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Me:
“Please, please, please can you read my book?
Because I’ve worked so hard,
At least take a look.”
You:
“Poetry....? Well...I’m not sure I like it.”
Me:
“Well, if you have a soul, then this will ignite it.”
You:
“Maybe then....Tell me, what’s it all about?”
Me:
“That’s hard to say
You: Me:
You should just check it out” “But I’m a little bit skint What should I do?” “Go to the library, you can get it there too!”
Jason M. Temple
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see you before me now and you look real enough. (Prod... Prod).
Is anybody there? 2
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Brand New Me
e! M e on e t S s n * Brand New oh J s Mr
Brand new paper, Brand new pen, Ideas will come, Just don’t know when.
Reader: Artist:
”A mistake on the first poem Not a good start!” ”Soz!”
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A Break From Tradition Sitting outside a coffee shop, Writing down ideas, Such a romantic notion Passed down for many years Watching people, take a sip. A NEW IDEA ! Could this be it? A final sip, another look. Will this poem end up in my book? “Your book you say?” Yes; “My book.” I said. “Now there’s a thought!” I also said.
Reader: ”Oh, that was an unexpected end to a very below average poem” 5
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Reader: ”Nice t urn Isn’t on out. ef than th oot bigger e other? Artist: ” ”You ju st HAD to that ou t didn’t point you?”
pirate oes that ” d y h ”W s? Reader: ndy leg ? have ba urvy no...Sc ould have n u D ” Artist: ? He sh Rickets e oranges!” or eaten m
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A Monkey! Just A Boy
A monkey looks like a monkey, A car looks just like a car. An orange looks like an orange, This scar still looks like a scar. But YOU, you look like an angel, Take me with you the day that you fly. Me? I’m not sure what I look like, Probably.........Just a boy.
g ritin to w u e yo HAVE e s you e to over : Nic y, but g all r poet doodlin rk! o stop homew your ston n h o J Mrs
Editor: “You really must sort out this title problem”
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Watch The Time
I found a way to travel in time. You just open up the back of your mind, Let the workings all unwind, Then spend your days seeing what’s inside. One lucid day the alarm will chime And if you can get the gears to grind And twist your loose wires into twine, Look up, then make your homeward climb. When you’ve reached the top, it’s then you’ll find, When you can look back down the line And re-live the lives you’ve left behind, That time and space have intertwined.
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Brand New Me
e! M on ee t S s n * Brand New Joh s r M
Brand new paper, Brand new pen, Ideas will come, Just don’t know when.
Reader: Artist:
”A mistake on the first poem Not a good start!” ”Soz!”
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
“That’s a whole different kettle of fish.” Do you think the different kettle of fish is a different colour and shape to the original kettle of fish?
A kettle of Fish
A whole different kettle of Fish
A whole nother kettle of Fish
Reader: ”Looks more like a chocolate teapot made of fish.”
A half kettle of Fish
Artist: ”Don’t worry fish lovers. The water from the half kettle will sweep them along to the pond :-)” Reader: ”What pond ?” Artist: ”Er....... Good point!”
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
The Moon Landing
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Quipman
(What An Annoying Super Hero).
Quipman: ”What’s this I hear...? Or rather, don’t hear (wink!)” Below, at Dave and Laura’s place. Laura: “Eek. There’s a lull in the conversation, what can we do?” Q: ”Have no fear, Quipman is here. Tell me citizens, when did the conversation lull?” L: “Just before you got here”. Q: “No, I mean what was being said, er, citizens” L: “Look, you can call us by our names, we have known you for ages.” 14
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Q: “OK.....Sorry” L: “Sooo.. Dave said he might start doing yoga.... didn’t you Dave?” Dave: “...” L: “Anyway.....After I picked myself up off of the floor and sewed back my sides, I said: “You? Yoga? Yogi Bear would be more like it!” And then Dave couldn’t think of anything to say, so we were just about to sit down and watch telly.” Q: Looks like I got here just in the Nick of time citizerrr...Laura.” L: “Oh, I like Nick, is he here ?, How is he?” Q: “He’s fine! Shh now. So here it is....My quip...If I were you.... Dave,. I would have retorted...” L: “Retarded?” Q: “No! Shh now.. I said retorted.....OK, I would have replied..” L: “Refried?” Q: “No!” L: “Retried?” Q: “No!” L: “Repied?” Q: “Nooooo...... Now listen. This isn’t going to work if; You keep interrupting me. You shouldn’t interrupt poetry. It spoils the flow. It spoils the rhythm.......” L: “The Gibbon?” 15
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Q: L: Q:
“Nooooo......OK..Just listen...That’s all. OK?” “OK!” “I would have said.....Uh...I....Ohhh...Look; it’s not working now. You spoilt it. It’s lost all the impact. Listen, I’ll come back later in the book and we’ll try again then.” Quipman, Dave and Laura all stand with fingers tapping on their thighs.
Q: L: Q: L: Q: L:
“See you later then Laura..........Dave.” “Goodbye Quipman......And thanks” “I didn’t do anything yet.” “Oh yeah. Hey, did you notice that this piece has gone on for three pages, that’s the longest so far in the book. And, if you look over to the other side of the page there is a poem about me and Dave which the Artist hasn’t written yet...So he’d best get on with thinking about that, instead of pretty girls and towers in the sea.” “Er...bye then.” “Yes, bye then.”
