If by chance a fairy came this way the air she danced upon a glistening pastel pattern of an atmosphere inter-linked with lilac, puce and purple edges of the burgundy issuing images of thought inside you of an informative description messaging to reach for this in all the impossible the actual the so now real She gives you She gives you gifts made possible from within the everything If by chance a fairy being fluttered by us yes she did and this is ever-time where one foot steps and feels the dew rise to lift one slightly Never ever again walk at surface earth or quite the same for you are otherkin and everything is happening Reach within and step beyond to
by Adrian Spendlow
I am moving back up, onto the edge of the toes
By the minute; go the moment
Hang it and dump it this not able to cope
Sickness, bereavement, anxiety, recovery
Slowly, ponderously, dealing if possible
Begger that darlings. It is a whole just as shite
When you are ready for it. Up at it every day
Mind set and healthy fit
Though don’t expect to get the better of it
Get on them timbers and shout out for attention
Not expecting though
To be immune to an afternoon snooze
Or a complete flip out
Take all your happy snaps
Begger that too honey. I am ready
And I am right on the edge of the toes
It’s called living
And bum cheeks are clenched
by Adrian Spendlow
The Noise in the Corner There
Most people are just not that pretty
Or interesting in appealing ways
Miracles are manipulated to achieve
Off the peg fits for their additives
Thank the gods of unloveliness
There are evening socials
Groups to join, sufferings to have
Places we hate to work – Thank God
Not being interesting is quite bad enough
Hey, we don’t know how to engage with you
Or to take turns either
Those botched eyes haven’t quite related
To your semi absenteeism
Inept appearance is hardly our worse aspect
Let’s form a club, or work hard to have staff night outs
Goggle at each other; at our google eye unbeauty
Let’s have a get together
by Adrian Spendlow
Just Any Two People
God it was exciting to be alive
Back when another human was encouraging
Things there were to say of each other
Habits turned to possible activities
I was interesting by god
So were both of us
Shadowy gangs of hangers on
They used to be people we knew
They were excited too
No, actually, they were exciting too
It was us, and we were new
by Adrian Spendlow
I Spotted A Victim
I admire the survivability of survivors
A whole rainforest of tears shine this morning
Just thinking of playgrounds and wooded areas
Just thinking of the homes which disparage the word
I admire the survivor
The ability to look in a mirror on waking
And ‘make-up’ to be like other people
Other people other than perpetrators
Surely there are other people
That’s why we do our hair of a morning
To be like those other people we have heard of
I admire the survivor for keeping writing as tears
Grumble Monthly – A new magazine series to join such as Poem Pics, Chatty Mag and Rant of the Week etc
I am updating this page and re-blogging it with loads more new stuff in it, cos I had this idea that I might be funny. My mate tells me I am not all that funny usually. Except – when I bitch-slap.
Get me mad or give me a platform to grumble and then I am entertaining. That’s what she said any way.
So you are going to have to put up with it right.
Well only once a month or so.
I will collect up all my grumbles and put them altogether into a themed magazine issue (just one of my many threads oh yes).
(People who see my posts on Facebook will be breathing a sigh of relief at this point, “Oh Thank the Gods, we don’t have to see his miserable posts three times a day.)
Super –posters are going to be the subject of my vitriol quite soon I can tell you. Ah, no, it will have to wait till next month and I will have to be nice in between times.
Mark My Words I will be jotting it all down and saving it up, so watch them posts of yours, cos I am…
Poundshops. They sell me far too much stuff. It is ridiculous. Oooo a fly swatter, I would like one of those. No. You get five. Five. What on earth do I want with five fly swatters!!!!!!
Lobster pots, they get me mad. There you are having a nice walk by the harbour and there are loads of them piled up (I actually think fishermen/fisherpeople are lazy as them pots are always there on the harbour – they ought to get out fishing more often). People wander by and they go, “Ooooo look lobster pots.” Have you looked at the seafood stalls! Loads of crabs, and like, two lobsters. They are crab pots, crab pots, what are you calling them lobster pots for! That’s why I am cross about Lobster Pots.
