MOVING HOUSE AGAIN

the bad news:
it's the end of the road
for the all seeing i
the good news:
a new blog rises from the ashes!

THE IDIOCIES OF MARCH

"i write it all down in my almanac
a volume of minutiae
a journal as a life slips by"
since my last almanacal addition
four weeks have flashed by in a blur
just like a lunatic driver
taking his chances
down a one-way street
so here they are
the ides of march
milestones relentlessly advance and recede
the spring equinox has come and gone
the clocks have yielded up an hour of dawn calm
to the evening's cool softness
little green shoots pierce the damp earth
huge clumsy bumble bees take wing
but i nearly didn't make it
so close to being the trophy
to catch the gleam in his eye...
it's the end of a long day outdoors
i am trapped
a lone two-wheeler
stranded among the gridlock
of the after-school crush
dust in my eyes
petrol exhaust in my face
a wall of vehicles blocking my path
the lights go red
i make a dash for it
to avoid the roundabout
duck down a side-road by the three horseshoes
i spot a gap in the traffic
launch myself forwards
and suddenly find myself
the meat in a metal sandwich
one lunatic driver accelerates off the roundabout
another car overtakes into the gap
in vain i apply the brakes
my front wheel buckles
the camera freeze-frames
i am airborne
looking up at the sky
my bicycle is flying through the air
my silver saddlebags are flung in opposite directions
i seem to hang suspended
then suddenly i'm lying on my back on the road
wondering if i'm alive or dead
picking myself up
and dusting myself down
to preserve my dignity
i discover that i am indeed alive
alive, kicking and miraculously unscathed

TIME MARCHES ON

a great full moon
the sunrises advance
the nights retreat
the sun warms the frosty ground
little flowers push their tentative heads up
through the hard earth
and say 'yes, we're ready'
first the snowdrops
then the crocuses
purple, yellow, white and pale blue
now the daffodil shoots
their flowers will bloom soon
on my way back from sarehole mill
as i turn the bend into corvedale
i meet sweet barbara anne
out on her own
for a bracing constitutional
in the winter of life
she emerges into a new spring
a spring like no other
a bit of a spring in her step
it's been a dark gloomy winter for the family
a winter full of uncertainty
of difficult questions
and inconclusive answers
but we may have turned a corner

ALMANAC

i write it all down in my almanac
relevant miscellany
irreverent ephemera too
a volume of minutiae
a journal as a life slips by
all itemised in my almanac

the hours are history
the seconds are a mystery
the minutes make some kind of sense
a serendipity
an epiphany
a record of the events

i always carry around my almanac
you never know when lightning might strike
a memorable turn of phrase
images that brightly blaze
across the pages of my almanac

the dates and the places
the names and the faces
the headline-makers
the movers and the shakers
the sober and the trivial
the witty and satirical
the belly dancers
the questions without answers

almanac
almanac
cluttered pages of bricabrac
oh it keeps me sane!

i really go to town on my almanac
i never let it out of my sight
glittering spangles in the sky
a room awash in milky light
all larger than life in my almanac

a radical philosophy
a puzzling dichotomy
a smart analogy
a brainwave that occurs to me
the beauty and the majesty
the horror and the travesty
the dreams and the memories
the problems and the remedies

the empirical
the metaphysical
the magical
the mystical
the flowing and the lyrical
the fanciful and whimsical
the allegorical
the phantasmagorical

i got a memory hole
i've lost the thread
there's a buried train of thought
deep in my head

almanac
almanac
better than any aphrodisiac
oh it dulls my pain!

