, and moved on.

It looked like a phone, but didn’t have a screen and he didn’t seem to need to look through it. He moved a little way along and took a picture of Vincent Pier and its lighthouse, turned snapped the novelty shop and headed to East Pier and the Toll Gate, snapping systematically as he went. I left.

On that second early morning expedition I was intending to catch a record keeper from the future who was dressed inappropriately.

For this was my thinking now, our visitor had dressed in such a way as to blend in but had got it wrong by about 80 to a 100 years.

So it was that I dashed out of the house, but I bumped into another neighbour who was out walking her dogs. We chatted for a while, about my blog, and then I headed off up Quay Street. I got a glimpse of a group of people crossing the end from near the car park and they all seemed to be wearing something red.

They have adapted, they have seen a man from this time period and have emulated his look to blend in.

It is my intention to get up early tomorrow and head to the end of Quay Street and the access road from the car park. I fully expect to see several adults and teenagers wearing blue and white Converse, black jeans, a red and white shirt, a blue jerkin and a flat cap.

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You will also like…

Click here for – Folk History of Quay Street, Scarborough

Click here for – The Mutiny

And buy….

(it is not a lot to spend and it and keeps me going)

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Poetry Collection by Adrian Spendlow 10 2017

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The shirt was white-flowered blue with paler cuffs and collar

Crispy salad and crunchy cheese

Cold boiled new pots. and huge old ham

Making sure the home-made lemonade is keeping cool

With regular bathroom calls for personal appearance checks

When at the door to admit her, a blob is spotted

A breakfast blob below the collar

 

Turned out she was into S & M

 

                                           Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Aloud and Wild

 

I cry

 

I cry who I am

 

I cry

 

 

                       Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Nothing More

 

A friend who loves

 

I know

 

And am understood

 

There is

 

Nothing more

 

Adrian Spendlow

 

 

 

Galvanised Experience

 

We weave back into the past of reality

For this is more set in stone than actuality

The happenings of the happened must have their glory

Nothing of the now is as real as the story

Blind to the flowerings of the rockery

Present view point forever slippery

 

                                                Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Upon a time…

There once were children

Until imagination

Took them to an island

Where inner callings

Turned them into tribes

Happy they were in pretence

Except that –

Something happened inside

A darkness overcame them

They writhed

Hearts heaved

Other ancient aspects of them

Steadily started to rise

Something monstrous

Arisen

As one, they wizened

Scaled and fearsome

Winding wildly

Onward

Moving gruesomely on

They have become

A…

Dragon!

 

                        Adrian Spendlow

 

 

 

I Was That Janitor

I was abducted by aliens

Abducted

Examined

Stimulated

Tickled

They took me in their

Metal ship

They stripped me with their

Metal probes

They fed me with their

Metal chips

They thrilled me with their

Metal nodes

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

 

Abducted

It was smashing

And they had

three of everything

They took me

OOOOOOOOH

They took me

from this place

This paltry earth

Did what they did

Then

They

Brought me back again

It’s true

I know

It happened to me

 

They brought me back

To the exact same place

At the exact same time

But they wiped the memory

From my mind

But I had had a

premonition

That I was going

I know

The question on your lips is

When……

It happened in the middle

Of this poem

 

                                     Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Kick

The myth of magic speaks in this

The embodiment of solid stillness

I have walked in fungi forest

In it’s secret oozing silence

All around the lake

 

Everywhere a brooding, living beauty

And it spoke

The runes ran thick

Quick the age old message

From root to stick

 

Oh the air

It was in the very air

A sporeform finger

Investigating

“Get out”

“Go away”

“Your not a growing thing”

 

I felt the sickly sing-song sting

It’s clamping, poly-primal cling

It threatened me with everything

And so I ran

 

Pale blues – Limes –

The palest shade of pink –

Spotted scarlet sporting spots –

Balls of pustule puffing putrid stink –

I ran past parasols that turn to ink –

Penny Bun Balletes –

A tree, – no longer visible

 

I hear the age old message

Air so liquid thick

They tell me

Just what I should think

I understand

And so I ran

As planned

 

            Adrian Spendlow

 

 

The Strength of Strangers

 

A witch may wish

Or visit here

Bringing upon us

News of her wisdoms

 

Ravens may fly here

Foretelling of arrivals

Ships can be seen afar

 

Fires will burn

Hot and sudden: red

All will ready

 

Arming themselves

Forging an iron resolve

Death or glory

 

Farm safety

Depends, it seems,

On bloodied victory

 

Our history however

Echoes a message,

 

Sometimes

Those apposed to us

Can be traded with

 

 

Adrian Spendlow

                          as Skald

 

 

Times

I rise above

I lift

I like to be

 

I roll without knowing

I should know

I should

 

I am the news

 

The disaster

The fascinating

The moment

 

And the fall

 

I rise above

 

 

             Adrian Spendlow

 

 

 

haiku

The long dusk; the low sun

Before Autumn twilight

All golden now

 

                    Adrian Spendlow

As there is this Me Too thing going on at the moment i thought I would reblog a couple  of my survivor poems (from a forthcoming book)…

Soul Property

These little subtle things of hate

Somewhat less often of late

The trick is in anticipation

Playing upon preoccupation

 

Returning to times in memory

(Unaware of victor’s glory)

Which hurt beneath the levels of aware

To always inside still be there

 

Recollection ever present

Something of self is rent

Quietly said, privately spoken

Hit and hit again upon the broken

 

Words quietly said, privately spoken

Hit and hit again upon the broken

 

All time lost to anticipation

 

Adrian Spendlow

 

I used to perform this one with a blues band…

 

DEEP IN THE NIGHT

 

Deep in the night I just want to cry

The rest of the time

There are things I am after

Reaching

To be – What I’m driven to be

But just not being up to it

Leaves you inadequate

Deep in the night,

When I touch the unreachable,

That’s when the heart is,

Wanting to cry

 

Then a mask falls

I’m living – and fooled into being –

Happy – Go lucky – Hardworking – and me.

Believe it.,

“There’s nothing to stop you”

“You are who you are”

 

Deep in the night I just want to cry

Passion and pleasure

Fulfilment, procurement

I can do it. I can make it. – Keep my wolf away.

Sensuality saves you – you forget you have feelings

Even inner peace, on the odd time I achieve it,

Rankles, on my heart, as merely a sham

 

Deep in the night,

I hear,

Deep in the night,

So clear,

Deep in the night,

Comes the echo,

“Just what is you justification for being on this planet”

Damn! It’s a voice! I can hear it.

And sometimes I buckle

 

Tortured for the moment and blind to the dawn

Deep in the night sometimes

Deep in the night I just,

Deep in the night when I falter

Deep in the night I just want to cry

 

                          Adrian Spendlow

 

And an old fun one from back when I smoked…

                Jelly Baby Continuum

 

OH OH   Out of Rizlas   Out the house   Corner shop

Oooooooo   Jelly Babies   Mmmmm   Scoff

All the way back   Home   Empty pack

Time   For a fag   Out with the baccy   Rizlas

Reach in pocket   OH OH   Empty pack    What!

Er   Jelly Babies   Scoffed   Packet in pocket

Cig papers….   In bin   Damn   Back to shop

Ooooooo   Jelly Babies

 

 

                               Adrian Spendlow

 

 

Here is the previous collection

 

Discworld blog

And here is the last magazine type blog I did…

Do buy the guy

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Click ‘Poetics’ in the footer bar below to go to the first poetry blog and then keep clicking ‘Next in Current Series’ to work through them all…

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