Sunday, 10 April 2016

ThreshHolds

I wish you could read my mind
Like you seem to
So often, as I fear use of words.
I wish I could show you
My cottage of Dreams,
In such a way for you to know
What is coming is Blessed.
I am beset by uncertainties,
and I come to see some causes...
I want to heal and be healed.
I want to share understanding...
I am afraid of our wounds
and carelessness with words.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

MUSIC NEWS > *Merlin's TeaPot* + "Something New" from *Sharron Idol*

Greetings, post-hiatus readers!

Another funky motion from Sharron Idol - "Something New" Have a listen, hey?

An apt point to point to this collaborative song, "UnSeelie Rade" and its MotherShip, the Sharron Idol album "I'm a Person, Not a Genre". - I know it was some time ago... Please have a listen to that too. You can see all her wonders here
<div><a title="Link to Sharron-Idol's website" href="https://buggerallon.tv" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img src="https://buggerallon.tv/images/BAOTVwidgetPic.jpg" alt="Link to Sharron-Idol's website"></a></div>

Merlin's TeaPot has grown to a trio, we are practicing many songs.

We now have Vocals, Guitar, Flute and Piano.

Some of our favourites to perform are;
I Drove All Night by Roy Orbison
Dancing BareFoot by Patti Smith
Strange Glue by Catatonia
Free Bird by Lynerd Skynnard
Green and Grey by Dahm the Bard.

When we have enough skillz and confidence,
we will be doing it in public.

Sunday, 28 September 2014

"Never Again"

Puddipole, muddy-hole,
Jumped into the river,
Dead or quick, the soul is sick,
And the body bound to shiver.
Wall of poisons built in the gut,
One last chance, life's final cut,
The Angels aid fools and drunks,
For a limit, to call it time.
Squirming, worming,
Suddenly swimming,
Sinking, bouncing,
Carefully turning.
Uncomfortable confrontation with fact.
Not a Naiad, gripping jacket,
Shincutting bruisemaking
Balance and terror.
Sheer Idiocy,
Never Again!
Rescue, Blessed Rescue,
Kindness of Strangers
And Friends,
How ever to thank those
That save your life?
By keeping to Never Again!

Friday, 22 August 2014

Recoveries and Ponderments

- 10/07/14 -

Since I left some of my stupidity in the river, things have been gradually improving. Alcohol use much less frequent and moderate in quantity. Still a very anxious beastie, trying to fix that along with getting fitter.

- 11/08/14 -

I expect that I shall be swimming, walking and cycling. 'Tis well said that if you can cycle in Dorset, you can cycle anywhere. There are many areas that I never got off my berm to explore. I have been abominably slothful and lax.

I have the power; I can change my life.

MOAR NDAWFINZ FTW!!

In all seriousness, with a simple enough change of lifestyle, I can do so much for my physical and mental health.

I believe it will also dramatically improve my mental and magical stamina. The discipline of mind and body will aid my every aspect!

I'm 31, I would rather avoid a heart attack at 40 years. I can shift my excess weight easily, as long as I eat sensibly and put real effort into regular enthusiastic exercise.

- 12/07/14 -

Blimey, I and Steve went for a little run by the river, and it was fun. I can do this. If the big girl off of "I Used To Be Fat" can do it, so can I.

=D

- 20/08/14 -

I have been running and walking. Met a friend who would like to go swimming with me.

- 22/08/14 -

Keeping my enthusiasm up.

Sunday, 23 March 2014

Booze Update & Musical Happenings

Well, moderation is going all-right.
I am highly conscious of taking great care.

In far more exciting news, I and Sharron Idol sharron-idol.com have composed a song together.

Its title is "Unseelie Rade", and it will be released this summer on the album "I'm A Person; Not A Genre" (Ice Recordings) - (It will be) AVAILABLE THROUGH iTUNES.

I really enjoyed recording it! Yay!!

Monday, 10 March 2014

Can I Do Moderation?

Steve persuaded me on Sunday that one or two pints once or twice a week won't hurt. That is fair enough, but that must be my absolute limit - and I think I will be choosing to politely reject the frequent opportunities for those pints. Until I am certain of what is going on and how I feel about it all, I want to remain as cautious as I can be.