And Quipman flies off to find more lulls, his work here is done.
Q:
(Shouting from the skies) “Oi..I didn’t do anything yet!”
Oh yes, sorry..... Meanwhile Laura and Dave’s poem begins on the next page..... Artist:
Layout Guy:
”Aghhh....That’s not fair, I’m not ready yet! And.....Eek, no room for a picture!”
“Sorry.”
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Laura and Dave
This poem isn’t written yet And I feel I’ve been forced to do it. It wasn’t in my brain before And now I wish I knew it. I guess it’s best to start this off With something about Laura. But I can’t think of anything that rhymes, At least nothing that won’t bore her. (Artist: ”I did find a rhyme really :-)”)
And Dave, he didn’t say a word On that silly piece on the page before. But we should study him further, Later in this collection, Because now I think We should end this section.
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Fighting Fantasy In this poem, here below, I’m trying to be quite clever. I’m hoping to take you back in time When days went on forever. We used to have these books back then, They were like role play games with a dice and pen; That’s all you’d need to fight Orcs and Elves, Seemed a better idea than fighting ourselves Anyway, about these books, You played a hero with good looks. And fought the baddies out of the way And got the girl and saved the day. Then one dark day it all came true. I had to fight with all I knew. Then I fell down 1000 stairs, Hoping I would find her there. Er.....Sorry, yes, the story’s end... Well, you can choose which way it will be; If happy’s your wish; turn to page 51. If you want sad; page 63.
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Robin
Dinner Dinner Dinner Dinner Dinner Dinner Dinner Dinner
Robin
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The Girl Who Disappeared Way way back, Way back in time, And just a bit further At the back of my mind. There once was a girl, With eyes so blue. I think that I knew her, I think that’s what’s true. She ONCE was a girl, But then she was not, Rushed into the night, I think.........I forgot. He took her away To a tower in the sea, “Why won’t you come back And take away me ?”
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I tried to find her, A mission of sorts. But the truth of it is, I was lost in my thoughts. The girl slowly vanished And I carried on. Sometimes I heard her, But only in songs. I thought that I lost her, But I got it all wrong. She’d been stuck in a box, In my head all along.
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Between English Scarediness - Randomicity - Feary - Flameny - Stalkering - Thwunk - Buddiness - Oldiness - Hu-Haw - Thunk - Webbynet - Interspace - Chanter - Fing - Fingys - Closity - Quippery - Westie - Easty - Northly - Southly -
The level of how much scared you are. The amount of randomness within a given area. An idea or concept that isn’t comfortable. Being on fire, metaphorically. Like stalking, but not like normal staking. Far less actual stalking. The thinking person’s thud. The amount of time one has been a buddy with his or her other buddy. The age your buddy is. A doofy cartoon guffaw of recognition. Pooh thought this too! The internet. The spaces in between the internet. A cross between chatter and banter. A piece of art or music or some other waste of time thing like that. A collection of the above. The level of closeness to an object or person. Your arsenal of witty retorts (Laura: ”Reports?”) In a westwards direction. In a eastwards direction. In a northern direction. (Reader: ”We got it!”) 26
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Making Music
I used to waste my time Trying to make things rhyme. But now I don’t need to worry Because poems don’t have to rhyme.
Reader: ”But it’s more fun when they do” Artist: ”True dat!” 27
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I Used to be a wonderer This Po m Is Is This ePoem A Lie. It Should Really Have The A Lie . He’s It SReally TitLast A Slumberer.. al - Line He’s Re hould Really HTaavlkeinTg ally A l il he SAlurm t e bSerer.. y h Er..W I used to be a wonderer, Now I seem to be a ponderer, Before that I was a wonderer, But I never supported Wolves.
Very
work y s s me
! e M See ston
John Mrs
Artist: Reader: Artist: Reader:
”Sorry Mrs Johnston, I have redone the poem on the opposite page.” ”Aha...I think Mrs Johnston and the Editor are the same person. You never see them appear on the same page do you ?” ”Yes you do...On Page 3.” ”Then they have a split personality.”
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“This Poem Is A Lie. It Should Really Have The Last Line ‘But Really I’m A Slumberer’.” “A What Now?” “You Know, Someone Who’s Lazy, Sleeps A lot.” “Er...Why Are We Still Speaking In Capital Letters? Are We Part Of The Title?” “Dunno...! I Guess” “Are We Underlined?” “Yes”. “We Must Be Then.”
I used to be a wonderer, Now I seem to be a ponderer, Before that I was a wanderer, But I never supported Wolves.
Bett could er work, b ut be im p ro Still Messy ved.. !