GUARDIANS OF THE HILL

JOY

the beautiful words of osho
babble over smooth mountain pebbles
sparkling like jewels in the sunlight
so carefully these words are chosen
so elegantly they open up new vistas
'unlearn' osho says
'take all that you think you know
and stand it on its head'
it all boils down to one simple observation:
bliss is absence of ego
like light is absence of darkness
if you want to find bliss
let in the light
let go of your ego
abandon your successes and accomplishments
your prides and your vanities
your pasts and your futures
what you have left
is the hereness and nowness of total awareness
so blindingly obvious
but so utterly contrary
to the occidental mindset

WHEELS

for the last couple of months
while sweet barbara anne has been incapacitated
we've had an x reg vw polo standing in our drive
aw!
this one-ton assemblage
of metal and plastic and rubber
of grease and electronics
such a blessing
and such a curse
on an icy morning
when the north wind is blowing
and i must bisect the city
from leafy selly oak to grubby handsworth
the warm interior of this silver chariot
seems like a godsend
on new year's day
pistons blazing
it whisked us in no time
through bright countryside
to the gentle flanks of breedon
where public transport rarely ventures
mrs fireseed and the woodle
are chauffeured to and fro
monday ballet class
saturday swimming class
supermarket runs
friends' parties
the numerous locations
that are a pain and a hassle
to get to on foot
or by public transport...
but the taxi service quickly becomes a bind
and the empty tank symbol reappears
with surprising swiftness
shell
bp
esso...
not much of an ethical choice
when it comes to filling up
then there's the parking
the chronic road congestion
the road rage
the impatient lunatics
another room to get dirty and messy
both inside and out
as if we didn't have enough of those already
and suddenly the lean machine
that i left standing idle for a month in the garage
starts to reasset its attractiveness
my two-wheeler doesn't depend
on frequent guilt trips to petrol stations
owned by ruthless and exploitative corporations
she doesn't burn up
millions of years of accumulated energy
in a split second
my two-wheeler never gets gridlocked
in the rush-hour crush
she's much too svelte and manouevrable
she doesn't lock me away
behind a lonely isolating anti-social windscreen
she transports me at a human-scale pace
she allows me to take in the sights
the sounds and the smells
she's cool if i want to stop and smell the roses
or admire a tree captured in winter sunlight
or shake off a stubborn tailgater
she shows me the value of my own graft
she gets my heart pumping
my lungs breathing
and my muscles flexing
she puts me in a state of meditation
an alertness
a here and nowness
she keeps my feet on my ground
or at least very close to it
and i rest on her pedals
not on my stan laurels

DISENCHANTMENT

always there and never here
always far and never near
always then and never now
always lost and never found
always looking around the next bend
always dissatisfied never content
oh disenchantment
hear your heart beat
oh disenchantment
feel your lungs breathe

always dwelling on the past
always willing time to pass
always poor and never rich
always broken never fixed
you entered this world with empty hands
when you depart what will you have?
oh disenchantment
embrace this soft night
oh disenchantment
bathe in the moonlight
oh disenchantment
you already know
oh disenchantment
let yourself go

NO LIMITS

looking back
i've spent an awful long time
jumping through hoops
and i've wasted an awful lot of energy
trying to conform to other people's expectations
make no mistake
the brainwashing that starts at birth
worked on me
just as effectively as it works on everyone else
i was a good boy
i kept my head down
i toad the line
i kept my parents and teachers happy
most of the time
(except when i was nasty to my younger brother)
i followed the rules
i tried to fit in as best as i could
i studied hard enough
to pass my exams
and 'get an education'
altogether
i adapted to life behind bars pretty well
the meaty sugary fatty diet
the daily routine
i wore the uniforms
i drank the fizzy lager
i learned how to indulge in the banter
even my year (and a half) off post-university
was a textbook example of youthful self-indulgence
oh yes
dear friends
i accepted the limitations
i expected the expectations
i assumed the assumptions
i deferred to my greaters and betters
i never questioned the rules of the game
the narrow confines
the choice between pepsi and pepsi lite
prawn cocktail or salt n vinegar
cadburys or galaxy
colgate or aquafresh
ah! i was a slave
to the conditioned aspirations
the convenient lies
the chasing of rainbows
the pursuit of pleasure
the hunt for happiness
the definitions of success
the allure of money
the bombardment of mass culture
the acquistion of material possessions
the crystalline rush of power
the soothing massage of ego
i could not see beyond it
my horizons were hemmed in
i was the frog in the well
the fish in the small pond
the willing cog in the machine
until one day
i can't remember when
i started to notice a crack in the edifice
gradually the cracks began to multiply
until one day there was a gaping hole
appropriately enough
i probably have the internet to thank for that
the woodle's teacher says
she's a bright kid
but she doesn't get down to her work
i say: "she's a bit of a dreamer like her dad"
but secretly i'm pleased
she's putting up some resistance to the hoops