Oh no I have gone and called them that now.
Allotments. The committee have gone and put up a map board – ‘You are here’. It is rubbish, well for most of the year anyway. It is only actually accurate in mid-winter; the rest of the year it means nothing. Nothing.
It could be they have just recently repainted the notice board. So no one is putting notices on it in case it gets spoilt.
Yes that’s it, look, cos next to it there is a really old one and people are putting their notices on that.
And that Michelle, (not that I should really grumble about my wonderful friend), but what a rubbish greenhouse you have. Admittedly it has been in her shed for years unopened. So I borrowed it, and took it to another friends allotment to set up for our mutual seeds (don’t read anything into that phrase this is not a social networking pop up ad.)
But look at it.
I opened the packaging and it exploded, shot up in the air and became an instant greenhouse.. But what good is it ! There is only room for one plant. You have to peg it down to stop it blowing away. There isn’t a hole anywhere or a lid or anything. How on earth are you going to give it any water! They do need that you know. I hope it blows away. Someone else can put their plant in it only for it to die.
So I built one from bits laying about.
If you look closely at any of these pictures you will probably see some Mares Tail / Horsetail Fern. It is everywhere. And its roots go down to Australia. Turns out, one of the allotments is rented by the local horticultural college and about thirty years ago, they came and said, look we have a revolutionary way to get rid of Horsetail Fern. Can we come and work on the finer details in tests on an allotment? They planted the whole allotment with the stuff. Then. The tests failed. They didn’t have solution after all. Now. All two hundred and fifty allotments (vegetable gardens), are full of the stuff.
Look out Australia!
Whenever I am on a train, I look out at some point and there is a BATA. It says it is a country store and everyone is welcome. What the hell do they sell? I’ve never been in one. They are plonked out of the way by the railway and you never ever pass one by any other means of transport. Welcome? Pah!
Two pouts and you are out. My mum says you can’t trust anyone nowadays cos everything has been taken over by spammers and tricksters and all the cowboys she sees on them programs she watches that warn you about stuff. Well. She is right. I get at least one friend request a day. When you go on to look, they have nothing on their page at all. Nothing except their two pics, one for the profile, one for the cover pic. They are wearing a short shirt, they have big eyes and they are pouting. Remember my rule to get you through life –Two Pouts and you are OUT.
(btw I did have a genuine friend request one time fairly recently I am sure)
Spoiler alert –
This next bit is going to spoil a film for you, so scroll down past it quick.
Six long years he was there on that island. He could not escape because no boat with just oars would ever get over the great big reef that goes all the way round his tiny little miserable island. He crashed there with a huge pile of parcels he was supposed to deliver. He was going to deliver those parcels. He was going to get away from here and get home and do his job. He would. But one by one he opened the parcels, and each time it was something useful that saved his life. His long miserable life dreaming of the woman he loved who was now with someone else (A dentist!). When he eventually gets home he personally delivers the last parcel. Very emotional.
It is a true story. I recently, quite by chance, met the actual woman who received the parcel. (btw if you scrolled down a paragraph to avoid the spoiler it is in this one actually.) I actually met her, the real woman. I asked her…. What was in the parcel? The answer… Loads of bedding and a tent.
(Did ‘six years’ over egg the joke?)
I hate Kinder Ninjas. It has been driving me mad. Ages trying to work out what to do with it. But I did it. I have one on my key ring and I am ready…
Is there a message in random happenings? I have just counted up, and I have been given or had bought for me 11 suitcases. Is there a message in this for me?
Random equals synchronicity. I see it in everything. I believe in it. There is always a message. Then I read Jung. He says, there is no such thing as synchronicity, yet there is great power in it.
I like that. I like that.
