gumbud 2
Absolutely right, I had led a very sheltered life & surprisingly quite un streetwise
That guy has a rather large Pestle between his legs.
I thought that was 'is nuts?
nuts nuts glorious nuts
nothing quite like them
when you’re in full lust
so swing along swing along
let’s crack our nuts
and then we will all be
in glorious lust!
Nuts can mean different things to different people, always remind me of Squirrels.
This is entitled “Breaking Eggs” and it’s an old one from my favourite dead poet Mars Barr, Mars was the doorman at the Burlington Hotel here, he was 6’ 3” tall so you could say he was a poet of long standing.
It comes under ‘Free Verse’ or ‘Blank Verse’ poetry, RJ had a name for it but I can’t remember it, it basically means you can rabbit on about anything that comes into you head, it doesn’t have to make any sense nor does it have to rhyme, in fact if two words are found to rhyme you get barred by the committee. As you’d expect it has absolutely nothing to do with eggs, or anything else for that matter, in fact the more distant the title is from the actual poem the more marks you get. The Blank Verse committee said they had never come across such cryptic Blank Verse before, they took it apart and spent many wet Sunday afternoons arguing amongst themselves as to what Mars was really trying to say, you know the way these folks talk about modern abstract art, and how you have to get into the artists mind to understand it properly, all that crap, indeed one persistent little git didn’t want to give Mars any marks at all until he explained how come he got Squirrel shit on his Hush Puppies when the Squirrel ‘Blew up’ behind a mountain, Mars was ready for him and answered “He internally combusted and was turned inside out sending both his innards and outards all over the place at the same time” he reluctantly accepted that answer. They took a special interest in Mars Barr because he had a history of mental illness, perhaps they though they might have a literal minded Van Gogh on their hands and that would be a bright feather in the committee cap.
I could have saved them all that bother though, Squirrel shit and Bullshit are members of the same family no matter which way you look at it. Anyway Mars penned this in a country wood on the first day of his third escape.
I saw a big red one sneak behind a hill
Full of love and other stuff it struggled to hide
Then I heard a loud crash followed by a bang and a splutter
Horrible clouds spewed forth from behind that little mountain
The red squirrel had burst, too many nuts I reckon, should have used a plastic bag
Lumps of gutty hair clung to my coat causing stains that Persil could never tackle
“Try Tide” suggested Mother “The Union swears by it, gets everything out”
Not to be beaten I soldiered on, cursing the Squirrel shit that soiled my new Hush Puppies
Suddenly a Tree fell on me and my chest hurt badly no doubt it was undermined by the thunder of the exploding animal
I lay on my back and the Tree lay on me, what could I do?
Shout to the top of your voice, yell begot yell, but not a sound, bar a Frog expediting wind into my ear.
Night fell, then got up again, the Sun pelted down it’s radioactive beams on my scrawny face
X-Raying my brain a million times, if there’s anything there it’s gotta show soon.
The wind blew over a dark rain cloud and it opened up right above me, what a relief
Wellington boots sloshed between the water logged trees as Wellington boots usually do when sloshing between water logged trees, someone was coming, white streaky figures
That was all I can recall, I’m safely back in the Sanatorium now, thank God for that.
The ravings of a feeble minded lunatic or the work of a great poet? who can really tell, who decides what flower is a weed and what weed is a flower, why the committee of course.
Wild flowers (aka weeds) my gramps used to say that a weed was just a wild flower growing in the wrong place.
Jem.“Stream of consciousness” is the expression.
interesting post Jem, worth reading over again.
Ah yes, Stream of Consciousness, thank you RJ.
I woke up this morning
To face another new day
Grimfaced, then yawning
It’s always this way
Looking in the mirror
I see my dear father
Say, “Rob I can’t hear ya”
Fleeting memories I’d rather
Let rest in a corner
Yet life brings fine prizes
I have to warn ya
Full of surprises
Fine words RJ, everydays a new day, enjoy it but keep your eyes peeled at the same time, sound advice.
Yes, walk through the playground, the wet Caser, right in the nape of the neck, teach you to take your eye off the ball.
Was that shot intentional
A message sent directional
If so received inferred
You mindless little Basterd
There once was a time
When you didn’t know who you really are!
And then the world begins to tell
Who you maybe think you are
And so there comes persona
Layer upon layer stuck
They even give you a name
So that you won’t become unstuck!
And then some knowledge
Poured within right between the ears
But did they tell you who to be
Or did you collect between the years?
Whichever way you became
A name, a hat, a smile?
You strut upon your stage a while
You even try beguile!
