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 Traditional Rob Z Tobor End of the Year Post, involving Auld Lang Syne and Foxes

I know this is what I wrote last year(and the year before that and that and so on) but it is now the new, New Years Eve traditional post, until I forget that I have one, which may be next year (NO I remembered) or next week, who can tell......

So here we are at the end  of 2014 (NO 2015) and we all know what that means, it means folk standing out on street corners shouting and letting off fireworks hugging strangers as they pass and singing that old traditional Scottish song that no one knows the words too. But luckily most folk are a bit merry and will not be aware that instead of singing the correct words the Masses are singing . . .  . . . . 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never mmmmm to mmmmm?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll mmmm  o' mmmm mmmm,

For auld lang syne.

 

which sort of shows that folk don't really know the words

Then everyone will repeat this until they get bored and spot an urban fox chasing a pigeon, where upon the masses will abandon singing Auld Lang Syne staggering about in a mad linked hands sort of dance and chase the fox shouting

I’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX MY DEAR,

IN A DUSTBIN AT IKEA

I’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX I BET,

PUT BUTTER IN HIS EAR

BUTTER IN HIS EAR MY DEAR,

PUT BUTTER IN HIS EAR

WE’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX AND THEN WE’LL GET

SOME BUTTER IN HIS EAR

O yes they all know the words then

So I have left a message with the foxes (again) to avoid large crowds of people who look happy. And not to spend the night raiding the Swedish meat balls in the bins of IKEA. And don’t go anywhere near people with tubs of butter

I would like to wish everyone a jolly happy new year and if you live in the UK I believe New Years Day is due to be stormy/nice or something  (it was last year),  not sunny like this year (the year before last year).  . . . I dont know what will happen this year regarding the weather yet(2015 means rain). 

If you do not plan to sing a fox based song and chase urban foxes then here are the words to Auld Lang Syne, the proper ones which are not as good but which are more traditional unless you live very near IKEA and are pestered by Urban Foxes. . . . . . . . . . .

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!

And surely I'll be mine!

And we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pou'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And there's a hand, my trusty fere!

And gie's a hand o' thine!

And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

See it all makes sense once you know all the words . . . . . ? 

2015 was the year of trying to convince that nice Mrs JK Rowling I am an interesting alternative Poet, only it did not go well  . . . I suspect that play . . . The Cursed Child. . . . may be a hint at what see thinks about my words of Rhyme which sneak up on her from time to time 

A Happy New Year to you all 

.

A Poem for the New Hermione Granger . . . (part two sort of) and my last word on the subject.

I have heard there is much disquiet

About a Black Hermione Granger in a play

But as we all know Britain is

A multicultural diverse

Sort of modern place to live in today

And besides there are many things

That would appear to be so much worse

Because it could have been Maria

From the Sound of Music

Which really would be a curse?

Or it could be been a chap pretending to be Hermione

Like in pantomime as chaps do

Shouting at the audience

Who in turn shout back?

It’s behind you

Or a huge mutant giant Squid

Getting her first big break upon the stage

Who on forgetting the lines

At a critical point

Then eats the audience in a rage

So I think we should all cheer and clap

And accept the choice

That has been made

Although I bet I get thrown out (again)

Because I sneaked in and never paid.

A Poem about the Controversy of Assumed Colour

Alice in Wonderland and someone else

also drawn rather badly

Today I have had a quite day pottering about and getting a few things done although I still have only wrapped one small present so far (YICKS PANIC) anyway two things I noticed out in the real world while hiding within the safety of my home environment. It is a nice place home and I will admit I am a lucky chap to be a position to have a nice home and family and few real problems in life at present. Other than finding a way to reveal my many talents to the greater world, while remaining a quiet modest sort of chap who is happier being a bit of a reclusive grumpy bloke.

Anyway the two things that registered in my mind that led to tonight’s Poem. . . . The first was the ISS passing over at quarter to five this evening (I did go and wave to Tim). Then I noticed that there appears to be a bit of controversy about Hermione Granger being Black in the stage play . . . . . I think the main issue is that folk have got so attached to the characters from the  films that quite frankly it has frazzled a few minds that they could be quite so different.

The result of these two events is tonight’s Poem, one that questions our deep routed ideas about colour 

When it’s dark

And you look into Space

The flying saucers you see

Are probably an Alien race

And if they point

A ray-gun at your head

Blame the cat

Or Uncle Fred

I mean no one

Likes to be incinerated

By a beast with three eyes

And if you ask a policeman for help

He will just say you’re telling lies

And Uncle Fred will wave his stick

And the cat will meow

And then be sick

On the flying saucers clean doormat

Which is typical

Of the average cat

And the alien will bleep

And maybe shout

As both the cat and Uncle Fred

Run about

As we all stick kitchen foil

On our head

In case the alien

Tries to read our minds instead

And as the cat leaps out the door

And Uncle Fred hides on the floor

We remember the wise words

That granny once said

“Why are aliens always Green and never Red”?