Then. I read an article by some psychologist. He says random events are random events. There is no meaning in them happening at the same time. By their very nature random events are random. They are not evenly spaced because then they would not be random. So, they are bound to cluster. That is their nature to randomly appear and sometimes to randomly appear all at once. That is random.
I do not like that at all.
and that Vikings Uncovered thing on the telly – they ought to rename it – Myth Busting for Idiots (that’s my mini review)
Is it just me, or when you go on Facebook right, there is scroll along bar of recommended friends for you – How come every one of them looks like an absolute fruit cake.
And any of them social networking sites or twenty funny pictures pages n stuff, how come all the adverts down the side are always for really weird kinky strange stuff!
[blog update – ah, I’ve just been informed the adverts on pages you visit are tailored specially to you and relate to your search interests]
That Alan Sugar (I think it was him, but it might have been some other guy), anyway them queues in the garage – btw when I say garage I mean the shop where you go to pay for your petrol and buy stuff like flowers cos you forgot to get someone a present (see below).
You are in the queue right and the adverts are put on just for you, that guy, or maybe someone else I forget, right, made millions out of it, well a bit anyway. All they did was, went to a software company and said invent this please. There is a camera looking at you and it is linked to face recognition software. And it assesses the people lined up and determines their age, gender and stuff. Then it works out the majority profile and puts ads up about things they like. Loads of old ladies in the queue? = Ads for denture baths and elasticated hosiery. That sort of thing.
When I was in the queue the ads were all sorts of weird strange things!?
Norwegians (in my opinion) don’t learn English, they learn American English. So a garage is a gas station or a petrol station. Stuff like that. There’s loads more but I will grumble about it in another blog. No. Wait. I am getting radged now. Candy. Candy!!!!! It’s sweets.
Aeroplanes. They can’t have very good engines on these things if they have to put you in the dark by turning off all the lights before they can take off.
Ads for dating sites. They are always on saying our site will get you the right person you don’t want to be going on those ones that just ask about a couple of things about you.
What if I wanted to go out with a camel!
Thought: The chaos of the universe is mine and I should just do what I do. Accept my faults and failings and live. Lord knows there is love and acceptance there for me. I am damaged goods. Sometimes I forget the happiness, the sharing, the affection others bring. Thank you to all those who see the brilliance shine. I might just have a light in me.
Shopping online with a friend is faster and easier or so I read – I don’t understand how the world works any more I don’t.
Buses. When you leave the stop before yours, press the bell. Then the driver knows she has to stop at the next stop in plenty of time. Do not sit there with your finger on the bell looking out all anxious and press it just as you get to the next stop. Don’t do that.
Don’t talk to people either. They don’t want to know. Woman in front of me the other day, she looks at the (slightly large) woman across from her who has a pushchair and says, ‘It that your granddaughter?’ No. It wasn’t. The poor woman looks round and says, ’It’s mine.’ All choked up she was. She actually got off a few stops early and walked so she could have a cry. As she got off the bus the woman in front of me says, ‘Nice talking to you’. No it wasn’t.
And another thing, that democracy. It is all well and good having democracy but the trouble is, there are some horrible people out there. How come they get included in the right to vote!!! It just doesn’t seem fair to me.
Junk mail goes in a folder marked junk mail, but some junk mail goes in your inbox marked junk. It’s like that advert where some people are allowed in the park and others aren’t. Junk! Why does it do it! Does it forget its own rules sometimes? Or does it think, oooops I’ve put that in the inbox and now I’ve decided it is junk, better mark it quick so I don’t look daft? Does it think?