And then the ‘frame that held you there’
Begins to fall apart
You have its memories brain intact
But have you gone to far?
It’s like goin back to the womb
And it’s a bit scary there
You’re floating in a silent sea
And the memories they don’t care
Don’t like the sound of that
A sad perpetual state to be in
If one is suspenso perpetuo
it would have been nice
To be a twin
Gumbud… inspired, all great stuff gents
Yes plenty of food for thought contained therein, from the womb to the tomb, that journey we must all take.
just picked up a tin of Petersons “old dublin” pipe tobacco in the mail - soothing with a bourbon and Puchinis arias! {headphone job}
the simple pleasures of man are always the best - no women involved!
These out of town shopping malls are just too big. Life compensates and in places like Marks & Spencer reside the most wonderful food halls.
I am avoiding Waitrose after a run in with the portly assistant on the delicatessen. I merely asked for thick slices of ham and she mistakenly thought I had a lisp & cut me off six thin slices of ham. I am a reasonable soul, but good ham is expensive. I handed them back to her and repeated thick slices of ham, three of . Bless her, she couldn’t get it. I took whatever she handed me.
SIX THICK slices of ham. £9.50. (it was very nice)
I digress, the strangest thing happened to me on a recent visit to M & S super food hall on junction 7 of the M27. I went in looking for their
“Dine for 2 for £10” offer now showing on tv. I had a devil of a job to find it and in my confusion walked backwards into an elderly man shopping with his elderly wife. As we untangled ourselves I noted that his basket was empty.
Then I looked at my basket, somehow his lingerie was hanging onto my basket
I hobbled after them as fast as I could but they were too fast for me. I grabbed an assistant and said
“Quick, follow that man, I have his lingerie”
Then I went & had a coffee.
you get the Hampshire Nobel Prize for story telling RJ! there is a knack and you have it!
He sure has Gumbud.
Why is it that we seem to accept more easily that it’s not unusual for an older man to be with a younger woman, but the other way round it looks a bit odd? Up to 20 years younger in the case of a man, say he’s 52 and she’s 32, nothing wrong with that, but if she’s 52 and he’s 32 they seem to get odd looks, it’s just not fair is it.
I know we talked about this before but I bring it up because of an incident that happened on my recent break in Wexford, as usual I put my big foot into again. Tuesday was absolutely a gorgeous day and after a long walk with the wife through the town of Gorey and going into every charity shop she saw, me tongue was hanging out for a pint so we went into this quite little pub in a side street. The two of us were chatting away when a woman of about 55 and a younger man of about 30 walked in, they were not locals, I knew this when the woman walked over to the bar and asked for two pints of lager, she had what I’m sure was a London accent. They sat down next to us and after a while the woman asked us were we from Dublin as she noticed our accents were Dublin, seems she has a Sister married to a Dublin Bloke. We swapped stories about current issues and the state of things generally in the world today. When the woman and the wife went out to the toilet I turned to the bloke and said “Your mother is a very nice person” He reddened a bit and said “She’s not my mother she’s my wife” Well talk about waiting for the ground to swallow you up, I took a gulp from me pint and said with a smile “Well your wife is a very nice person then” but he said nothing. When the wife came back I waited a decent interval then said I left the door of our room unlocked back in the hotel and we had to dash off. When we got back I told the wife and she nearly took the head off me “Why didn’t you keep your big mouth shut, it was none of your business anyway, God almighty, one of these days that mouth of yours will be the death of you, just as well I wasn’t there when you said THAT!” Christ you can never win with some women, the best thing for me to do then was to stay quiet, but as far as I’m concerned I made a very reasonable mistake.
Now had that been a fella 55 and a woman 30 I never would have batted an eyelid, funny ain’t it.
Jem, welcome back to our illustrious gathering.
You & Gumbud are fine writers & check in every day fully expecting rich offerings. I am never disappointed.
Regarding accents, as a young man I found myself on a textile course at Spondon in Derby (ICI)).Next to me was a charming young Dubliner, female.
This pretty thing laughed at my jokes & smiled at me day after day.
On the way to the railway station, homeward bound I asked the Group leader why was she silent all through the week, I prided myself on having a clear English accent.
“Dear boy” he sighed,
“That’s your problem, she couldn’t understand a word you were saying”
I came across a interesting definition recently which may explain the dilemmas that faced Jem and RJ
Dumb Cluck - A person with the intellectual capacity of a chicken who lacks the intelligence to keep quiet in situations where that fact may become evident to others
As I walked into the room with a dripping umbrella, the dumbcluck asked “Is it raining outside?”.
yes welcome back Jem not sure if someone was minding the shop whilst you were away?