Saturday, 23 July 2016

Unpopular Art and Poetry for the Masses

I have been very very busy lately producing artwork for my exhibition, only today when I asked Mrs Ghostwriter her opinion of my latest picture she said. . . . . . . OOOOOOoooooooo I dont like that much . . . . . . . Mrs Ghostwriter is a tough critic to please. So I am letting you see what she does not like, something us artists would not normally do. I mean if someone goes OOOOOOOoooo then putting the art in cyberspace will allow everyone else to say. . . . OOOooooooo she is right you know that is rubbish. . . . .  I have also added some repeated poetry that was also not very popular at the time in order to give this post a theme. And besides I am busy doing my best to make sure the next picture gets past Mrs Ghostwriter or as she is technically known Quality Control.

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
No No there is a long way to go
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
I just said we are not, and the traffic is quite slow
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
No I have just said, why don’t you play I Spy
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
No, will you stop asking or I will hit you with the cat and that will make you Cry
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
Look up there in the sky it’s a large Vampire Zombie Rook.
That eats small children that ask stupid questions
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
Just keep quiet and read a book
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD
OK that’s it I have had enough

DAD. . . .Why have you locked me in the Boot I cant see.
Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD


DAD. . . . . . . . . The Cats Dead.

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I do love some of that Franciscan Funk

And a bit of Hip Hop from Thelonious Monk

Plus a bit of Opera from those chaps at Motown

Or the famous Water Music by that chap Arthur Brown.

Or even that song Nineteen Ninety Nine by Arthur C Clark

And the Star spangled Banner as played at Woodstock by Johann Sebastian Bach

Who as we all know played saxophone with the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band . . . . just for a lark.

Although these days

I do have a problem remembering who plays and sings what

And folk say I am loony and have completely lost the plot.

Mind You

I once played the Bermuda triangle in the band at School

But I was told using a violin bow

Made me look like a fool.

Monday, 18 July 2016

Poetry for a Hot Day

Ah yes sorry I drew the wrong thing DAMN

Today Britain has been very very hot
And oozy and sweaty we have all got
And not in a nice oozy and sweaty way
Because us brits can’t cope
With this sort of day
And we all complain and loudly say
We prefer it cold with some nice cool rain
But when that happens we then complain
Because when it comes to weather
Us brits are quite insane
And never ever happy
And tell all
That British weather
Is indeed a pain
I mean no one likes
Rain Heat Mist and Snow
And on that point
It is time to go

It is getting late
And there is a bit
Of a chill in the air
Not that folk
Really care

And I have now got moths in the Kitchen


Thursday, 14 July 2016

Poetry for the Perfect Crime

I have trimmed the lawn
And cut the hedge
Watered the plants
And buried Reg
Underneath the patio
AH no sorry
No he has run away
To a foreign land
Or so I have been led to understand
And all his dogs have run away
And will not be back
So the neighbours say
And it was a shock to see
His house burn down
The fire brigade stuck
Just out of town
By a fallen tree on the track
Plus several boulders in a sack
And a huge hole
Dug in the dead of night
Something the fire brigade said
Was a bit suspicious and not quite right
Meaning Reg’s house has completely gone
Destroying the scene of the crime
Sorry I mean
Reg must be having a terrible time
Wherever he is
Although none of us know
But he is definitely not
Under my patio


Maybe I should not have said that

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

The Life of a Struggling Artist

I am a rather busy bee at present in the real world, you know the one where folk actually run about in the flesh talking to each other, eating food and, doing things of a physical nature. So far I have four almost finished pictures towards my future exhibition that my new manager Mr Charlie is planning. Many folk have been saying I need to do more art and so it is now happening, what I suspect might happen is folk will now go . . . . AH DAMN yes when we said art we meant something entirely different not those weird little pics. . . . . . Have you considered some performance art out in the desolate waste lands of Shropshire . . . .

You see this is why I have not really worked hard over the years being an artist, because I’m a bit of a traditionalist in a rebel sort of way. I don’t believe art should cost a fortune and all this trend for modern installations or performance art annoys me. Not because of what it is, but the truth is really good modern art is hardly new and so many of the present lot are redoing stuff that has been done to death already. Anyway I will just do what I do which is the sort of chap I am.

So there you have it a quick post to bring folk up to date. One minor drawback of all this art, gardening and sorting out the office is the poor old blog is losing page views like a stone falling through a vacuum. No wonder that Picasso chopped his ear off and the like, art is a bit all-consuming if you want to put a decent exhibition together. Never mind I will battle away both in the black voids of cyberspace and the black voids of art now. It is not easy scratching out a little place in the universe when you are just a chap among chaps in a world that is generally a bit chaotic.  The life of a struggling artist can be a funny old place to be, and yes sorry I have not written a poem in over a week. . . . .terrible


Saturday, 9 July 2016

The Start of Master Plan Number 42

Today it has started and we all know what that is going to mean . . . . .  Well it will mean with some degree of certainty that I will be posting stuff slightly less than normal. OK yes that bit has already started, but that is because I have been busy trying to stay on top of the garden and also slowly but surely working towards moving the office. The first step of which was running a network cable to the new room, which I have now done I just need to sort the room out a bit, it is rather full of stuff. (a chaps work is never done).

