Bits

I am fed up that everything I tile is collected by auto-chicken.

I realise now that my mistake was probably that I tried to type auto-check instead of auto-collect.

But it has been collected.

There is obviously a fault. At least with the auto-correct but possibly worse than that. So while we are stuck here I might as well carry on.

There’s the joke of the year from Edinburgh Fringe by Ken Cheng,  “I’m not a fan of the new pound coin, but then again, I hate all change.”

Well, things were different before the changes.

A previous year Tim Vine won with “I sold my vacuum cleaner, well it was just gathering dust.”

My son in law Spee tells me that Norwegian ships have a bar code on the side so they can Scandinavian.

On to my new look with the curls.

Now that it has grown back the way it has I don’t remember what my hair was like before I had radiotherapy, but I am sure it didn’t make mature women giggle like girls.

One Direction, they went their separate ways.

Away from humour and on to poetry with this corker from Ralph Bear (thank you ever so)

For Adrian

Me pen and paper

Me sword in hand

Me march off to unknown lands

Me get me got

Godspeed I trot

Me pen and paper

Me sword in hand

                        Ralph Bear

Here’s my big lad who has hit the big time…

This popped up again recently, created by Olivia Jayne Newton. As a promotion for the first ever stage production I’ve been in.

And my dream:

I dreamed that in the olden days what people who had excess limbs did is they joned the navy. Navy surgeons are renowned for cutting off limbs so sooner or later it is bound to happen. Neville had three legs so he joined up and a couple of years later there was an incident and sure enough the surgeon sawed one of his legs off. So he was able to come home with two.

When Mervin, (who had five arms) saw him returning looking so well balanced he too decided to go away to the navy. Eight years he was there, then sure enough there was an incident and they sawed off one of his arms. Trouble was, they sawed off the right arm, which was the only one he had at that side and left the other four he had on the left side as they were.

There is a moral to this story, or at least there was a moral to it in the dream.

NASA announced lately that they had discovered a planet that could harbour life, but it couldn’t be guarenteed that there was intelligent life there; of course there is, who do they think built the harbour.

I blogged a collection of poetry recently.

On the 27th of October I shall be performing in Scarborough Art Gallery Hobb the Night Guard and the amazement of museums. Here is Hobb’s recent stories for the Fossil Festival.

Viking Comic Inc rereleases include Oski and the Amulet, The Hammer Flies and the Greek myth of Zeus and Typhon.

There’s my travelogue of Denmark.

Turning Points in Life’s Journey.

My multi-national performances in Gudvangen, Norway; Viking Sagas in a Nutshell.

An dof course my very popular Cancer Care Capers.

For any of you who haven’t heard, I was given the all clear last week.

Feedback on my Discworld Blog;

“And, oh my! what a joy to receive your narrative on and your utterly delightful drawings of the most marvellous place to be in in the entire Multiverse.  (Tho’ I can’t help thinking your portrait of C.M.O.T. Dibbler is just a little too flattering; “unsavoury”, after all, is not just a word that applies literally to his wares, it also applies metaphorically to his person.)” Julie Speedie

Discworld blog

And here is the last magazine type blog I did…

Do buy the guy

guy-link-board

 

 

 

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Poetry Collection by Adrian Spendlow 08 2017

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Poetry Collection by Adrian Spendlow 08 2017

 

If by chance

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

 

 

Bum’s Rush

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 realise

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

Blur the ink of this growing poem

I admire the survivor

For I am sure they can see me

Reaching out as we know you know

Monsters make us doubt ourselves

Yet a chance moment allows

An unstable old person, a poet,

And an eight year old

To look around sat on hay bails

And acknowledge

I don’t know you, either of you

But I do know

I know you admire me for I survive

I do admire survivors

I admire the survivability of survivors me

 

                                              by Adrian Spendlow

 

 

I Dreamed of a Village

We built a tepee village here

And the bunny boiler

Killed my kid

“Goat stew” he said

A whole herd has lost

My favourite little friend Fifi

He belittled me in other ways

These days I look back at

The rolling meadow utopia

We physically built there

 

                             by Adrian Spendlow

 