I admit, I had two pints with Steve on Sunday, and I am fretting without need, but I have to do this right, moderation or abstinence, which it is matters far less than the practical results, as long as I don't do it wrong.

I think it may be better once a week than twice, but to be honest... I know I am at lowest risk if I fully abstain.

Friday, 7 March 2014

Self-Castigation and Self-Care

I feel rather run-down at the moment... In several ways. Some will simply ease with time.

Utter horror. Over many years I became not only someone far from myself, but I also became a monster.

Then I became a frequently pissed-up monster.

I am frightened, but am strong enough to change for the better.
There is no point in caring when people mock for what has been.
When I succeed and prosper, it will be my triumph over my problems and errors, so proving myself to myself, and that need not be any of their concern.

Carpe Diem.

Thursday, 6 March 2014

"Brigantine"

The Season's Beginning,
The trees brightly bud,
Pushing forward; The Maiden,
Bears Fire in her elegant hands.
The fountains are flowing,
The Winterbourne rising
To wash the wet Meadows,
The lambs bleat their cries
To the sharp stars above.
Through bare branches
Flickers the light of the morning,
The noon blankets in iron-hued skies;
Clouds of stone above
As the moors mist down below.
Grain's promise keeps its whispering,
The blades sparkle in dew,
The attercop's nest is a tangle
Of silver and copper,
The ravens aloft are not at their rest,
They roam wide,
Observant believing,
Pilgrims forever,
In beggarbird guise.
Rowan crosses pinning our breasts,
And red rune berries
Encircle our souls,
Examine and reflect on right
Treasures held as goals.
Haste motivates,
Stillness measures,
Evaluation is in looking back,
But there is so much to do.
Her Holy Fire is guarded and eternal,
The rivers flow forever more,
There's barley for the brewing,
And sweet Poet-Songs in store!

Season of Changes

I have had a near-death experience, and have given up alcohol as a result.

I am frightened more by what my life had become, than I was by the NDE its-self.

All I can do is try to make dignified progression, there would be no use in wallowing in negativity.

I am glad to be alive.

It is my responsibility to change, now. I don't know how or when my decline began. I am feeling awed by the awful magnitude of it all.

I am awed with gratitude at the grace of living.

Monday, 11 February 2013

"State of Collapse"


- State of Collapse -

Fiddling with the fiddly
Small pushpen drudge and misery
Ribband rouge and coddling plan
Collapse like a flan that can't grow up to soufflé...

What a way away hey hey
It's a dream to dream at night.

Dreadful dreads dreariness
Woeful state weariness
Lapse to unwariness
Take the ticket to ride.

Long wait for activists trapped
By foolish summermists
Fogged over by columnists
Clasped hands and jaws snapped
Pinholes let in some light.

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

May I show you someone lovely?

This gentleman is my very special friend, Stephen.

After fifty years of wishing for turquoise hair...

Monday, 3 December 2012

It is Stupid 'o Clock in the morning, and I am Blogging on my phone.

Well... It has been a tough month. My ex-partner Dave died at the start of November.

I am somewhat emotionally and mentally wobbly at times, but that is okay.

I am enjoying living in Dorset, and I look forward to exploring more when warmer weather arrives.

It is very pleasant to live only a short bus journey or cycle-ride from the coast.

One of my favourite places, Lulworth, is nearby, and that is where Dave's ashes will be sprinkled. He and I had an eerie connection to that place.

Hmm... Nearly ten past five... Still playing with this phone. Ahhh - I sense future poems... I can write them straight to the blog, from many places... Must get off phone. Phone eats Sleep...

I resisted getting one like this... Until now.

Here's a quick ditty as a goodnight gift.

Don't put fireworks in your bum,
Nor bottles, sticks or knives,
They simply don't belong there,
And it might just save your life.

¡GOODNIGHT LITTLE FISHIES!

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

"Is It Dark In Here?"


"Is It Dark In Here?"

I speak of "I" as if I knew who that was, 
she wears mismatched garments, 
has an implacable accent, 
delights in the ludicrous 
and cries at her follies. 