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You Witch I think my friend’s mum is a witch now. In fact, I think she always was one. She doesn’t wear a black hat, or.... Ride on a broomstick, or..... Cackle and howl, or..... Fly across the ocean, Or belong to a coven. But I know that she’s a witch now, Because I’ve seen her making potions. She magics up a blue flame With just the sound of a click, she...... Has a black cauldron, With water in it, she......... Puts this on the flames, And I see it bubble, then...... Smoke billows out With all her toils and her troubles. It’s not a mistake, I know she’s a witch, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. She reads this spell from a book, with.... Ingredients in it, That make me feel sick, then........ She stirs while it bubbles And the spell she mumbles, Then......... 30
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She speaks it out loud, Then she says a name, Again and again. I think she knows she’s a witch too. Because she says: “You witch! You witch! You witch!” And then she starts to shake And she starts to shiver and..... She drops in red hearts With sloppy brown liver. She stirs it so hard, like..... She’s saving her life. Then she starts to lurch forwards, Bent over the potion.... The Shaking has stopped, But now I hear her snivelling. I wonder why she has to bend over the potion? The shivering you need to make spells. I ask her out loud, but..... She doesn’t hear me, so.... I walk a bit closer And look up to her And now I see why. Because she has to cry To add the tears of a witch to the spell.
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A Poem From One Of My Ancestors I can’t wait till the day finally comes. When we evolve opposable thumbs. And we say to ourselves, When we’ve crawled onto land: “How on earth did we cope without thumbs on our hands?” And think of all we could achieve, If we could clench our fists and really believe. That day will arrive, maybe this March, When we can reach out and grab that faraway branch. Just think of the day we hold pens. To think of it now, the prospects don’t end. We could make and draw, scribble and paint And write and invent, we’d have no complaint. Then one day we’ll play sport. And we’d catch that ball without a thought. We’d build houses and cities, cathedrals and towns. Give Fonzy thumbs ups (Ayyyyyy.) And then turn them down. (Boooooo.) I’d have thumbnails I could bite. Then I’d finally pull the brakes on my bike And walk to a sofa, then stop walking right there, Pick up a remote and exist in my chair. P.T.O 33
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I could instant message to people that day, But my thumbs would be sore, I have so much to say. I’d twiddle my thumbs, when I’m at my wits’ end, Play X-box online and never talk to my friends. I wouldn’t have to get up and change over the telly. My arse would expand, along with my belly. My legs would detract and have no use again. And my brain would stop working, Oh my Rod...What then?
(Rod: “Not sure.” Artist: “That’s not very ‘All Knowing’ is it?”)
I’ve thought now in depth about thumbs. And I’ve been working quite hard on the sums. I think you’ll say to yourself, when you look back in time. “What the hell was I doing ? I wasted my life.”
Reader: ”Seems as though the gene for mind numbing, tedious poetry has been passed down through the generations” Artist: ”Now that’s just rude.” Reader: ”Chill, it was a joke. Where did Fonzy pop up from?” Artist: ”Milwaukee...Same as Chachi and Joanie. You’re lucky. I edited out the line referencing Glenn Hoddle and his mullet and tiny shorts, circa 1984” Reader: ”Yes...I am lucky.” Artist: ”Sorted.” Editor: ”Er...Not sure you can edit your own work...I think that’s my job. I’ll get back to you”
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I Seem to have been living in a cloud for the last 4 days in the West. The fog has been all encompassing. Can’t see in any direction out here. And it’s cold and damp. Oh well, homeward bound soon, looking forward to slipping back in to the relative warmth between England’s bed sheets. I do wonder if it will be just as foggy there. Reader: ”My Rod...You even go on holiday in a metaphor.”
But hey readers. I did see something. A sign. A sign that spring is coming. Daffodils are beginning to raise their heavy wintery faces from the ground; achingly to the sky and when the sun does come, they will lower their gaze and look across to us as they reflect the sun’s colour back into our world. And they will herald the coming of spring with all their trumpets a blasting. Reader: ”Hippy!”
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Facebook Waffle
(or How Big Is Your Ego)
Artist: ”If you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at ?” Reader: ”Someone who’s actually funny.” Artist: ”Good point” Reader: ”Where’s the pointing monkey ?” Artist: ”Didn’t draw him. Didn’t want to labour the point.” Reader: ”You just did.” Artist: ”You did.” Reader: ”You did.” Artist: ”You did.” Reader: ”You didn’t.” Artist: ”Ha.... I didn’t fall for it. Now read my Facebook waffle” Copyright Lawyer: ”Erm...Not sure we can use that Facebook logo...Or that waffle come to think of it....I’ll look into it”
A.J.: Me:
”Jesus are we expecting a cold winter ?” ”A.J.; You must stop calling me Jesus. But yes we are and I’m getting me some of those tennis racquet snow shoes too..” A.J. Likes this
Jamie: Me: Jamie Me:
“I saw that quip coming a mile off” “Should have ducked then” “I probably should have.” “Quack Quack.”
A.J.: ME:
”Cool. I’ll see you around 4.” ”Yep. I’ll see you a square 5.”
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Facebook Waffle
(or How Big Is Your Ego)
Me:
To Drummer Nic: “Hey fella, where you at ? Where you been all my new life?” (Artist: “It’s true, it is a new life.”) “You’ve missed all the fun!” (Artist: “It wasn’t fun.”)