It Never Happened

It is my honour bound duty

She whispered kindly to her

To keep a child with her mother

I am a family nurturer

In many situations I would do this

In your case

It would be a wickedness

Over my dead body would they

Put you back with that monstress

Bless you child

That you have no memory

Wild as you are

You are a miracle you see

 

                       by Adrian Spendlow

 

And a couple of old ones from way back…

 

Something Inside Me

I set the default

It doesn’t work

There is always a reset

 

But I go

 

I try

 

Old as I am

There is no wisdom

 

There is only

A new direction

 

I wait here

And wonder

 

What it is…

 

AS

 

Poetry Is

 

Poetry is a flickering grit of rock

Cast within the wide forever black

Poetry is a rare viewed

talismanic artefact

Poetry is the disallowed

Clutching at the edges of the past

Poetry is no longer held

As other than the esoteric

Bring it back

Poetry is – no longer

Gone the way of the storyteller

Gone the way of the Shaman’s chant

The way of the dance

Where is all your ritual

The spiritual – The festival

Gone the way of the

Soon to follow songwriter

When such as Dylan die

Who will sing

Just for the sake of truly saying

Poetry – Poetry is gone

No longer inspiring the simple soul

To go live the life of the Troubadour

Poetry is no more

And yet

It leaves us all bereft

Help us poetry

Why don’t you call

Reach us like a joy to share

Gather people – Listening hearts

Or have we hardened

Pushed aside for solid ground

The will to even care

Poetry is dead

And at it’s wake

The quaffer’s smack their lips on

Garish fayre

Did they forget

Or is it there

Seeded in the genes

the memory of gathering

Simple childhood harmony

Poetry is

A stoppered flask

Lingering as an inkling barely heard

Lost, stamping,

just beyond the daily word

 

Poetry is

The victim of the

“That’s not”’s

Judgement takes her

Poetry is

The scoffing stock of

“No time”’s

Avarice despise her

Poetry is the metal of the spirit

Turned away for what seems sharper

Poetry is

The laugh of Gods

Gouged out by heartlessness

A vision that the modern self

Just will not see

Set it free

Set it free

Say ‘Poetry’ have a home in me

Poetry – Poetry – Poetry

 

AS

 

 

0123 ev group flipped

 

 

A Poetry Collection by Adrian Spendlow

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A collection of recent poems of a pondering universal kind of nature; a little free-form they are driven by the thought along a path of easy rhythm towards a conclusion you form for yourself later.

.

Kill Rights Rescinded

I don’t often make global rulings

Never have before in fact

And this one is none-enforceable

Many of us will break this law

It is in place nonetheless

.

This which I say now

To all humans on this planet

Refers to humanities treatment

Of humanity

.

With regard to fellow residents

Of this planet

From this day onwards

.

You have no right to kill

.

 …                          Adrian Spendlow

.

Hope-craft

There is one thing

I have learnt from

My life experience

.

It may not be much

Of a transferable model;

A benchmark,

A rule of thumb.

.

It may not be a masterpiece

As a perfect example

.

But this apprentice

Passes it on

In the hope it may have

A use at a universal level:

There is no need to make life difficult for others.

.

 …                      Adrian Spendlow

.

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

.

.

Be Vital

Wishing peace in the calm of yourself

May the eye of the storm

Be yours when you need it

Your energy is yours

Freely keep it

Let interactions foster

Mutually nurture

For you are yours alone

Even though you are loved

Let these words be an embrace

To encapsulate you

We wish you whole

(Or what is there left to love?)

You as you are

.

 …                    Adrian Spendlow

.

.

Top of the World

We occasionally feel

On top of the world

But this earth revolves fast

You have to set quite pace

Just to keep still

.

 …                    Adrian Spendlow

.

War or Peace – Kill or Cooperate

So what shall it be mate?

For everywhere we go

……..hear words of hate

We shall have to kill billions off

Then repopulate

Take war to the street

Killing from street to street

In every street; death

Stamp out the very last breath

Till there is only one kind left

Then, one birth by one birth

Refill the earth

Or, could we make peace?

All try hard to cooperate

See if you can tolerate

Go from hate to release

Or, is it too late?

.