PULLING THROUGH

to smell the delicate fragrance of a spring twilight
to hear the cries of playful gulls cavorting far above
to watch a smoky greyhound stretch out across a bright dusk sky
to see the gilt-edged clouds chase one another across the horizon

to feel the gentle kiss of the evening sun
to feel the warm sand between my toes
to taste the tart sweetness of fresh raspberries
to chase a giggling child around the flower beds

to watch the arcing shuttlecock land just inside the line
to feel the air rush through panting lungs
to smell the comforting aroma of home-made nut roast
to sink at last into a comfortable armchair

to sense the milky white glow through the bathroom window
to watch a jaunty magpie hop along the ridge tiles
to feel the heat of the hearth upon my hands
to caress the smooth grain of time-worn oak

AND THE WOODPECKERS CHASE

renewal and rebirth
spring awakens
groping her tentative shoots up through the earth
a ring of delicate snowdrops sprinkled like fairy dust
encircles the base of a hornbeam
sticky little buds
burst from the twiggy fingers and hands
of an overhanging chestnut
large flocks of great and long-tailed tits
busy themselves in the hedgerows
high up above
a sudden burst of machine-gun fire
ricochets around the woodland
a territorial warning shot
answered by an intruder
who attacks in spectacular fashion
an exploding missile flying in from left field
and the woodpeckers chase each other
in giddy circles through the treetops

OUT OF THE WOODS & INTO THE TREES

thanks for the email, mr k
much appreciated...
good news!
unplugged
delinked
disconnected from her life-sustaining matrix
barbara oliver
(bo - school nickname 'lifebuoy')
tucks into her first proper meal for months
a plate of hospital veggie lasagne, no less!
suffering no ill effects
she takes this big leap for stomachkind
in her stride
just as she has taken in her stride
long months of worry, hassle and uncertainty
the doctors
the nurses
the consultants
the surgeons
the physiotherapists
the dieticians
the appointments
the cancellations
the tests
the scans
the investigations
the visits
the drugs
the injections
the bed pans
the hair falling out
all the rigmarole and the malarkey
even with the state of the art wizardry
the queen elizabeth has to offer
1 in 20 still don't make it
but i'd bet on old barbara anne pulling through
amazingly she is discharged and back home
just a week after the op
and it's already yesterday
when i go round
things are back to something disarmingly like normal
dad fusses around
does all the housework
waits on barbara hand and foot
gently reminds her
to keep up her hourly breathing exercises
and her muscular stretches
checks she's taking the right pills
at the right time
there's nothing like this kind of event
to make you take stock
i have often criticised
even resented my parents
for their innate conservatism
their inbuilt caution and inertia
their deferential attitude to power and authority
but i have to concede to them
one of their greatest assets
apart from their love
their reliability

LIFE SUPPORT

somewhere amidst the bleeps and buzzings
in the heart of the intensive care unit
my mother sits
propped up in an armchair beside her bed
her wispy hair neatly brushed back
her pallid skin luminous
under the fluorescent strip lighting
giving her an almost ghostly countenance
24 hours ago she emerged from theatre
after six and a half hours on the operating table
the surgical team were assembled
anesthesia administered
scalpel proferred
incisions made
a lung collapsed
a rib broken
a large tumour removed from her blocked gullet
her stomach reattached to whatever remains
now
doped up with painkillers
she drifts in and out of consciousness
her train of thought blurry
her speech only semi-coherent
"nil by mouth" says the sign
her throat is dry
her voice raspy but audible
she is the hub of an intricate network
which impedes her movement
tubes, pipes and catheters
feed oxygen, food and vital fluids in
more tubes, pipes and catheters
collect various waste fluids in bags
a monitor displays a raft of indicators
of bodily function
in real time
heart rate
breathing
blood pressure
other stuff i can't fathom
this array of technology
maintained and monitored
by a kind and vigilant young chap called joseph
somehow keeps my own flesh and blood ticking
against all nature's odds
as i grasp my mother's warm hand
i perceive sitting before me

