Bombers' Moon

Some images from the Wings and Wheels event at Elvington Air Field May 8-10th 2009

Bird

Took this photo today while waiting at traffic lights in Leeds- obviously it had to be taken quickly before the lights changed, so didn't have much time to zoom in.

NaPoMo week 1

PART ONE
The Apprentice


0-The Fool at the rising

at the rising

you sit half cross-legged
pluck a desultory mandolin
the wind chases mist
in the reeds
carries the notes
across rat bitten allotments
the sun rises at my back
it is time to begin
my bundle is light
my feet, confident, skip
the cliff path
never miss a step


don't look down
don't look down
and you won't see the harpies
zig zagging the abyss
they brushed
your shoulder yesterday
pushed you into tomorrow
the dog barked them away
showed them the black
of his inner lips
curled his tongue
rapturously
around morning ragas

chrysanthemums flame
against an astrakhan sky
above the city called Pandemonium
the spires float, dream
of white clouds
while at their base bodies
squirm in filthy gutters
spit on their hands
and grin and bare
yellow teeth

I, The Fool, carry the lily
faithfully back to you
keep it safe from
marauding griffons
bees visit
trade their wisdom
for yellow dust
thirsty, I sip
from the golden cup
tired, I lay me down
and sleep in haystacks


at journey's end I lean
against the gates of dawn
place the flower
in your hair.


******************************
1-Snake Oil



In the time of the sickness
I left you spreadeagled
under the scarecrow on the hill
shaved smooth naked
androgynous
wrapped in shadow and red flannel
a spell scratched
on the erogenous side of your arm


the Dream Seller posed
at the stage door
Vaudeville matinee idol
hand on hip
eyed up the crowd
of admirers
played them like a fakir
with a dozen cobras to charm
he waved his silver topped cane
at the stars
threw coins stamped
with lemniscates
into the gutter, the urchins
kicked and squabbled
mesmerised, I caught
the silver cigarette case
he tossed to me.


in the pit
the snakes writhed
in figures of eight
weaving a cloth of lies
in perpetual motion
for fire eaters
and sword swallowers


What shall we be
tomorrow and tomorrow?
the ouroboros encircles
our world

I brought you back a magnolia flower chalice
brimmed with lost innocence
pentacles
and snake oil
by way
of a cure.

****************************

3-The Oracle Unlove

Proserpine sprawled on a throne
of earwiggy railway sleepers
piled haphazardly
propped up her feet
on the spoked crescent moon
of a half buried bogey wheel
willow herb and bramble
screened the black hole
at her back
where the ghosts
condemned to dig
in perpetuam
disembowel hell

pro umquam quod umquam
amen

They closed the mine down
after the accident
lovers carved initials
of immortality on the pillars
of the trilithon
at the shaft entrance
Capitalists painted
No Trespassing
By Law
on the lintel
Danger Keep Out
(of Hades)
By Order of the Parish Council
and sundry concerned bodies.

i unknotted my spotted hanky
spread my treasures
on the ground
before her
pawed at her pomegranate
stained petticoats
that stank of worms
and begged for wisdom
and a quick fix
of experience.


she refused my pennies
but showed me her knickers
and said to return
when I was old enough
to know unlove.

.

You play Chopin
on the upright pianoforte
in the parlour
lost
in the cascade of notes
tumbling
towards the stream of unconsciousness


******************************

4-Auntie Frigg's Emporium

A Shakespearian morning
lungs belt joy
across a lusty dale
the traveller with Spring
and green enough to spare
rests upon a crooked stile
to admire the patchwork fields.

Auntie Frigg takes down the shutters
shakes out her apron
sets out baskets, brooms and lanterns
lamp oil, dolly tubs
and a canary
(yellow) in a cage; marbles, mallets
iron fire dogs, anything you'd ever want
and a million things you never
thought you would. She
places her chair (windsor wheel back)
in a sun patch on the cobbles
plonks down fleshy arse
with legs akimbo
sparks up a Capstan (full strength)
waits for passing trade.

Unaware, the traveller
succumbs to temptation
browses the cornucopia
of her wares
there is no escape
he must buy his way out
of her jealous embrace.








I brought you a bowl
of lustrous glass
golden as the evening sun
a carnival of rococo colour
you stack it high
plums, peaches, figs
pomegranates, melons
persimmon
I lick juice from your lips
slowly.

********************************


5- Blind Jack

At the sign of the Bush and Pole
the traveller drinks relief
finds knowledge
in the bottom of a jug of ale


he has learned
already
the empty chair
close by the fire
with the view
of the whole
establishment
is not for him
instead he waits
on a rocky barstool
feels all eyes
upon him sideways


towards dusk Blind Jack
assumes his throne
tankard and trencher
to hand, surveys
this corner of his fiefdom
accepts his tributes
gives his orders
hands out wages
to day labourers

the itinerant searcher
of self-knowledge
begs audience
of the blind man
who sees all
for the price
of a quart of wine
and a purse of flattery.








the willow dips fresh
whips into the stream
you roll up your trousers
pluck crayfish from the stony bed
I spread my blanket
upon the wild orchids
and laugh at your delight
in your pauper's lobster.