Sometimes she's all I know, 
sometimes I know her not, 
she shocks and repels me, 
drives me to other identities, 
yet inescapable as my body's shadow - 
or is it hers? 

I've abused her, hated her, 
loved her, needed her, 
robbed, hurt and confused her, 
or by her, perhaps? 

A channelling scribe for a tantrum-mad child, 
a Hymnal composer to the Goddess within - 
Teach me, O Selfhood, 
who is it that does these things? 
It surely is the same human woman 
that acquires drunkards' bruises, 
and listens to callusing pen-hand sing. 

So often, her thoughts are clichĂ©d, but true, 
too rarely she studies in silence. 
The ten thousand "I"s are awed, 
snapped open, destroyed and recognised, 
inside the darkness, the stillness, we shall find. 
If my soul indeed had eyelids, 
would they close to the light that blinds?

(2nd Oct 2012)

"Future Harvests"

"Future Harvests"

I seek forever, understanding, 
why do I fix so upon the Doomed? 
So much beauty abounds, surrounds, all around, 
yet the mind turns to the sick, sad and dying. 

I wish this were stating a heart of compassion, 
it is macabre fascination - the crushed gentle pigeon 
to be swallowed by seagulls, the maggots that cleanse 
crows' skulls with such love. 

Prodding the guts of my soul with a stick, 
I find their function, responses, purpose, perhaps. 
Brother Donkey, Sister Ass, My Golem, My Zombie, 
dissected to exposition, exploded diagram of 
descriptions, prescriptions, and stuff.

Can a bear of little brain be 
the same after the guts are re-sewn? 

I remember when these broad fields 
were fields as far as I'd see, 
and now re-sown, broad-cast seeded, 
they have become other - rotated crops to keep good health, 
fine practice to keep, indeed, but moment by moment, 
or as Aeons fly by, though the land is eternal, 
every crop, to reap, must die. 

Gather oats for Sister Ass, lest it be 
less preparation than is needful. 
Stewardhood may be the one true duty.


(2nd Oct 2012)

"Fear of Consumption"

"Fear of Consumption"

Studied in Sleepiness, Monkey-Mind A-wandering, 
Tea-Ceremony of my cigarette teaches one thing, 
Two things, of dependence and focus. 
Flick my failing pen, pick anew.

Foolish drunken monkey, awaken! 
Re-ignite. New pen, new day, 
It's dawn behind those curtains.

It is of use to pray, to aim and align to something better, 
Wonder why I went astray, was it anyone's fault? 

Some things simply happen - I wish for things to happen simply.
Better to be honest and simple than a complex, talented liar, 
Better to never know how it tastes to sin 
Than to be sick with foul aftertaste evermore. 

Are we made of Regrets? 
Founded 'pon Hope? 
Who Knows? Who Knows...? 
I certainly don't. 

One Image is Eternal, Mother in Gown 
and Crown and Shrouds of Shade, 
We beg her; Please Love Me - 
Too proud to admit to the pain, 
Too afraid to enter the dark CaveMouth 
Entering on Her terrain -

She Is The Tiger, 
She Will Eat Us.


(2nd Oct 2012)

Monday, 10 September 2012

"Darkness Grasping"