a triumph of science

a miracle of the modern age

OBJECTIVITY

fireseed awoke suddenly from troubled sleep
rubbing his eyes
he stared in astonishment at the wall of his room
slowly letters were begnning to form
words began to cohere before his eyes
burning themselves into the wallpaper
and into his retina
SOCIETY HAS VARIED AND CONFLICTING INTERESTS
the first line read
WHAT IS CALLED OBJECTIVITY
IS THE DISGUISE OF ONE OF THESE INTERESTS
THAT OF NEUTRALITY
the message continued
BUT NEUTRALITY IS A FICTION
IN AN UNNEUTRAL WORLD
THERE ARE VICTIMS
THERE ARE EXECUTIONERS
AND THERE ARE BYSTANDERS
AND THE OBJECTIVITY OF THE BYSTANDER
CALLS FOR INACTION
WHILE OTHER HEADS FALL
the words burnt into his consciousness
fireseed fell once again into restless reverie
when he awoke again
the walls were blank
but on the bedside table
lay a piece of notepaper
scrawled upon in wiry handwriting
there were just two letters:
hz

TOOLBOX

an nvq (not very qualified)
level two
city n guilds
enviro-mental conversation
gcse grade d or e equivalent
apparently
grunt stuff
oink! oink!
mucking about in the muck
shivering on a cold n drizzly day
in mid january

struggling to make ends meet

on part-time wages

lashed together from four separate jobs

all well n good this student stuff
but where will it lead?
will it get ya a job?
a promotion?
more dosh?
is there any future in it?
look at the council
laying off half its conservation staff
swelling the ranks
of the long-term unemployed...
but me
i aint seeing this as a career move per se
i just had the urge to get out there
to stop talking
and start walking
to move beyond the theoretical
and actually do something useful
something hands-on and vital
dirt under the fingernails
a million miles away
from that stifling office-based environment
with its screeching phones

and its whinging ninnies

its glowing screens
and its deadening fluorescent lights
i clean and sharpen my tools
don my gloves
and get to work
cutting
lopping
snedding
sculpting out new habitats
harvesting materials
creating something meaningful
and beautiful
and all of this
adds a string to my bow
an arrow to my quiver
a tool to my box
throws another iron in my fire
and adds another poly to my math