**********************************

6-Pussy's in the well

The peal of bells
lures the traveller
to the city gates
dismembered traitors
with long dead grins
claim him
the dog cocks his leg
pisses on history


the smell of ground coffee
lures him to a chantry
ablaze with coloured sunshafts
a babble of syllables
speak in tongues
lick at a gilded shrine
of some rich bastard
who bought salvation
with bricks and Prime

they light candles
drop coins
everything is for sale
loyalty to the highest bidder
the talk is of lost assets
banks that fail
he fears the rippling rug
for his life , his eyes
his mind, the stubby shadow
of his soul
joins the confessional queue
without hope of absolution




In Berkeley Castle
the screams were heard
for miles around, it's whispered
the people shut their ears
to the torture of another poor sod
with a poor choice of friends
and prayed for mercy
for a quick death to stop
the noise
it is not politic
to be deviant
not wise to see
(or hear or speak)

hide your face from the cameras
display your Daily Sport
your crumpled
News of the Screws
where it can be clearly seen
that you conform.




I ran back to you
before the iron grille
slammed shut
and trapped the fingers
of my spirit in the mesh
you fed me bread
and honey
and sweet green tea
wrapped me in embroidered silk.

Empty Apartment

You get into a habit
of knowing the hours
the neighbours keep.


The Lithuanians left
moved on and I
still look for lights in blank
windows
but
no slippers wait on the floor
by the french doors
for their return
the waft of cigarette smoke
from their veranda
no longer pervades our hall
full bodied bass and treble
volume
vibrates our ornaments
from the shelves no more.

In the garage
where once thumped
exercise machines
and sculptured flesh and muscle
pumped and puffed
pushed weights and grunted
to the rhythmic breaking
of pain
barriers
silence settles damply.

The lonely wind
funnels deadletters
into the gutters
parodies the ice maiden's
roller- blades' grinding whir
the backstreet yawns
devoid of foreign cars
black as a sleeping cat
eyes closed tight
without the relentless blue
of Vlad's LED alarm
flash. flash. flash. flash.

NaNoWri Mo

Well there is is.
My badge for writing 61,000 + words of a novel in November. I have set myself until the challenge ends on the 30th of this month to lick it into a draft form to actually show it to friends and family, who may or may not read it, but it will make me feel better that I did it to entertain, which is the main reason I do anything.

I am sure much of it will irritate. It is a ripping yarn, part historical friction, part suspense and drama, part a tale of everyday folk who eat sandwiches and go for a slash every so often while being required to commit themselves to having their minds messed with by a crazy homosexual minor knight type of Guy in the thirteenth century experimenting with alchemy, cosmology and scientific theory advanced even for the twentieth century and who rejects the basic beliefs of the Medieval Western World. Only they don't actually know that is happening. They are worried it might be psychosis or God. Hopefully the everyday folk will get to have sex at some point instead of the reader just being expected to assume that they do. Didn't have time to work up to any good sex scenes. Maybe later on. One can't rush such things. Not unless the characters are suffering from crosscentruy hypnosis and act, well , out of character. But then the reader has to have an idea that he /she knows how the character should act before being shocked that they are acting out of character, otherwise it doesn't really work, does it. For me writing it, the scenes have to be practical enough to act out, and have to be able to withstand questioning devised by a mind of a nine year old. You see, they know that you can't go three days without a pee, and they know that if you have a scab, you will most certainly pick it, and when people see something nasty they often respond by chucking up their lunch.

Anyway, so now I have the winners badge for achieving the 50,000 words, I shall have to do all those other things I haven't done this month, and that I used the creative challenge to procrastinate from doing. It was quite weird. I did a load of things that I would not normally do in order to ut off sittin gdown to write, but I didn't do the things that I normally would have done. That is, I cleaned the tile grout in the bathroom, but I didn't write to my cousin and I didn't make my Christmas cards and gift tags, and there is fluff like tumble weed under the bed.

Hmmm. Maybe I might just start the sequel...

Sunday Afternoon Walk.

the stone frog
on the window sill opposite
sports a frozen snow hoodie
lopsided it dribbles
a toothless hobo grimace


sycamore and chestnut
toss in the wind
clutch at the air
desperate
dead hands with parchment skin
cling to chimneys
my gloves, the colour
of autumn
float on a copper sea
of fallen beech leaves

miles of dappled lane later
stained glass sun fails to set blaze
the hills behind the turbines
on Knabb Ridge
greyscale sky scuds in from the moor
first flakes blow
too soon to settle
melt like love in a hurry

trees, a little more bare than before
crowd, suck spaces closer together
hover twixt dusk and twilight
afternoon and evening
life and death
The chill exhilarates
inspires
I slip on a dead squirrel
fur blurred as bonfire smoke
an urban fox scuttles
through swept leaves
eyes like a luminous watch.

Incident in the Street Outside

a woman struggled
four men held her down
on the pavement
'let me go, let me go'
it was a kind of mantra
not urgent or beseeching
more a statement of fact
she seemed coherent
but sad, not even desperate
or emphatic
Marcel said she had a knife
or a piece of glass
Ben had blood splashes on his apron
he held a teatowel tight
as a tourniquet around her wrist
she twisted and bit
it started to rain
the pavement glittered
ran with oily rainbows
the chiropodist led
a fat woman away
her shoulders slumped
she dragged her feet
why do people limp
when there is nothing wrong
with their legs?
the chiropodist comforted her
i needed you here to make sense
of how these people
our neighbours
strangers passers by
those who try not to stare
from cars
fitted into this scene
no one else could tell me
the ambulance came
Gerald from the bikeshop
directed traffic
it took them ages to strap
her on the trolley
she fell off twice onto the road
bare dirty feet waving
kicking obliquely
no one dared be firm or rough
still she screamed
my ears strained for clues
hissed with horror and pain
Gerald the bikeshop
declined to gossip avoided
people's eyes
later I heard it was his daughter
having a Breakdown
in public.

Why weren't you there?
You would have known
what to do
what to say.