Me Nick:
To Guitary Nick: “Rod knows how, but I sat down to have a little think and when I opened my eyes, 2 weeks later, I had written half this book.” “So twoth it”
Olly: Me: Dave Kai-Pipe: WHO?
“If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days, you would have produced enough energy to heat up one cup of coffee.” “But you’d be so knackered, you wouldn’t be able to put the milk in and stir it.” Hayley likes this. Who? I bet my ex would be able to power Starbucks for an entire week. You like this.....Artist: “Damn, his was funnier.“
Me:
“The problem with thinking too much and having too much to say; is that you can easily talk yourself out of it.”
Me:
Blah, blah, blah, blah (some stuff I’d been boring some poor friend about - probably about me, as usual) blah blah...... “I guess the book is aimed at ‘older’ kids and people my age. Although really it’s not aimed at anyone. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hit on the head by my flying book....Oh, me? I’ve just been writing and drawing, writing and drawing, writing and draw.....”
Reader: FLING Artist: ”OUCH! THAT HURT!”
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Tor ok.” in this bo le it t t s e t r e sho That is th oes it mean?” Reader: ” td ook?” Yes, wha Reader 2: ” at? Life? Or this b Wh h Reader: ” aged, wit them.” n f a o m h t e o v a B ” ? You h oem Reader 2: wn please ginning of this p d.” o r d o it W ” p e : e r e k Reade ou two in the b hame, Would y nter to ru a oem h c Such a s y t .. Artist: ” it in w a o have its p g s a o t h t r s e a t v r s our o e o s y t e to have ture, it d e’re going such a pretty pic W hat is because t .” opposite it ow!” n e t oo la T ” : r e d a Re Or is it?” Artist: ”
More About Tor There’s a girl who’s been at school for a bit, But I kept forgetting her name. It’s funny sounding and very small, That’s why it kept falling out of my brain. She really is a pretty girl. Her eyes are as big as coat buttons. And she has the biggest smile in all of the world And she’s really good at dancing. P.T.O 41
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She, mostly, only hangs out with girls, But sometimes she lets the boys play. And she wears her hair in a ponytail, Every single day. She And When I think
still loves to play dressing up getting girls ready for shows. we all get ourselves proper jobs she’ll still be playing with clothes.
She told me that she saw a ghost once And I said: “Oh, so did I.” And we laughed about something for soooo long. Then we couldn’t remember why. It sounds a bit boring to say it out loud, But she said that she really likes knitting! And I said; “Knit me some gluvs then, Because winter is nearly coming”.
Artist:
”Because of you lot chantering at the beginning of this poem, there is now no room to finish Tor on this page. We have to finish on page 43 though, because I have already drawn the picture for page 44... Have a look if you want.... It’s nice init? Anyway, Tor carries on over there”
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And guess what, she did! And winter came too, And I wore them everyday. They made me feel warm and helped me forget, Is that why I kept forgetting her name? Her face is kind and heart shaped, A little bit like E.T. I’m not being rude or mean or anything Because I REALLY love that film. Now that we’re friends and have chats and things, Her name is easy to remember. I still think it sounds a bit funny though. She says; “It’s short for Victoria”
Editor: Artist:
Layout Guy: Editor: Artist: Editor: Artist: Editor: Artist: Rod:
”This poem layout is an absolute mess.” “Sorry Ed.”
“Sorry.” “I’m going to have to put numbers on the stanzas now so
people know where they are going.” “Stanzas!” “Yes! That’s what verses are called in poetry.” “Patronising sod!” “I have the power here. I can make you live or I can delete all of this and make it all invisible. I am God” “Er...That’s Rod.” “Thank you!”
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An Estate Of Mind
People are built differently No one’s made the same. Some of us are built with bricks, Some of us with hay. Some have side bits made of wood And insides smoothed with plaster Some of us look great outside, But behind the door, Under the floor, Absolute disaster. Some of us got wired up right, Some of us by plebs. Some of us got extra wires From our hearts up to our heads.
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Some of us have great big windows To see inside our rooms. Some of us have curtains closed, It helps seal in the gloom. Some of us are becoming tatty, Some of us restored. Some of us have been lovingly kept, Some of us ignored. Some of us have been demolished, Some, just left to rot. Some of us have been repaired, Some of us have not.
Reader: ”Oh Look. Not only have you personified the houses in the poem, you have also personified the houses in the pictures.” Artist: ”Or have I ‘houseonified’ the people?”
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Do You Think This Boy Is “Do you think this boy is backwards?” “It does appear to be the case. Because where he has his hair, There should really be a face.” “I think he is a little backwards.” “There’s something not correct. His shoulders are where his ears should be And he doesn’t have a neck.. And now, I think, it must be said; He spends the whole day in his head, He can’t get himself out of bed, It’s almost like he’s made of lead, I wonder if one day he’ll wed A girl who’s backwards too.”
Jason as an . You do not h excus ave d e your y yslex o u m l e ia t u t ers st Even if the out prop write all y don e ’t get rly. read. 49
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Stupid Everything I don’t want to wear those Stupid Clothes. Don’t want to blow my Stupid nose. I don’t want to go to Stupid school. I don’t want to follow your Stupid rules.
Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid 50
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Happy
Ah, you chose happy, Well done my friend, But there’s a small twist for you. Happiness isn’t so easy to find; You need page 52
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Happiness? (Fooled Ya!) Ah ha! I fooled you a second time, But there’s a point that’s here to be made. The journey to find true happiness Will often have things in the way. Through rivers you waded, Past demons you slayed, Up towers you climbed In two different times. Evil skeleton killers And giant chinchillas, Past witches and thieves, That no one believes. And when you do, finally, get to that place. And if you happen to see her face. Can you just say; “I’m fine” and “I’m sorry, I tried” And that I’ll always save her a space. But you must carry on, you must reach your goal, If you still think you want to find heaven. Follow my lead, the path that you seek Is really on page 37. Reader: Artist: Reader: Artist:
”What a polava !” ”Hmm...That’s the point!” ”Where’s the monkey ? ”He’s already made his point on this page”
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The Holy Trinity
Dear Lord Jesus, Please could you fix it for me To get a new bike for Christmas. From Jason M. Temple (10/36)
Reader: ”I don’t get it.” Reader2: ”I think I do.” Reader: ”I think it’s just randomness from the Artist.” Artist: ”I’ll explain my thinking here, but I’ll leave it to the Editor to decide if it stays in or not. We don’t want to patronise the readers. Jesus (or Rod), Father Christmas and Jimell Fixet. The holy trinity to a ten year old boy.” Editor: “I’ll get back to you.”
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Am I Old Enough? Am I Too Old?
e on is m o C k les! our wor y. t i T : n. Y scruff o s a J very ton l l i st ohns J s Mr
Am I too old call my mum; Mummy? It definitely feels like I am. I don’t think any of my mates do. So from now on I’ll call her Mum.
Am I too old to be scared of monsters? Coz I can’t get this one out my head. It climbs back inside, When I close my eyes, There’s no point in going to bed.
Reader: ”Blimey, that’s scary, I’m staying over this side of the page.” The Artist is nowhere to be seen. He has scarpered.
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Who Would Like A Nice Tweet? www.twitter.com/justamgicboy
justamagicboy MAGICbOY This week’s challenge.. Write 7 poems that all rhyme with Twitter...One a day.
MAGICbOY
justamagicboy MAGICbOY I have to rhyme some stuff with Twitter So I chose; pussy cat litter, Slitter,gritter and Rick Witter With no mention of Gary Glitter justamagicboy MAGICbOY Day 2 of rhyming with Twitter For lunch I had a salad pita Which I managed to eat till the bitter End Now I must say I feel so much fitter justamagicboy MAGICbOY I’m struggling to rhyme stuff with Twitter It’s got me in all of a jitter It’s OK coz I’m not a quitter All this; just make you titter justamagicboy MAGICbOY How do you fit a, Little bit a, Chatter Chitter On to Twitter ?
justamagicboy MAGICbOY Now, I’m no big hitter, Nor a counterfeiter, But I have no transmitter So I’m using Twitter. justamagicboy MAGICbOY Her mind is all of a flitter. She’s like my creative Sita. Did you know that she’s also a knitter ? She’s Tor and she follows me on Twitter. justamagicboy MAGICbOY Last day of rhyming Twitter So, I’ll munch on this sweet corn fritter But, It turns out I am a splitter Coz I’ve run off with the baby sitter
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My Musings (And I Sing Back!)
Nothing feels like matter here. Nothing; even me. Has anybody got you? Can someone go and see? I feel like a lie...Again. I’m so tired, I can’t get through. And if nothing feels like matter, Then I’ll never get to you. Stay awake Baby Blue. And I will come to you. Stay awake Baby Blue. I need something from you. Stay awake Baby Blue. Lord! You’re buried deep.. Stay awake Baby Blue. Please don’t go to sleep.
Reader: ”Amusing title...Ha ha ha ha..” Artist: ”You are laughing at your own jokes..”
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A Telephone Exchange “Ello there old mate, I know that it’s you.” Er, hello, mate, how are you? And you are.....Who?” “Do you remember that girl From light years ago? The one that you fell for, The blonde one, you know?” “Er...Nope, not really.” “Well, you’re in for a shock.” “Can you just hold the line, I’ll be back in a tock.” “Stop.... Don’t you mean tick?” “What?” “Because you just now said tock..” “Yes, something’s not right here, What was that knock?” “What knock?” “That knock, That knock on my door. “I think that I heard it.” “I’ve heard it before. 58
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Now who’s come a calling And at this time of life? Before you go...Remind me To switch off that light. And what if I answer? And it’s her?” “Who?” “That girl. And what if she’s different?” “To you?” “No, my world.” “But what if she isn’t?” “Isn’t what?” “What you think.” “I do think.” “A lot.” “Yeah I know, there’s a link.” “Twixt what?” “Now I’m hungry.” “Would you stick to the theme?” “I’m stuck to the floor, It’s just like a dream. Now, what was I doing?” “Getting that door.” “That door that was knocking?” “That door from before. P.T.O 59
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Now what are you doing?” “I’m having a thought.” “About what?” “I’m not sure.... About someone I sought.” “Who?” “That girl?” “The one with the hair?” “But what if she isn’t?” “Isn’t what?” “There.” “You still haven’t answered.” “About the girl or the door?” Both of them.” “I know, But we’ve been here before.” “You should really go answer.” “But I’m on the phone. Now I’m all of a muddle And she’s out there alone.” “Just answer the door!” “I’m going, I’ve gone.” About time as well. I’ll just hang on.” 60
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“I’m back now....Hello! Are you still on the line?” “Yep, who was it?” “A traveller from time.” “Ohhhh.kaaayy..... Are you sure?” “Yep, for sure, there’s no doubt. Because she was making this poem While I wrote it out. And she showed me my life, From when I was a child. And then she showed me her phone And a number she dialled.” “What number?” “This number.” “Well that’s just cuckoo.” “Well, stranger than that, I think she was you.”