A Christmas Poem and a fat Squirrel

Yes its time for another repeated old poem from the past because Christmas is all about repeats and if you dont believe me just go and look and see what is on the television over the Christmas period. Just so you all know it has been raining again here today . . . . It is starting to turn me a little mad. Yes it is mild, in fact I think the temp outside is about the same as it was in the summer only it is much darker and WET . . . . And I notice that the Boxing Day sales have started in some of the shops . . . . . WHAT I am confused even more now.

Oooooooo we have a rather aggressive grey squirrel at present who is not only chasing the birds off but is now fighting us and making rude gestures as he escapes with all the peanuts. I am not entirely sure the laws of nature are meant to include an overweight greedy Squirrel 

Santa is a Zombie

Or so it has been said

He went to bed for a nap

And woke up a bit Un-Dead

So when he sneaks down your chimney

Or through your sewage drains

He will not want mulled wine or pies

He wants to eat your Brains

And when you wake up on Christmas Day

As one of the Un-Dead

You will find your wearing stockings

And a pointy hat that’s RED……..

AH HAH HA Hahah ah ah ah ha hahah hahah ha hah ah ah ahha hah ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ahh ha ha ha ha ha hah

A fairytale about a Witch, a Prince, a Princess, and the Forbidden Forest which might not end quite as you suspect.

Once Upon a time on Christmas Day a handsome Prince headed off into the great forbidden forest to save the Princess. . . .As Princes do in all the best fairy tales. . . . Well after a while the Prince got lost and was also rather hungry. Luckily though in the darkness of the forest he saw a small light shining from the window of a rather rickety old cottage deep within the forest. As the Prince approached the door a old witch opened it and said

Ah you must be the Handsome Prince hoping to save the Princess

Why yes said the Prince

And I bet you’re really hungry and reckon you could eat a horse

Yes indeed I am starving said the Prince

Well as it Christmas day you can come in and I will see what I have added the old witch

As they entered and the Prince sat down at the Witches table the Witch pondered her larder and said

What about a roast mummified horse?

Ah no . . . not really what I had in mind said the Prince

Mmm I thought you would say that of course. . . . .

Well I have

Eye of Frog

Leg of Dog

Blood stained lettuce

And the Bark from a log

But the Prince said I would rather have something else

Well what about

Harry Potters Heart

Mud from the wheels of an old apple Cart

A big bowl of sick

And a Vicars Fart

OOoo yuck no said the Prince

You are a fussy Prince and that’s for sure said the Witch

What about

A Crows beak

A mouldy Leek

A large fresh slug

And intestines of a man who was always rather bleak

Ooooooo no thanks replied the Prince

Well OK What about

A cute Kitten’s diced left front paw

Or a wizards bones on which you could gnaw

Or deep fried worms or you could EVEN HAVE them Raw

With a small portion of lions Roar

With a small portion of lions Roar said the Prince in a slightly quizzical way

Look you don’t have something like Kentucky fried Chicken, Pancakes and ice cream and maybe some raspberry sauce

WHAT . . . .  shouted the Witch rather annoyed repeating it a few times

 I’m a witch you are in the Forbidden Forest not the local Little Chef

And with that she waved her arms about and in a flash the Prince was turned into a large Green Frog.  Well it just so happened that at that very moment the Princess turned up to see the witch. Well the Green Frog (the Prince) was rather pleased to see a Princess because he knew that if she kissed him he would turn back into a Handsome Prince.

The Princess spotting the smiling frog said OOOOOooooo a Frog and picked it up looking at its little (well not that little) face. The Prince (the frog) closed his eyes in readiness to be turned back into a Prince, but before you could shout Ooooo look a Seagull the Princess swallowed the frog and said Delicious I love Frogs.  Then turning to the Witch she said I don’t suppose you have seen a handsome Prince Father said there was one in the woods.  The Witch replying He is much closer than you realise my dear but I wouldn’t wait too long for him.

With that the Princess asked the Witch. . . Do you have one of those scaly serpents tails

I do love a fried twisty tail . . . . .  YUM

And they all lived happily ever after . . . . Well most of them did.    

Three short Poems for Christmas . . . About Santa, A Rat, Algebra, and a Frog . . .

What happened to Santa?

Once upon a time

A long long time ago

There was a chap

Who liked the Snow?

And Shouted Ho Ho Ho

He sat small children

On his Knee

And jiggled them about

But the Police

Have now arrested Him

And say

He is too dangerous

To let out



The sad end of a clever RAT

I had a pet Rat

Living under my Floor

He was very Clever

But he did like to Gnaw

I taught him to Count

To almost Eighteen

But at doing Algebra

He was not very Keen

Then one day I asked Him

To work out

A(B*C) in his Head

So he leapt into the Mouse Trap

And now my pet Rat

Is a bit sort of

DEAD

Santa and the Frog

A Chinese Chap once said to me

SJK  jkSKJG LIUQW  

So I shock my head and tried to agree

But he pointed to a traffic sign and said

gfkjhp6779pdf

And then he looked at me

So I gave him a Frog

Which was big, and White, and Red.

