Hello . . . . . . Sorry I'm Busy. . . Back soooooon

There are Bugs out there

That are going to scare

So just make sure

That you beware.

I know it is short but I am still really really busy

hope to be back soon

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

AAAAAuuuuuuuuugggggggHHHHHHHHHH.

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

.

.

.

WHAT?

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

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.

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

DAMN

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

AH

DAMN

Maybe I should not have said that

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

  

   

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.      

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

And

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

Human

Race  

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

MAD NO

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

So

YA SUCKS BOO 

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

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

A

Smiley face.

Even when she has been heated up

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

The Strange fable of the Beast and the Mirror

For many years mankind had worried that the world was doomed and that it would come to an end. There had been many predictions of its demise from meteors from space to the Environment. But no one actually knew what would finally bring the End of the World and so no one knew what they should do to stop it, because by the time they knew it would be too late. 

However in a dark cave deep in a forest in a wild and seldom visited land lived a beast, a very old and very wise beast who it was said knew of all things. So a party of great leaders and scholars from all around the world ventured into the forest of the seldom visited land to find the mythical beast of legend.  And after many many weeks of hunting they finally saw the strange beast watching them from the entrance of an unassuming cave.

The beast looked and said to the party of great leaders and scholars you have come to ask me a question about how the World will end and what you can do to stop it. The great leaders and scholars from around the world were very impressed and said we have indeed.  The beast thought and pondered for a long time and then said.  Only one thing will destroy the world but to find out what it is will involve a task, a task where you will all have to work together in order to complete it. You will need to make a mirror, but not just any mirror but a huge mirror so large that all of mankind can look into it. It will take many years and require many skills, but once complete it will reveal the terrible truth.

Well the great leaders and scholars from around the world returned home and for many years worked together to make the huge mirror, and because they were all working together there were no wars and much prosperity until one day it was finally finished.  The world’s population admired their work and then slowly and apprehensively moved forward to look into the mirror to see what terrible thing was going to end the world, but when they all looked all they could see was themselves looking back.   

Poetry for Ned the Sub-Aqua Beast

Ned was a Sub-Aqua Beast

With lots of legs

And a crusty Head

Who scurried about

In the semi dark

With his all-seeing eyes

To avoid

The Tiger Shark

And he once tap danced . . . (so he said)

With Fred Astaire

Who got very wet

But did not seem

To care

And while nibbling Seaweed

And a cuttlefish bone

Will talk to the fish

In a superior tone

About Science and Maths

And Shakespearean plays

Which he will do

Not for hours

But for days and for days

But fish are easily distracted

By stuff in the sea

Which is very annoying

Both for Ned

And for me

Yes Ned I quite agree now why dont you go and talk to the fish. No honest they are not bored. 

The Strange World of Professor Vatis Brexit . . . A Poem

The strange world of Professor Vatis Brexit

Is full of in’s and outs

Where people Stay 

And people Leave

And some just sort of sway 

It’s a land were leaders shout I’m in charge

But are chased by lots of other folk

Who reply very loudly No you’re not

And then throw them off Big Ben just for a joke

And others shout I am right

And you are quite plainly wrong

Where Icelandic folk

For reasons not known

Sing a happy happy song

Of course Professor Vatis Brexit watches bemused

As turmoil continues day after day.

Looking up from his desk

Winking at his colleague Professor Britstay

And saying

These British are as mad as a box of Frogs

In an Eccentric British

Sort of

Way 

The Frustrations of a Leave Voter

Here in Britain there is still a certain amount of bitterness in the air as folk get to grips with the implications of the Leave vote. It is now plainly clear that the leave vote was not meant to win and the public (some) have done what the public have a habit of doing from time to time and that is screwing the entire thing up big time. Some are looking at ways of saying . . . HANG ON that vote was not valid due to the wrong sort of voter voting, As a slightly middle-class chap who owns his home and is a bit leftie in a quiet middle class way I can sort of sympathise to some degree with that thought.  After all what seems to have pushed us over the edge so to speak, is the fact that the poorest and most isolated who tend to be less well educated and dare I say it racist along with the elderly who are often more racist than they will admit all voted leave for the wrong reasons.

Now despite the present state of chaos in the government I still think that Britain in the long run will be better out as I firmly believe the EU is not economically or politically stable and has many problems. However I was not expecting the government to fall apart at the seams as politician stabs politician in the back, and it is deeply regrettable that some have seen this vote as an excuse to be openly racist in public.  These are very sad events indeed.  I can’t help but think the level of racism we are seeing has been lurking under the surface of society for a long time, but the manor of the campaigning and the result has brought it to the surface for all to see.

As a leave voter I would be happy to see an agreement with the EU where the free movement of people is part of any trade deal, similar to those countries within Europe who are not part of the EU accepted as part of any deals they have; to me it makes sense to pursue something similar. The problem with this is that I may be part of a very tiny minority who would be happy with this as an outcome.  But I would rather stay in the EU than be part of a country that has oppressive immigration controls with racist undertones. There are some things in society that are just not acceptable

I guess the one thing all this has shown us is, Britain is a fragmented society where there are poor, badly educated and inward looking communities, all the way through to the super rich.  Each different group isolated from the others. I suspect the problem is not that fact we voted leave, but that we have created a society where suspicion,  racism and poverty  has been allowed to flourish and now all leave voters seem to be tarred with the same brush.