Artist: ”Well that says it all.” Reader: ”No it doesn’t. It doesn’t say anything. It’s nonsense” Artist: ”Or is it?.” Reader: ”Don’t start that again...”
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A Wandering Mind
I’ve thought about this for a very long time. But the answer keeps on escaping my mind. And the question, to what that answer should be, I can’t stop it getting away from me. I think what I need is a net of some sort. To put over my head to catch those loose thoughts. If there is such a thing, I don’t mind paying. Now I’ve gone off the point, what was I saying? I think it was something to do with a thought, But that thought catching head net I still haven’t bought. I suppose I could always just read what I wrote..... Ooooohhh......That’s the answer. Just make a note!
Reader: ”Genius!” Artist: ”Hmm...Are you being sarcastic?” Reader: ”Would I ever be sarcastic?”
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Sad
Ello mate, cheer up my son. There was a sad end it’s true. But like that girl said; “It was all in me ed” Editor: ”Yes?” Artist: ”Not you... I was speaking about my cranium in the vernacular”
Oh....Just turn to page 52.
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Quipman II
(Stalkering The Skies) Welcome back reader. You’ve joined us just in time as Quipman tries once again to fill that lull in the conversation. Quipman is flying high above Dave and Laura’s place...Again.
Reader: “Stalkerer!”
Quipman: “No I’m NOT! Well, I am a bit, but not in the normal stalkering way.”
Q: “What’s this I don’t hear? I can’t pick up a single word of conversation....Yet the T.V. is on. I think this time Dave and Laura really need.....Quipman.”
Reader: “Has Dave and Laura’s place had an extension?”
Quipman flies down to a window, opens it, and slips through. Q: “Citizens, I have come to save you from...........Citizehuh? Dave ....? Laura.....?”
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Laura and Dave are nowhere to be seen. Quipman has three theories. 1. Laura and Dave have been kidnapped. 2. Laura and Dave are hiding from him. 3. Laura and Dave have popped out. Q: “Hmmm...It seems unlikely that Laura and Dave have been kidnapped.....Hmmm......Am I paranoid enough to believe that my friends would hide from me, just because I have too much to say.....Yes, I probably am, but I don’t believe this to be the case...This leaves me with one conclusion.” With that, Quipman quickly uses Dave and Laura’s toilet and flies off, safe in the knowledge that his work here is done. Q: “I haven’t done anything yet.” Reader: “Well, you have, you just went to the toilet.” Artist: “...” Reader: “I’m also worried about that open window.” Q: “Oh yes, my fault, sorry, I’ll just close it.”
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Bad Here Day
Will you be here today? When I need you most of all. Will you be back tomorrow? I need you more today. Maybe, I’ll mix a brand new potion. It might help me sleep at night. Maybe then I won’t need to worry If you come back tonight. Maybe I’ll mix another potion. It’ll help me get through school. Maybe then, I won’t need to worry, If you come back at all.
Reader: ”I think you have abandonment issues.” Artist: ”Sniff sniff.”
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An Even Badder Here Day
I want to get up on my feet, Then you won’t be alone. But there seems to be no internet And...What’s a mobile phone? I’ll get up on my feet, Then you won’t be alone. But I haven’t learnt to drive yet, I’m not allowed out on my own. Look, I’ve got up on my feet. Now you won’t be alone. I knocked on every single door, But no one’s ever known. Now my feet are aching And my eyes and brain are sore. I have to let you go now, Or I’ll cry forever more.
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Bad Haircut
I got my hair cut today, But I think they got it wrong. I felt so unsure, As my locks hit the floor. I want them to glue it back on.
Reader: ”Thank goodness... Things seemed to be sliding with that last poem...And....Relax” Artist: ”I did too...They gave me a nice head massage before they cut my hair orf..” Reader: ”Judging from the last poem, a head massage is just what you needed.” Neil The Haircut Man: ”Ha Ha! They are saying you’ve gone mad!” Artist: ”Oi Neil...You just deal with the outside of my head and let me deal with the inside.”
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And Now A Special Tweet For You.. www.twitter.com/justamgicboy
justamagicboy MAGICbOY Follow me and I’ll follow you. Except that song is by Genesis And that really won’t do.
