Tuesday, 29 March 2011

The Crunch Chorus

The hall was dimly lit and had an air of comfort about it, The velvet drapes, Ruffled and dusty like auntie Jean's cushions back in the day. I sit alone. The crunching around me is a chorus of it's own, Punctuated with couple's laughter here and there and for some reason, It irks me although I really should expect it and be used to it in this place. The awkward chit-chat before I entered this place, The 'Yeah I need to grow another hand' titter titter small talk, The balancing act of three items and only two hands, The single american man also taking the brave step of making this night alone. Trying to be polite in the mute acknowledgement. The place is one more suited to dating couples, Like some kind of step up from car seat fumbles, Riverside embraces, Maybe that is why I feel so alien, As if a light is above my head, A neon sign saying 'Look at me, I am alone here'. I shouldn't care but I do. The crunching chorus continues, Now growing louder and I pray for interuption, I hope for some kind of break, The crunching is getting like manic horror film laughter and I find that I am joining in now, I am suddenly aware how quickly my Jaw is moving, My crunch seems to be obvious and louder still, My own unwanted crunch Aria!!! Suddenly, The place smashes into light and we are no longer in our world like a high speed car crash into some Hollywood hills, We are taken up and into the silver screen. The music of the prelude is a welcome, deafening snap and I thank their God for it's banality, My popcorn now cast aside, Nerves no longer need soothing with the crunch, I just hope the flick is one that takes me off. It does. I forget I am alone in this traditonal place of beginners luck. I am there for the film and the film is there for me as it takes me off into it's dream and I relax, Slipping into that familiar grip of escapism masquerading as entertainment. I am grateful & willing. Hail to the screen! I do not mourn these moments passing, I don't even see them leave, I am away in the waking dream, Ignorant, blissful and beautifully immune... Halleluliah!

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Feeling Spring?

The sun shines so my lunch hour just gets better. Can't beat sitting by the sea under a clear blue sky on the south coast. It really is a big part of the reason I moved down to Hove. That and the music scene is just buzzing. People seem to want acoustic music and actually listen when you play. That in itself is so inspiring. Sometimes, you can bury all sorts in your song, safe in the knowledge that most people will not actually listen to your lyrics. None of that here. People coming up to me after a show and actually quoting my words back to me... Man! That is quality. People actually understanding that I am not just playing a track, not just entertaining but actually getting a point accross.

Anyway, my trip to the states is looming and I am working towards that in a very disciplined and dedicated way. Gonna be insane...

Saturday, 12 March 2011


The uneventful last few days have resulted in this rather dull post...

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

The Blizzard Of Instruction...

Another valid attempt at creation falls short...before it begins
So I stare
out of the window and see still
no dance of the breeze just the odd sway
no sun
just clouds and the reflection of my light on the window

A thought moves my mind to other pastures
Days I lay in the sun
clinging to my dream of freedom while
surrounded by mans failures
mans pathetic attempt at creating communities...
As the sky above me floats by like a feather
but never falling
never repeating
It seems i am the only one who sees the sky today
What horrible lives we suffer
lost in the blizzard of instruction
to continue on the path
Believing the capitalist dream and discovering
the nightmare
one by one
we will realise its a joke
a very bad & cruel joke that just keeps on getting played
and i am here
looking at that same sky while others sleep
little wonder
my creation
falls short

Saturday, 5 March 2011

These Things We Give Names

Honky Tonk? No, it just needs tuning...

Just wrote this on my old 1930's Burling & Mansfield upright. Yeah, she is in need of a little tune but I think its got character (!). It's called 'These Things We Give Names. You can find the video of it by going here (from about 3pm UK time today after it uploads), Lyrics are as follows...

These Things We Give Names.

It's one thing to know,
Just how you feel,
& another to work out,
Which way is up.

It's one thing to know,
How to say your name,
& another to find your way,
out of here.

All these things we give names,
& crown our mistakes like kings,
& Ignore what we feel & sigh.

It's one thing just to know,
Without ever tasting it,
& another to choke,
On your heart as you're living it.

So forgive me if I seem,
Seem a little vague,
But it's hard to speak out,
When society crowns it's shame.

Al these things we give names,
& crown our mistakes like kings,
We dance as though we know,
How to live and breathe and grow,
But our shoelaces are tied,
& our flaw is living blind,
& Ignoring what we feel...

Our arrogance,
knows no bounds,
We think we know,
We think we've found out.
But ignore what we feel inside.

Friday, 4 March 2011

Vertical Ascent

Vertical Ascent

Vertical ascent,
Widow's Lament,
A dying cold Shoulder,
On a mountain of obsession.

Rivers of blinkered Goretex,
& duck down shrouds,
Masks like ape's mouths,
Set in stone,
Cast no doubt,
Still onward,
Upward, no reprieve,
No outpouring of emotion,
Just continual, controlled, laboured speed,
Until the pinnacle is crushed,
& the descent comes gold,

The dying cold shoulder,
Now shrouded in snow,
As the self- centered, some say brave,
Lower themselves by will,
While base brings emotions,
& powerful lament,
Hastely veiled reason,
To hell and down again,
All shielded vision around,
Leaving humanity mistaken,
About this,
Vertical ascent,
& mankind left struggling,
To understand the moral code,
Of those who choose this worlds ceiling,
Over all other goals.