This new face is homely, loving and kind, 
You're Unheimlich, un-nerving, 
I'd choke on anything spoken now. 
We drank last together 
In the same way we slept, 
Just placement and timing made us 
Breathe together, a few moments ~ 
Stolen pictures gazed upon brought half-nightmares again, 
A review of performance, a last twinge of pain, 
Merely discomfitous, a prick from my pillow, 
Your claws enter in me, a hand in the dark 
Took the pain of it away. 
Even dreaming, shared presence is uncomfortable, 
Now I'm certain this isn't your fault, 
You'd rather burn eternally than live in my mind, escapeless. 
I'd rather lose my head to the sword
than lose my reason again in this life. 
Do I hunt you in my dreams? Not at all - 
Just watching - even there, I dare not touch, 
Just observe, and not pursue. 
I will work all this out without an inch of assistance, 
You won't give a barleycorn, I won't give you a mile, 
Won't give you any other things drawn from my path's unfolding, 
Will give the gift of silence, given with a smile.
It's his hand that leads me out of our darkness.
Promises, promises, we kept all but one, 
I promised I would worship you, you were my stars and sun, 
You swore we'd always be friends, that promise is undone, 
My sun has set, the stars fell down, into the stormy sea, 
And it's a healing to my heartsickness to find that I can 
Be without you as my staff I heavy-leant upon,
I'm still, and blessed by moonlight, 
That arose once you had gone. 
I must recall, I don't need your answers,
I don't want to fall into those trances, 
where servitude to you, Dark Elf-Lord,
seems a pleasurable punishment, my stinging reward. 
I wish to walk with meadow-flowers, not drown myself in wine, 
And this is my lot, the love I've got, with eyes and hair so fine, 
A better match than we could have been. 
I hope you're happy for me, but it's hard
to be happy for a man bound in chains, 
Hard to accept your chosen fate, there is no other way about it, 
I doubt we'll speak again, so I spill thousands more
unheeded words, with affection, from my pen. 
I hope you are as happy as I am, I'll trust the Gods to know, 
For where-ever it is that you are, that's where I cannot go.

(8th September 2012)

"Awkward Scrote"

You really were a mis'rable bastard,
not even got half of your own teeth, 
blame another for the problem,
as if it's not solvable by your own hand. 
The sweat of your brow is sour, if it runs at all, 
the sweetness is gone, yet you suck the dry tit, no care 
as Nourisher bleeds, cries pain, begs mercy - 
The greedy child's still wanting 
proof that he's adored - well, must have got mastitis, 
all this love has turned to pus, 
little vampire, I once was willing, now I do as I must.

Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 
Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 
Strip out of my memory the cause of my fear, 
Strip back my mad behaviour to its wholly truthful core.

(18th August 2012)

"Does It For Me"

How'd ye like to be anointed King of Dorset?
Giant soul walks the land in mortal form.

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

I'll crown you with gold and barley, 
Ring your hands with silver and silk.
How's the dream for the future?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Mister, does it give you pleasure, 
By the pint, buy the pint? 
Master does it thrill you as it does me, 
pure delight, pure delight? 

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Does it make the Earth move, 
The whole hillside shifted, 
A chance slip of a hand into another, 
Does it make you as happy as I have become?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Can we stay here forever, as long as 
The barley does grow? 
It does it for me, 
Hope it does it for you, too.

(17th August 2012)

"Melting Snowmen"

Grip the warm woman,
Cold fingers grasp a warm woman, 
Gasp as the warm woman takes you by the hand - 
Know the warm woman, Love her until 
Her heart starts to thaw.

Oh Dear! 
Oh, Dear!
Oh! Dear, 

Loved by her until your body is 
Clawed and ecstatic, erotic-electric, 
Molten magic elastic, 
Melt together, body and spirit as one, 
Full percentage, puzzlement fading, 
Riddles are solved, drip together, 
Filter gently, foment friendship and passion, 
Bugger calculation of folk fashion, 
Thirty-three minutes to curfew, 
Versions never heard, 
Five hundred souls, so many Minds. 
Love is, only what it is, 
Most simple mathematics, 
A satisfied equasion, a 
Pleasured, fulfilled sum of its parts, 
Gestalt happier than before. 
Who was I when I wrote before?

(June 2012)

"Questioning"

Sexual molestation of the geriatric population,
seeing inside their weak-strong faith, 
the mirror of my own. 
Their eyes are as those of great lions.

You can be whatever you want to be - 
make the very best, fucking awesome, 
found my name, found my place, 
found my mate for life. 

Old names recycled well, 
garland the well, 
all will be well, 
in a nutshell - 

Got to keep moving forward, 
got to dance with the swell, 
got to sort the fucking shit out, 
or in blood you'll drown - 

Will you ride 'mongst the ship of fools' poor crew, 
land-bound 'gainst rising tide, 
or strike forth, lost and blind, 
in a coracle, terrified, brave? 