FOR THE TIME BEING

what time is it mr wolf?
let's call the speaking clock
at the third stroke
the time will be...
five forty-three and twenty seconds
pip pip pip...
did ya ever ring that posh lady up?
i remember her voice
back in the eighties
droning on n on
intoning her timely update
every ten seconds
though it was the eighties
oddly it sounded like it was still the fifties
a dickensian world of black n white
i wonder what that lady sounds like now
perhaps they've replaced her with a younger model
or maybe she's still there
droning
on n on n on
time
it is sand in a glass
it is money
sometimes it drags
other times it stands still
it flies when you're having fun
it waits for no man
or woman
it is of the essence
we all spend it
a lot of us waste it
some people pass it agreeably
others try to kill it
over the years
us controlling humans
have gone to incredible lengths
to measure it
to standardise it
and then mass produce it
imposing it on the whole world
whether that world likes it or not
once time was tied to the spinning of the earth
the waxing and waning of the moon
now a gibbous moon
now a crescent
the dawning day and the darkening night
then armies of clever astronomers calculated years
divided them meticulously into months and days
hours, minutes and seconds
the months were a little irregular
especially february
but the hours, minutes and seconds
were perfect little multiples of sixty
which suited the lady on the phone very nicely
as it made her job nice and regular
of course they fudged things a tad
when time didn't quite add up
they threw in little tricks
like a leap day every four years
when the solar system refused to adhere
to tidy human demands
for these esoteric measurements
were all news to the earth
as it orbited inevitably around the sun
and indeed to all the other species that inhabited it
of course the colonial englishmen
had to have the final say
proclaiming the greenwich meridian and gmt
anchor of the world's time still
another of our exports
like our lustful language
thrust upon unsuspecting foreigners
british time can't quite make up its mind
but it keeps us pommy limeys on the hop
bst kicks us all out of bed an hour earlier
gmt gives us an hour's grace as the nights draw in
this artificial system
synchronises intercontinental human endeavour
to an amazing degree
where would air traffic controllers be without it?
but we are a slave to time
and enslave others to it
we clock in
we clock out
we fill out time sheets
we charge for our sevices by the hour
for time is money
and money is time
not quality
we set the alarm clock
next thing we know
we are leaping out of bed
to turn the blessed thing off
or hit the snooze button
we cast nervous glances wristwards
we will the hands this way and that
we set impossible deadlines
then break our backs to meet them
we set the clock deliberately fast
because we don't trust ourselves
we defy the yellow light to beat the traffic
we ignore the elements
we become oblivious to dawn and dusk
we stagger blindly from task to task
all for the sake of the old tick tock

LUNATIC DRIVER

lunatic driver
playing with speed
taking his chances
down a one-way street
lunatic driver
he's on heat
burning the rubber
down a one-way street

headlights blazing
no hint of fear
he crunches his joystick
into sixth gear
he owns the road
and he makes it clear
he's in an audition
for the next Top Gear

nerves of steel
at the wheel
anti-hero of a teenage dream
i climb inside his death machine
am i lunatic driver?

lunatic driver
there he is
he's on my tailgate
he's closing in
lunatic driver
no i won't be him
someone save me from that lunatic

and if i should die
bury me at the roadside
a trophy to catch the gleam in his eye
i wish i could fly
leave him far behind
but there's no place to hide
from that lunatic driver

lunatic driver
playing with speed
taking his chances
on a one-way street

DRIVING RAIN

i am transported to another place
the fragile calm of the snow
her delicate swirling flakes
her frosty embrace
her soft yielding crunch
erased
washed away
by the raw power of a different element

the pure white cityscape suddenly rendered naked

as incongruous as lady godiva on her horse

the rains have descended in gusting torrents
waterlogging the fields
flooding the ditches, brooks and streams
now all that remains of our garden snowman
is a bedraggled scarf-draped termite hill
yet this must come as some relief
to the food and water-starved creatures
precariously clinging to invernal survival
the moles that penetrate the unfrozen crust
the thrushes that tug at elastic band worms
the moorhens that peck holes in the cellophane lake
out of hibernation come us humans too
back on the highways and byways with a new vengeance
the sunday drivers displaying their creed for speed
who have no time for or interest in the here and now
as the tarmac blurs by beneath our feet
as the tyres spraypaint mud and gravel on a roadside canvas
as an oily patch reflects a myriad psychedelic colours
and then is gone
as the trees and buildings and fields and hedgerows
all speed effortlessly by
our minds are already fixed on other vistas
on what lies around the next corner
or over the brow of the next hill
on the next mile covered
the next acquisition or conquest
the next notch on the bedpost
but has it not ever occurred to us
that one day there may be no more distance left to run?