And I will tell you another thing
[You have exceeded your space allowance for this month, please try again in a few weeks]
We must never join in my friend. We must be what we are and do what we do. We must never join in my friend. It takes so long. No one notices what we do, but we are in on the zeitgeist, we are the past and the future and often not quite the moment, we are what we are and believe; we must never crumble my friend. Nothing is ever the end. Except the end. And that is a temporal thing beyond this existence. Try stepping into how other people live. No. this is not us. This is not us my friend. We live in dream. Only dreams. Only dreams of what we can say. Of what we can do. Of what we can make be. And we sing brother. Oh my god how we sing. Let your visions be. Let your software searches be a thing of the long long moment. Watch those blue bars pass. Edit the moment again and again and again. Dive into excitement. Dive into possibility. Be. Just be. Because you are just perfect as you are. And we are in this totally crazy forever forever moment forever. Never doubt. Who out there is the same? Who of the people we meet could be us. Never doubt. Be. Never doubt; be. Because. Because of a thousand things you hold in your heart. All of it is bursting out and will be seen. Will be experienced, in the heart of others, it will, it will. My crazy friend. My crazy friend. My friend.
I wrote the above after I realised I had joined the world of editors, sitting in a little corner watching blue bars go by. I once told Gramey that everyone has a destiny in life and a purpose and that his main quality was an ability to watch blue bars go across the screen. He reacted as if I had placed a curse on him! Now I watch them. We are in fact The Blue Bar Boys. Not that they are always blue of course. I have been watching the black line one on my editing software a lot lately. One observes stuff which seem so of interest at the time. IE It takes longer for the bar to go from 99% to 100% than it does to get from 1 to 99 altogether. And the first 45% goes by in a flash. I don’t suppose there is any use for this information but it seems important when you are watching it.
Does watching the bar go by help at all? I feel like I am helping it along when I sit there. Sit there staring. Then when it clicks through to completed and I can at last start work again, what do I I do? Get up and go and make a coffee. Why on earth didn’t I do that when I was sat doing nothing!
What I endure is nothing to the time Gramey feels he loses. I felt he might need a reminder that there are usually beautiful outcomes to all his hard work.
I am rerebloging this post because I have added even more poems. the top ones on here are part of the set I performed at Anna Semlyn’s Poetry Slam at the Golden Ball (a cooperatively own pub in York). I was slightly challenged as I was introduced as the Action Poet and basically I had hit veiw / modified / print and the latest batch of writings are for listening to, not performing. I did still have people come up and say I like your sense of humour, even though the theme is quite moving and thought provoking, so I felt I had achieved what I intended (even though I didnt win) 🙂 x
There are some situations
When you listen
Or are listened to
That you realise
After hearing both sides
We may never know the truth
Us who feel vulnerable
Are noticed by others
And the heart which we have
Inspires them beyond Sense of the World
This blooming Bag for Life
Broke the first time I used it.
Where does that leave me???? Metaphor poem
This one is purely an exercise, for a poetry workshop where I am going to be demonstrating metaphor (some say I should cut it to not having the ’my’ type bits.) I think my performance will shock the group into understanding the concept.
Luscious Ripe Metaphor
This over-ripe piece of fruit
You hold in your palm
Is my heart
As your fingers enclose
The juice of my life
Dripping down upon
The blackened banana
On the floor before you
You press down your foot
Feel the pulp of me gush
And spit at me
The small stone you fire
Is my cherry-red centre.
The title of this next one is No Title and that is appropriate because it intends to be a haiku and yet haiku do not have a title, hence the title of No Title, but it is not a haiku because haiku do not voice thoughts and considerations, they are not written by effort to write, they are a thing you see you report and the reader finds the meaning with no lecture. But then again I performed this at the poetry slam and people laughed, so, as hai means pun, perhaps it is a haiku after all.
Watching the writer
Busy in contemplation
No haiku here
The cats cradle girls
The cats cradle girls
Stood out from the others
Not downcast and sad
Not at all
Lost – to us
Such things are witchcraft
If they continue
If they survive
Just think of the future
Of their descendants
the people of this village be like
in the tomorrows!?