Lost in pubs is dreaming, really should 
be scheming on some sacred saint-like theme, 
but sleep is ever temptful, life tires as long as it lasts, 
is a little indulgence harmful, to balance up the past?

Merripen, Jennipen, it's an oscillating battlesnake, 
a dwarf and a bloody great giant, 
a single grain in time makes a field, 
fractal means of a rune, 
recursive, progressive, I know you know this tune.

(June 2012)

Saturday, 25 August 2012

"HoneySuckle"

His bird is the Nighting-Gale,
Her tongue in his ear 
mixes his laughter - 
Sing Violin notes, Fiddle and Fret, 
Bow to the Sky's Falling, 
Bow to the String, 
love darts and all a-quiver, 
Silence Guides the tune you play. 
Night is blue and darkly sultry, 
Pine-needles call 
and high stars respond. 
The Goodfellow stands 
and gives Gifts, 
fair trade, a fortune in Kisses, 
and vast wealth in his Embrace. 
Warm mountains roll with 
subtle thunder, 
HoneySuckle's thick in the heat 
of this night, See Truth, 
lit-up all-sudden, 
SongBird eyes 
in Electric Light.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

"Ancients' Nuisance"



Ancients' Nuisance


Velma's in her armchair, 
smugly sitting reading,
Sophia's in the rocking-chair, 
humming as she's knitting.
Morgana the Fairy's gone to pot 
to pour strong coffee for her tea.

Ancients' Nuisance is New Aeon,
Sayin' "Ancients Knew Sans - 
Let me just call my Uncle",
Sained and Sainted, 
Christened and Painted,
Whores rose as Horus, 
the road is smooth to Babylon.

In dawn's golden light 
the Damask rose glistened, 
plucked, pressed and fastened, 
it's dead and cannot grow. 
Ian Newman said it was a bookmark.
Morgana fell, cried for losing 
the dewblush, 
beautyfilled, 
Rose. 
She saw in a dream, of a Garden.

Binnie and Chocky seem to sleep 
like the dead, gripping hands tightly, 
feet twisted together, 
Their dreams are troubled, 
their shoes do not fit; 
grow Klifotic, Necrotic. 
Cut them off to save their toes?
Awaken them to their extremities' needs?

Are the inmates the nurses? 
Are they all radiant angels?
Do they come from outside? 
Do they wait on, do they assist?
Do they write new stories?

There are many apples growing 
from the flowering trees that 
bide well through every season, 
for seasons run not here, 
the twilight of the afterlife 
before reborn they will appear.

Through the gold and green wooden gateways, 
under grey and blue heavenly vaults, 
in our temples bejewelled by silver and gold, 
wearing the pelts of humans as our ritual robes, 
losing our fears, inch by inch.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Dahm the Bard - Spirit of Albion

Last night I went to Crawley to see Dahm the Bard
( http://www.paganmusic.co.uk/ ) sing a few songs,
and watch the premiere of the film "Spirit of Albion"
( http://www.thespiritofalbionthemovie.com/ )

- a tale of weary souls finding strength by the aid of the Ancient Gods.
It's rather good. The acting and singing are dodgy in places,
but that is more than compensated for by the plot, humour,
intelligent content and emotional grip in this story of a journey
from desolate despair to faith in the experience of living,
and the revelation or reminder that the Holy Powers are eternal.

Here is the trailer for the Film.



Here is the Song, Spirit of Albion. The first time I heard this,
on the 'John Barleycorn Reborn' multi-artist compliation album, I cried my eyes out.



I was crying from one-third of the way through Dahm's
first song, all the way to the end of the film, last night.

What an evening it was!
Nice people, nice music, just... So Nice.

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Holly's Inquest / Signs of the Times

My friend Holly's family and her circle of friends have been awaiting this; the Inquest verdict.
Here is a link to a piece from this week's Salisbury Journal.

_____________________________________________________

In Salisbury, a bunch of plain printed black and white signs have popped up. They say, simply;



MONEY IS DEBT

ILLUMINATI OWN YOU


Some had handwritten additions.

One said: 'We Know'

and one said: 'Paul Daniels is my Father'

Eris needs more lerts.