ELEMENTAL

there was once a large verdant island
that floated upon an emerald sea
humid tropical forests blanketed her curvaceous terrain
home to arboreal lizards and fabulous parrots
eagles soared with majesty
over her erect mountain peaks
lush fertile valleys spread out
across her flat warm belly
moist mangrove swamps
nestled among her fragrant groin
saltwater crocodiles and flamingos grazed plentifully
on the azure lakes and lagoons
that beaded her perspiring flesh
her bunched petticoat coastline
harboured numerous sheltered bays and coves
where one day a large vessel laid greedy anchor
the strange covetous pale-skinned gods
who navigated her waters
christened her hispaniola
though to her erstwhile inhabitants
she was known as ayiti - land of high mountains
as the old world encountered the new
as two far-removed human civilizations clashed
it was as if two adjacent techtonic plates had collided
ayiti never stood a chance
once the small-talk was over
her despoiling commenced
the avaricious gods demanded daily tributes
precious metal from her peoples
on pain of detaching both their hands
missionaries arrived to civilize the restless natives
flogging the children to cast out the devil in them
their numbers were ravaged by infectious diseases
a thousand sharpened axes
laid waste to ayiti's forested hills
her technicolour parrots and prehistoric iguanas
were exterminated
in their place tobacco and sugar plantations
were tattooed across her body
as far as the beady eye could see
there were sweaty open-air factories
worked by stooping black men with scarred shoulders
and a terrible look of fear in their eyes
decades and centuries passed
and as the old world self-imploded
in internecine warfare
the fearful black men
whose ancestors had been torn from their homeland
rose up and demanded sovereignty of their violated ayiti
still somehow remembered by her old name
though the blood of the ayitians
had almost all been spilt
and much diluted among their descendents
self-determination was fought for and won
but proved to be slippery and elusive
for yet more lustful powerful and greedy men
were keen to sublimate the fabled land of mountains
to their own needs and desires
a new occupation no longer in the name of christ
but under a more sophisticated guise
liberty equality and fraternity
good governance
humanitarian intervention
and so the dwellers of rich fertile ayiti
remained as they had been for so long
impoverished, disenfranchised and hungry
until two techtonic plates deep under the ocean
clashed once more
in a ferocious seismic gesture
that shook haiti asunder
and left her dying

SNOW JOB

b29 in whitest white
somewhere in a city lost deep in january
hard clanging civilization blanketed in soft silent snow
a deep-pile white carpet that urges all creatures to hibernate
to stay indoors
wrap up warm
hunker down and conserve energy
for food and running water are hard to come by
and survival cannot be taken for granted
all other concerns are mere frivolity
dangerous folly in fact
folly among the holly
foxes and badgers sleep deep in their burrows
butterflies lie dormant in tight crevices
little birds huddle together in their flocks
relying on their autumn fat
yet one species tries to ignore the elements
priding itself on maintaining busyness as usual
its upper lip stiffly curled against what Nature can throw at it
for it must worship its false gods
it must bow down
at the twin altars of Progress and Growth
that shall not be served by gentle hibernation
and so the wheels of industry grind on
the factories clang and grunt
the boilers and heaters are cranked up to maximum

the snow ploughs judder into action

the gritters show true grit
a million vehicles take to the streets
to do battle with the dirty freezing slush
their rush and roar pierces the air
so callously they violate the elemental serenity
some won't make it home tonight
emergency services emerge and are severely stretched
desperate downtown shop-owners pedal their wears
read all about it - 'retail therapy the new viagra!'
thoughts turn to summer holidays abroad
or last-minute bargains on an easy jet
a million phones beep out a million text messages
a million televisions blare out a cacophany of infotainment
a million red tops divulge jordan's latest conquest
or conquistador
a million office monitors silently hold their gaze
a million pcs compute trillions of digits
the whole shebang grinds determinedly on
the icebreaker pushes unhesitatingly forward
on automatic pilot
regardless

RESOLUTION

to search for harmony in mind, word, deed and spirit
to seek a way out of the havoc and destruction
our species reeks
to reject us and them
(whoever they are)
to rebel against Progress and Growth
to be watchful for mirages and false friends
to avoid the endless distractions
to harness positive energy and power
to galvanise realistic hope
to dispel unrealistic despair
to art-iculate the vision to others
in poetry, song and manifesto
to banish wrong-headed myths
and shape new ones
...very simple really