If you voted Stay and you think I'm a fool well I cant change that, but at least we live in a country where we are allowed to vote (OK we did)

I really need to get back to writing some poetry and a doing a bit of art; this EU thing has messed with my mind. What ever happened to a bit of simple humour, and I cannot even smile at folk on the bus any longer.       

Poetry for the Leave Vote

It appears voting out was a terrible sin

And we should have all voted in

Because voting leave means

You are just not nice

And the sort of person who will

Bite the heads of mice

Whereas voting stay means you

Are wise and knowing

And smile, and are good

With a Halo glowing

But I have to wonder

As turmoil reigns

And we try to sort the

Divisive pains

If we were meant to all sing

The same chromatic note

Why on earth did the Government

Allow us all to vote.

I mean surely the Boaty McBoatface vote should have warned the Government that letting the public vote is a risk and a half if you really only want one outcome.

OMG . . . . We Voted to DO WHAT . . . . .

OMG. . . . WHAT?

AH yes it appears that my assessment of the situation yesterday was entirely wrong, well not entirely as it was a very close vote. So us Brits, well about a half of 70% of those who can vote voted to leave the EU. What this means is that somehow last night I became the me in the alterative parallel Universe . . . . I hate it when that happens. . . . .  I have to say there was much shouting on the internet this morning and the News channels are having a great time, with more news than they can shake a stick at.

Many are saying terrible gloom and doom things, but I feel that is wrong it is not gloom and doom it is a new start and something to be embraced. Leaving the EU will only work if we meet our fellow Europeans half way and smile and hug each other, what we don’t need is the inward little Englanders getting their way and turning their back on the rest of Europe. To me there is nothing wrong with hugging a few Europeans but then saying . . .  we like you, but that bureaucratic Economic machine of yours is rubbish. . . .  Ok there will be a bit of a bumpy start to this great new adventure, but I do believe that in the long term it will be for the good.

 Of course I could be entirely wrong, but one thing for sure is we cannot undo what is done, well not in this Universe so whether or not you agree with the leave vote it is important to do our best to make it work as well as possible.  I am starting by drawing more pictures of a friendly nature. My granddaughter did her bit the other day by defending two Spanish students on a train who were being given a hard time by a passenger. She is a feisty young thing and will take no messing and will defend the rights of others. She voted to stay and has been on social media rather a lot today moaning at folk. . . I think she needs to go into politics before she gets all cynical like me.  She would probably shout at me too, but I play gaga these days. . . . and do it rather well.    

The predictability of the predictable and parallel universes

I know it has nothing to do with the subject

As the British all head off to vote or have voted or are not voting, I was just thinking this is one of those points in the history of a nation where a parallel universe would be damn useful. You see one of the great dilemmas of the stay/leave EU referendum is that no one for sure will ever know exactly what the outcome would have been if instead of stay the leave vote won (or visa-versa although I suspect stay will win by a whisker). You see which ever option wins folk will say in a few months or years . . . . There you go I told you so. . . .  But you can only do that if you know for certain what would have happened if the opposite thing had happened, only it didn’t. . . I hope that makes sense, sort of.

History is scattered with events where a small decision here or there changes the course of world history.  Sometimes it can be something where the consequences of a simple choice cannot be predicted either way. To me the EU referendum is such a choice. We can say many things and make many assessments but if ever there was a good example of Chaos theory in practice it has to be the workings of the European Union. It looks like it is an organised structure but under the surface are a million individuals all doing there bit to make a decent living, pay all the bills, look after their families while trying to hold the whole EU thing together while the politicians and the public complain. Some are honest some have their fingers in the EU till some are efficient and some are completely incompetent, that is the way life works when lots of folk all work together in one organisation. Just look at the National Health Service. I have had more than my fair share of being poked about by the NHS in the past stitching me back together and I can say with some certainty the staff are an eclectic bunch of mixed abilities from the brilliant to the terrible.

Anyway back to the point tomorrow as we wake up and think. . .  OMG we voted to do WHAT?. . . .  don’t worry because in a parallel universe somewhere there is a you that voted the opposite way and has woken up and is thinking. . .  OMG we voted to do WHAT?. . . .  An for a brief moment in time the two universes will converge before heading off in opposite directions never to be the same again.

I would love to see the outcome of both in and out in ten years time so that I could go . . . . well I did not expect that to happen but I don’t think I will. . . Well not the same me anyway and the other me will not tell me a thing (he is as grumpy as I am)   

Ooooooooo sorry damn I got slightly distracted by things so my post is a bit late and it appears the voting is done and the win for stay now predicted . . . . . don’t you just hate the predictability of the predictable. Still in the end a bit of chaos theory will have us saying . . .   OMG WHAT?. . . . but maybe not tomorrow.        

Poetry for the EU Referendum Vote

We have reached that day

Which seemed so very far away

The dreaded EU referendum vote

Which if we leave

Will cause some to cheer and some to grieve

And some to dress up as Horatio Nelson

While others will pretend to be pirates

Or spacemen or a pantomime horse

Which the rest of Europe

Will look upon baffled and confused

And tell each other . . . .

Well they are British of course

And we have never understood them

With their terrible Eurovison songs

And their silly cricket balls

And what kind of nation

Would throw wet sponges at vicars

Or play splat the rat

Amongst the village fete festive stalls

And why do they tolerate all that rain

Then complain about all of us

I mean have you ever been on their trains

Or their inter-city bus

But if they do vote to leave

Well it will be a rather sad sort of day

But it could be so much worse

They might decide to stay. 

Well who can tell

Not Me