Don’t delve into the creative well
Some of us were always meant to
Tripping round about the edge
Slowly, luxuriantly, stepping forward
Bathed in exploration of within
Finding pools are subterranean
Shouting discoveries through canyons
Echoes reach the light of day
Chilling listeners to gather
For occasional returning
Crushing, eager for some wisdom
Laughing, worshipping the diver
Seeking ways to live and move
Journeying involves return
As ancient waters, timeless, spill
Emptying lungs, and heart, and bile
Spewing dark, rich words is easy now
Somehow envying those who didn’t listen
Dancing in the meadows – laughing
“I can’t reach back to you!”
This fish is gutted, splitted, splayed
The facets now exposed
Will never go away
Wishes of What You Are
I wish you
That which you are living
The road you are going
There is a pathway
It is in your heart
You have the strength
We wind different ways at different paces,
and you walk a path to the woodland of your very own
We have been with you each step
You are going among in your way
Being a limited being is beautiful
For we the bereaved
I rise above
I like to be
I roll without knowing
I should know
I am the news
And the fall
I rise above
Something Inside Me
I set the default
It doesn’t work
There is always a reset
But I go
Old as I am
There is no wisdom
There is only
A new direction
I wait here
What it is…
AS Forever in Lygra
Drummers and horn-blowers
Around the rocks
And in the sea
As the ship comes in
To this rocky bay
In among them
In the waves
Such a woman
I will always remember
As we marched down
In all the tongues
I think perhaps that this is
And how I am is how
Yes this is
I cannot walk across
To other than
As moments tell my lie
Belief is to fly
And I have been in there
Oh why doubt
Meeting systems of who
Being with another
Brings a lie
I do not doubt
This powerful poem by Norwegian writer Nina Instefjord retranslated into English by Adrian Spendlow (Me).
Videos and Paper
It seems so strange; all the ones who you love,
They never come back.
Some because they no longer are
And some connected to the ones who are no longer
I just watch them on video
Some you like so much your heart bursts
I cry, laugh a bit, then cry again
One should not feel sorry
Not, for yourself,
‘I hear my father’s voice’
Then I dry my tears
“If things don’t get better, then I don’t know,”
Once my father said
I am thinking the same
But everything comes to an end.
I hope it will be good
And I hope that he is somewhere he can see it
I used to write everything that came into my thoughts
Someone read my thoughts. They
Beat me as a punishment
This stopped my writing
My heart broke
I stopped writing my heart on paper
Life carries sorrow
So I am writing again
Because I have learned
Love and being true to oneself
To close ones
Might be something they don’t know
They can read
So they know
I hope they don’t cry
Like I did
I will write my heart on paper
Again and again until it is mended
Some things never come back
I accept and know
This is not a negative thing
This is how it is going to be
Sometimes you don’t decide over life
Like the weatherman
He also gets weather-sick.
I found the little pieces of paper with words
I am at a crossroads
And I know a change is going to come
I hope it ends up with laughter
Like in the videos I just saw.
NI / AS
Touching Base At Last
When all is desperate
And there is crisis
One has a feeling of
Just getting through
When everything is fine
And all back to normal
The general perception is
Just getting through
AS Style Gurus
As a loud car passes I contemplate, when I was the age of those passengers old men would shout at me, “Get your hair cut!” Now young men shout the same thing at old men.
Who Is That Man I Am
All the drives
So I will be
But to be free
Who is that man
I used to be
Heart of Norway
Here and there the river
Finds a way to flow
To channel; wind
Despite deep ice
My heart embraces
Love and wonder
Part of me is dead
Within the mountain.
So close to the source,
This land it brings
Such very strong emotion
The rug is pulled from under
You crash to the floor
And are broken; broken
All you did was listen
It was gradual
Yet now sudden
You once were
Capable of anything
Hear it said again,
You cannot now
Pick yourself up
To climb to your knees
Inside, deep inside
A quiet voice
Hear only your heart
You hardly hear
This tiny part
Top of the World
We occasionally feel
On top of the world
But this earth revolves fast
You have to set quite a pace
Just to keep still
and my most inspirational and most veiwed poem blogged so far