MAGICbOY
justamagicboy MAGICbOY Am spending the day in the company of Jeff Buckley, Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen... It’s been nice, but Jeff refuses to eat his dinner justamagicboy MAGICbOY Tweet me like a fool. Tweet me mean and cruel.
justamagicboy MAGICbOY I can not say what I want to say with characters under one forty Which is a shame because what I have to say is really rather naughty Oh f justamagicboy MAGICbOY This tweet is so neat,It’ll make others obsolete. It’s so sweet you could eat it, Now, go friends, re-tweet it. justamagicboy MAGICbOY I need to ask a question, To you before you leave. Does The Magic Boy really exist? Or is he just make believe? justamagicboy MAGICbOY I’m off to that other place Should be gone a week. Hoping to find some solace there And maybe, too, some peace justamagicboy MAGICbOY For someone with so much to say... I have nothing to say... But at least I’ve said it now. And in less than 140 characters.
Reader:“Who said that?” Artist: ”Hello. Is anybody there?” 71
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
With all this writing I’ve been doing recently; I’m no longer feeling penned in. Reader: “Weak”
No one likes a smart arse, but they prefer one to a dumbarse. Reader: “Also Weak”
Reader: “Why does that smartarse have eyes ?” Copyright Lawyer: “Not sure, but it looks a lot like Penfold from Dangermouse.” Tony: “Si Baroni.”
When I’ve remembered everything I’ll write down every letter. Then move them round Until I’ve found A way to make me better. My leg elbow
Spongebob Swearpants
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
“Before you go looking for yourself, first check that you are lost.” Fruit Shoot
“Sometimes, when you think you are shouting at the whole world, you will probably find you are just talking to yourself.” Thought for the day: I wouldn’t recommend it. Add butter to the mix? That’s sage and onion advice.
World Wide Web i i e c t s k c t e h d
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Reader:
”Sorry to take up a whole page over here...But that, over there is not technically a poem.” Artist: ”Well, no one actually said it was. I’ll look it up on Wikipedia...” Reader: (Scoffs) Artist: ”OK...The Oxford English then: “A piece of writing, in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by particular attention to diction (sometimes involving rhyme), rhythm and imagery.” Copyright: ”Not sure we can use a direct quote from Lawyer another book.” Artist: ”It’s a DICTIONARY. That’s the point!” C.Lawyer: ”I’ll look into it.” Reader: ”So....It’s not a poem?” Artist: ”Well it’s in a poem book innit? And it’s got a title don’t it?” Reader: ”I’m flummoxed” Artist: ”Nice word.” Reader: ”Thanks” Artist: ”So...Is John Cage’s 4m33 a piece of music..? University students, please discuss and get back to us with an answer.”
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A Moment’s Silence Please.
Reader: ”Can we talk yet? Artist: ”Shhhhh...”
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My Two Dads
There’s a strong chance that someone has cloned my Dad. Because I have seen him at home, at dinner sometimes and sometimes in the garden. But I have also seen him in a telephone box and another telephone box. Sometimes I see him going into this other house. I bet this other dad has another family that look like all of us lot. So, I think there are two of him; which is OK. Because when he dies, one of my two dads will still be alive. Just hope it’s our one.
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The Cure or Boys Don’t Cry I think, in a few hundred years, They would have found the cure for tears. And in a decade, say one....No two, They would have found a way to stop the flu. And maybe, in a year or so, They’ll work out how to melt the snow. Then at some point.......hmm, next month, They’ll serve up something nice for lunch. And, who knows? As soon as next week, They’ll find a way that we can meet. And there’s a chance, possibly tomorrow, They’ll return my heart they said they’d borrowed. But more than that, I hope today, They’ll find a way that you could have stayed. Then you wouldn’t have had to go away, And then, maybe, I’d have been OK.
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The Girl Of My Dreams
In my dreams I met a girl Who told me what to say. She told me this Then blew a kiss And then she went away.
Much
neate r wor V.Goo k.. d *
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Facebook Waffle
(or How Big Is Your Ego)
Artist: Reader:
”If you can’t laugh at yourself, who will do it for you?” ”Not us.”
Kerry: Me:
”Love Conquers all.” ”Love conkers?”
Me:
“Sorry for the confusion...But I have been a bit confused myself. But it probably makes sense....To someone.... Somewhere”
Sam: Me: Sam: Me:
Speaking about my ‘moody’ FB profile pic.. “It looks like your soul is crying. And I didn’t know you did so many drawings.” “Nor did I, till I opened my eyes.” “Deep! “Good Job I learnt to swim then...”
Connie:
“ I wish my arms were as big as the whole house, so I can cuddle you all night.” :-)
Me:
”A challenge for you. Put ‘Living Off The Wall’ on your music playing machine. Then start walking from one place to another. I bet, you can’t do it without doing the ‘walk to the dance floor walk’ when the intro kicks in.”
Graeme Me:
“I’m about to take my bass playing to the next level.” “Are you currently on Level 41?”
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Facebook Waffle
(or How Big Is Your Ego)
Neil: Me:
“So what are you doing, now you have given up photography?” “I was thinking of something along the lines of; sitting about in my pants all day, playing x-box and eating Weetabix and crisps.