But the Chinese chap shouted

something else,

I did not know

vbvc,jhgsdsfe iriwu erfddg

And in a cloud of smoke

The frog turned into Santa

And we all Shouted

Ho Ho Ho

Festive Poetry where Harry Potter meets the Night before Christmas. . .

Yes its time for an old favourite from the Past

I know its another repeat But I like it. .. but then I would I guess.

Was the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa for Wizards would turn up there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of muggles danced in their heads.

And Hermione waving her wand, an eye in her lap,

Had just settled her brain for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Ron sprang from his chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window Ron flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to Ron’s wondering eyes should appear,

But a Drunk Harry Potter, with eight tins of strong beer.

With a little can opener, so lively and quick,

Ron knew in a moment Harry must be feeling quite sick.

Then into the night a voice suddenly came,

And it whistled, and shouted, and called Ron by his name!

"You’re my best mate Ron you cute little Vixen!

I’ve had a great doner kebab at a party in Blitzen!

but I’ve been sick on the porch! and the top of the wall!

but must dash away! Dash away! because I might be sick in your hall”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up on the house-top Ron he just knew,

With a sleigh full of Toys, was Hagrid drinking Homebrew.

And then, in a twinkling, Ron heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As Ron shook his head, and then turned around,

Down the chimney fell Hagrid with a terrible sound

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bottle of gin he had tied on his back,

And he looked like a madman, about to attack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how scary!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose rather hairy!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like Banshees in the heath.

He had a broad manic face, was incredibly smelly,

And he shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was grumpy and plump, spitting bits of food on a shelf,

And Ron cringed when he saw him, in spite of himself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave Ron to know he better watch what he said.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

Giving a nod, out the window he then chose!

He sprang to his sleigh, and to Harry Potter gave a whistle,

And away they both flew like the down of a thistle.

But Ron heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Here Harry I know of this bar that is open all night!"

The First Zombie Ballard of Christmas 2015

Zombies under carpets

Zombies in the hall

Zombies in the corner store

Zombies playing with a Ball

And if you ask a policeman

How to escape and get away

You will find he is a Zombie

And nibble at your brain

Almost all of the day

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies having fun

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies on the run

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Tap dancing on the floor

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies tapping at your door

Zombies disguised as cats

Zombies in a tree

Zombies behind curtains

Zombies chasing me 

And it’s no good hiding in the graveyard

Because Zombies like it there

And the vicar will not protect you

Because he is a Zombie

And will not care

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies having fun

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies on the run

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Tap dancing on the floor

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies tapping at your door

Zombies on the tele

Zombies pointing at your head

Zombies in the Goldfish bowl

Zombies in your bed

Zombies are clever beasts

Using their cunning and the their guile

Pretending they are friendly

With their friendly Zombie Smile 

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies having fun

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies on the run

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Tap dancing on the floor

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies tapping at your door

Uncle Jacks a Zombie

So is Auntie Flo

And so is that chap Santa

With his evil Ho Ho Ho

Listen out for footsteps

In the drifting snow

Because it’s probably Santa’s

Little Zombie Helpers

Which means its time to go?

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies having fun

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies on the run

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Tap dancing on the floor

Zombies Zombies Zombieeeees

Zombies tapping at your door

Poetry for Creatures Hiding in Shadows

The pitter patter of tiny feet

Upon the cold, dark and wet scary street

Might be a Witch or a Zombieeeeee

Or the invisible man; who you never see

Or it might be a Werewolf who will loudly howl

Or something scarier on the prowl

Or a Mummy from an Egyptian tomb

Or the Great Winged Dragon of Ultimate Doom

Or a tiny Goblin with a pointy knife

Or that Count Dracula’s demonic bloodthirsty wife

Or it might be a Cat that is ten feet tall

Or a Banshee with its terrible call

Or Uncle Jim drunk staggering home

Or a homemade monster made with bits of spare flesh and bone

Or a Ghost wearing steel toecap boots

Or a Triffid scurrying on its horrible roots

Or the Sandman carrying a Gladstone bag

Or Rumblestilskin or a Psychotic Hag

Or a mad Goat that has eaten too much toast

Or the Haunted Hog that was once a Roast

But one things for sure as you increase your pace

Its cold clammy hand

Will wrap round your face

And its Vampire’s teeth will bite your neck

If you try to turn just to check

Surely you can’t be the victim of such an evil curse

Although it could be

Something

Even

Worse

HAH HA Hah a ha ha a ha ha ha ah ah ah ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah a ha hah

Of Course

The Creature from the Black Lagoon

Ran away

But might come back

SOON