Right back to the main point, as you all know I tend to post a picture of some sort with most of my blog posts, things I have drawn most of the time in the days or day previously. Well I have been requested by a friend to turn them into solid pictures that can hang on the wall and be poked at by folks fingers as they ponder and say things like . . . . Well what is that meant to be its Rubbish . . . .  The public are a fickle and unforgiving bunch who do have a habit of saying. . . . I could do that. . . . 

So today or strictly speaking last night I started to turn the first of these images into a tangible solid thing. They will be smallish, I don’t have the resources to create huge pictures, and will actually be slightly sort of three dimensional. A bit like the cardboard sculpture I have created on and off for years only flatter, anyway I have a plan and know exactly what I want these to look like. All I need to do is see if the plan works with the first picture.

So what this means is time is a bit limited I will find it impossible to post something on the blog every day as well as move the office and stay on top of the garden, it is well over half an acre and write poetry and get an exhibition together for hopefully the end of this year.  So if I do vanish for a few days then all is well; if I vanish for say three weeks then all is not well and I will need to be rescued from mad Zombies or something of a similar nature.

You can all blame my good friend Mr Charlie but I have told him he has to be my manager now and do all the organising as I am a temperamental and grumpy artist.  I still am not sure if this exhibition will happen, but I will give it my best and we will see how it all pans out, you know what life is like sometimes stuff works and sometimes stuff does not.      

Thursday, 7 July 2016

Poetry for a Ticking Clock

The ticking clock
Goes tick tock
Tick tock
Even when placed
Behind a rock
And placed inside
A smelly sock
You can be sure
That it still goes
Tick tock
Tick tock
Because it is
The great eternal  
Ticking clock
Even Einstein
Tried and tried
To stop the tick tock
So he could slide
Through the fabric
Of time and space
But in the end
He had to face
The great eternal
Ticking clock
Of the


Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Poetry for a Beast that Flies

The perforated Pelican
Likes to eat cottage cheese and cake
And in Evolutionary terms
Is a bit of a mistake
Flying round in circles
From reasons that are just not known
And when I show folk pictures
They look at me, in a certain tone
Implying I am totally mad
From the outside of my skin
Right to the bone
But I tell them the beast is invisible
And that’s why they do not see
And I have a tame one in my garden
That likes to come and visit
For a nice cup of
Afternoon tea
Where we chat and pass the time of day
And laugh and point and joke
And the perforated Pelican
Tells me
I am a nice chap
And an unusual sort of bloke
Surely you don’t mean me
But if you do then you will see
When I set the perforated Pelican
Upon you
Or alternatively my huge
Mutant Android Bumble Bee

And yes it is invisible also


Tuesday, 5 July 2016

Poetry about Witches and a Gnome

There are witches
In the woods they say
That run about Naked
Both night and day
But I'm not convinced
This is entirely true
As there are insects
That bite
And in the cold of winter
The witches would
Turn blue
Although in the summer
It might make more sense
But even then
The undergrowth can be Spiky
And very dense
But being witches I guess
They can always cast a spell
So even dancing naked
Can end sort of well
With just a few scratches
From their faithful cats
But I bet even then
On their heads
They keep their hats . . . (The Witches not the Cats)
But one thing I know
Is you would never catch me
Running naked in a wood
As folk would snigger
If they could
I am sensible and confine
Such activity
To the privacy of
My stately home
Where I can
Run about naked
With my mate

The Garden Gnome

Sunday, 3 July 2016

Poetry for Science Sort of Stuff . .

Science it seems can be quite important
Particularly if you are an alien with a laser beam
Or Professor Bernard Quatermass
And his top notch scientific team  
But slightly less so if you have a van
On Clacton beach and like to sell ice cream
(Like granddad)  
All I know, which is not a lot
Is science can be jolly complex
And will mess with the thoughts
Inside your head
As someone explains time is just a paradox
And black is really red.
And electrons are all just empty space
And the human mind
Will turn everything into a smiley face
And Polypropylene is a linear hydrocarbon polymer
Which once warmed up can change its shape
A bit like my
Auntie Grace
Who seldom has

Smiley face.

Even when she has been heated up

Friday, 1 July 2016

The Kiple and the Grustle . . . A poem

The Kiple once called the Grustle a fool
When it hissed at man in a large swimming pool
Who distracted fell off the high diving board
And got left suspended by
His swimming trucks cord
The Grustle amused laughed and it laughed
The Kiple accusing it of creating a draft
The lifeguard saving the man
With his trusty pen knife
Cutting the cord the man then fell on his wife
Who below was filming on her mobile phone
The video ending abruptly
With a scream and a groan
And although slightly scratched and battered
They are now both stars

On YouTube so they say
Although it’s a YouTube video
The Grustle refuses to play