Mixed emotions in disguise,
Of truth, hope, bravery & pride,
But who will ever know,
The beauty of the night,
In Vertical ascent,
Beneath the heavens on show,
No wonder pride blinds,
No wonder people try,
No wonder without trying,
No wonder in dying.
No wonder without,
The beauty of the morning,
Within this Vertical Ascent.

in loving memory of all those who have lost their lives, witnessed the loss of life & summitted, in the name of achievement.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

One from last winter...

Feeling Winter

limitless nothingness but
to me

Rolling above
gentle flow
cold outside
just right
for me

I look again
to focus
but not sickly
enjoying the motion
as the clouds sail
like autumn's decree
floating down the river
they flow
and i watch
its beauty
and feel it
in me

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Wild Minds

No pre-determined course
just coincidental moments colliding
like the nail in wood struck by the workers hammer
the moment pushes you through to the other side of the event
and you pass through the change to renew
but the past has strings that need to be cut
as they cling to the moment with an emotional tack
and the only scissors you have seem blunt
and the strings much too long
too tough
and almost vital
but more like a blanket or a thumb

so you must work to cut
but no back and forth like a carpenters tenon
but straight and true
forward into the blue

But how the immature and erratic clinging nature of the mind to its moments
and it's attachment
to the inanimate
frustrates me
annoys me
forces upon me conformity
and fear
and the sense of loss
how its blind desire to remind you of moments
its wild ramblings and inappropriate associations
flashbacks triggered and lived again inspired by nothing
or something vague
something familiar
something fleeting
something dead

For what
and for who

It's a painful warmth

The meditators gain is silence
when they take that mental bull by the horns
but their loss is chaos
and chaos is better than nothing
''some people never go crazy,
what truly horrible lives they must lead''
wrote king Buk
and yes
how true

Just give me the wild free stallion of thought and all it's pro's and cons
rather than
old penned up cob

Let me witness the thoughts of the free
allow me to loose myself in natural moments

You can keep that
orderly reminiscence
anchored moment attachment to yourself

Let me ramble though the wilderness like Mcandless
feast upon reaction and sense
stumble upon moments that are beyond my influence
and settle down
to eternity
Train from London

Moving at last,
Going back to my new home.

London was a little more personal this time,
A little more familiar,
The apartment made it seem friendly,
The work, not done but drink,
Drink with my friend was fun.

Sometimes you have an idea of how things should go,
But mostly,
People like us let things go.
I think that is best.
Let the tide of circumstance just guide you,
After all, we are just passengers on this one great natural oraganic gesture,
Why let our jealous, selfish, egotistical will dictate over natures perfection?

A window to a Kitchen smuggled into a loft,
Only on this London leaving train,
Can I see these habitat secrets in such a light.


Grey sky,
Dark clouds,
Smallest hint of sun breaking through,
But that hint comes accross in these lines,
As far more than that,
It is not.
It is practically dark,
yet only 4.28pm, a cold late February afternoon.

White painted brick,
Tracks overlap,
Another Train speeds past like a startled flock of roosting birds.

All these bodies and their lives,
Like HGV trucks on a busy motorway,
Destination unknown,
Noisy and bold,
Contents secret,
These people, heavy in unspoken lifetimes of emotion,
Regret, Intention, Vieled & Secret.

Oh, the blind dance of social conformity,
All it's pointless fears,
Like spies,
We secretly eye each other in the carriage,
Eyes catching glimpses & repel like poles,
Unable to hold a glance lest we acknowledge our natural curiousity,
What a social crime to commit!

Tie squewhiff Book reader,
Mother dragging daughter,
Baby Cryer,
Well-dressed, young, single mother,
Singing Kids,
& Suddenly,
A stranger beside me sits,
I lift my bag and move along,
Now resting my book atop my bag,
Growing more conscious of inquisitive eyes,
Does he know he is now locked forever in these lines?

The train jolts on,
Long, cold, green moss-ridden brick,
Lonely, out in the air,
We draw onward.

Pidgeons roost on a roof,
"The next station is East Croydon" booms the voice like a slammed door in church,
& I run out of steam as someone's armrest squeels & I take a sip,
Minds deep in thought,
Of others, and moments past of intense wholeness,
Love & history,
Future and the wealth of inevitability,
As this train draws on.

Until Martyn Reminded Me...

Completely forgot I had even set this up, my initial whim failing to actually get passed the point of setting up an account...

So, by way of an apology to no-one, here is one of my latest ramblings...

Bike Man

Bike man,
His strange,
glazed & red eyed look,
Kids in tow - oblivious to all except the proud ice cream reward they devour.

Teapot cosy wooly heads with denim & oversized lensed camera over shoulder.

Then nothing,
Just hiss, crash & 'Wahhh! Come on Betsy" in the distance,
As the breeze dances with my free page.

Trio of people, lady with keys,
Windlessly jangling,
Curious glances in my direction.

Kids on scooters collide,
No tears,
Biggest kid leads the way,
Then more hiss, crash and the breeze asks my hair
"Shall we?"

The horizon seems so far,
A ship,
A hulk of a ship in the distance,
Unaware of my interest,
As my eyes fall on it's twin,
Further back still.

"We gotta walk back don't forget"
A grandpa advises newly mobile scooter-grandaughter.
The years straining on his ruddy map of a face.

Then I stand,
My day has to be given back to my work,
So I join the fleshy tide,
All the way back to my car.