 …                          Adrian Spendlow

.

maypole

Part of the Viking Mythos series: Without Even a Mirror to Know She Was Beautiful – Gunnlod; Guardian of the Poetry Mead

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Without Even a Mirror to Know She Was Beautiful – Gunnlod; Guardian of the Poetry Mead

(Modelled on the tale from the Norse myths)

This deeply moving piece is not illustrated with art but with storystrations.

blue greenland.jpg

He was suddenly there, impossibly close, the handsome stranger. In his long blue cloak and wide-brimmed hat; he seemed somehow too big for his skin, and he loomed over the workers of the farm.robe diana.jpg They should not have looked in his eye, for they were drawn in, to fall among the worlds. Swirling wildly among the nine known worlds and all the unknown worlds as well, they could see and hear everything, and presently they came to hear their own inner voices; each other’s thoughts … “I’ve never liked you.” “You treat me badly.” “I work harder than you.” There should be less reward for you.” “I quite like your wife.”robe silver wind

The knives were out, they fell upon each other in rage, and presently all were dead.scene 002

The stranger turned towards the farm, “You suddenly seem to be short of workers.”

“Yes I do.”

“I shall work your farm for you, and all I wish in return is some small piece of information.”

The work was done in no time. The fields tilled. The seeds in. The plants they grew and were harvested. In an impossible time, the barns were fuller than they’d ever been.crops.jpg

“All I wish in return is to know where your brother keeps his treasure.”

“I could not possibly tell you, I have promised.”

“You have promised me, and all you have to do is point to the place.”

They climbed the hill and peered down at a wide stone plain. He pointed.plain of stone.jpg

The stranger went to the place and called down lightning.lightning.jpg

It cut and turned and wound and burned. Down to a cavern miles beneath the earth. In this dark cave with no entrance and no exit sat Suttungr’s daughter.gunn sat cropped diana She sat there long, without even a mirror to know that she was beautiful.

The handsome stranger turned himself into a serpent and twisted his long way down the deep burrow to appear far below suddenly in his handsome robes. serpent tipped rainy day.jpg

A torch appeared already light, “Oh you are beautiful, more beautiful than any other woman ever seen. I love you and I wish for you to come with me. All I wish in return is one small sip of your father’s treasure; the poetry mead.”

“I couldn’t possibly, I have promised, and my father would beat me terribly.”

“Yet you shall come with me and be my bride. You shall be my queen in my great citadel in the sky. In love forever. Just one small sip.”citedal

She slowly, tentatively, pushed the three barrels forward. He took it all, wrapped it in his cloak, turned back into the serpent and left her alone.

The figure that now flew up to Asgard had the power of the mead; one sip would let your words cause love or war.asgard.jpg

Yet deep below the earth in a cavern with no entrance and no exit, without even a mirror to know she was beautiful, Suttungr’s daughter Gunnlod sat alone.cave pipe charcoaled.jpg She cared not of the endless beatings she would receive; because Gunnlod was broken.plain of stone flipped.jpg

This story came to me in a dream before I had read the original myth, so doesn’t stick to the story set in ink by Snorri and the Irish scribe women! The atmosphere gives a feel of the drama of the mythos event I reckon. I put this to type recently as part of my research for the rock opera Gods Bless Ya!!!

Gods Bless Ya!!!

That Which Links is Silken Thread

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That Which Links is Silken Thread

I think the little differences intrigue because inside them is the similarity. Connections unspoken received and encouraged. I embrace you as you are. I embrace you as I am. I embrace you. For we are.

thread globe green.jpg

Adrian Spendlow

What God did; what Katy said

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What God did; what Katy said

God didn’t make nations

Didn’t draw lines on a map

There is only a globe in a sky

God did make life, did he,

and all that circles by

If god made all this,

He definitely did say,

Let them make their own way

.

.

Let them make their own way

Their own way

god-says

Adrian Spendlow

The Dance

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And we dance…

.

She’s my mushy peas n gravy

Dip in your chips

This plastic fork is a promise of delicacies

Smash the batter in

And how we laugh

Yes there is a dance to it

From the bad sound radio site in here

To the universe of who I am

And I am glad

Glad to be invited in my friend

My very good forever friend

Thank you missy

Let your ‘who you are’ stream through here

In your very quiet and private way

You allow me in to such chippies as this

With so much promise of

.

.

Adrian Spendlow