Nah - I have a plan. It’s a project entitled; “Essay boy”. It essentially involves me writing lines and lines of ramblings on Facebook, that no bugger will read and if they do, then they’ll be asleep before they get to this bit, so I thought I would slip in a little swear word here, just in case anyone stayed the course and read the whole shamoodle. Poop Flipper. Ooops, there it was.
I am now off to retire to my bunk, to dream up more crap to bore people with tomorrow :-) ” Nick Likes this.
Laura: “Oooh... I knew Nick was here... Hi Nick.” Artist: “Different Nick, Laura. The one you know is on page 39.” Nephew Rhys: Me: NR: Me
“Hitting wolves on oblivion with a fire enchanted weapon is so much more fun. Ha Ha. It’s like hitting a flaming furry home run.” “Kidderminster sounds like a magical place.” “Ha Ha. Unfortunately......It’s not :-(“ “That must be why they invented computer games...Nice alliteration by the way.”
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Paving Slab #25
I’d walked on that pavement a million times, To school and back each long day. I’d trundle along, face staring down, And count all the paving slabs laid in my way. It was always the same, the number that is, Never one less or one more. I could mundanely say that every next day There would be 200 rectangles still on the floor. I knew which ones had the cracks in. And which ones were blue, pink and grey. And I knew which ones rocked from side to side, I knew them so well, I could give them all names. But one different day, the whole world seemed to change, As I reached Slab 25. Someone had written my name in blue chalk And below; the girl I hoped would be mine.
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Heavens above, I felt so in love I just stared and stared at the floor. Our names, both entombed in a chalk drawn blue heart. And the bond in between - Number 4. Everything changed, life was different. Magic seemed to cling to the air. And all summer long, I looked up, not down, And I’d see my girl standing there. The days were so long, the pavement so hot, As we walked all that summer together. And we’d jump in diagonals, to avoid all the cracks, In case we fell down them and got lost forever. We’d step over our names and feel slightly ashamed, While we fooled about by that tree. I ruled the whole land, when she held my hand, My little heart dancing, silly young me.
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Those days, though, quickly got shorter. Some so dark, it got hard to see. Then one day I looked round, By our names on the ground, And I couldn’t see her, I could only see me. My hands felt so naked, without hers to hold, And they stayed n my pockets, so they wouldn’t get cold. I couldn’t look up, because I just couldn’t see Why some force had taken my best friend from me. But, I kept walking that route, as the clocks shifted hours. The fog, which hung thick, you could slice with a knife. And I started counting the pavement again, Always stopping at slab 25. But that chalk heart was daily fading, Her name..... Walked into dust. And the blue number four, was apparent no more. And my name? Hanging on, only just. As winter came closer and nights drew in quicker, My face, forced back down, my feet kicking leaves, I’d occasionally look up, with a tear stained wish, That my blue eyed princess had come back to me. The leaves turned to mush, then just vanished. The whole world became less alive. Just 200 slabs and no blue chalked remembrance On paving slab 25.
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Rod (Who Is God) Speaks “Has anyone in here seen Lee? I’ve got a problem with Windows you see. I can’t get it to work, I’m going berserk, And where is Tim with my tea?” Rod seems quite grumpy today. And you can tell from down there coz it’s started to rain. But when you see lightning, You’ll know the office is frightening And Rod’s flown off the handle again. “Look, I know I’m being a jerk, But this bloody PC refuses to work. I think I’ll go back To using a Mac. Now what’s this about Google Earth?” Rod’s getting worried, I swear. Because we can now see what he sees from up there. And the talk of the town, Says the e-mail is down, It’s been years since he opened a prayer.
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When I Close My Eyes
When I close my eyes at night, There’s places that I go. Places that I used to see A long, long time ago. That was before the rain, When thoughts stung like hailstones in my brain. And who was there to guide me through. I’ll tell you now, no-one, that’s who. So listen to your children And watch them as they grow, Inside their heads, There’s more going on Than you will ever know.
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
Days of the weak Moanday Chooseday Whensday? Thirstday Frightday Sataday Sunkday You know those nutters who go insane and think they are Jesus? (John Lennon did it once). Well, I think, what if Jesus was one of those nutters who went insane and thought he was Jesus. Oh...Hang on, if he thought he was himself then who wasn’t one of those nutters who thought he was Jesus, because they thought they were Jesus. Yet so did he? Think...Think.... The Greatest Of Ease
Reader: “Oh dear!”
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
Yul Brynner - Not a grinner. Frank Skinner - Was a sinner. Michael Winner - Got much thinner. Simon Rimmer - Where’s me dinner?
My mantra for this book: “Be honest.” My other mantra: “Write as many words as possible, so the Reader either falls asleep or gets so confused they just presume there is genius at work.” My GOOD friend Tor has become my sounding board. But I fear she is sounding bored.
Mrs Artist:
“Why don’t you wear your glasses anymore?” Me: “Look at it like this...”
Mrs Artist: “With or without glasses on?” Me: “Funny.........But Monet, as he aged and his eyesight became poorer and poorer, moved forward in his work. Although the style became more ‘blurred’ along with his eyesight, the art became clearer. So he saw the world as he saw it, not as he was supposed to see it.” Mrs Artist: Me:
“And, did he also keep walking into stuff and swearing?”
“Possibly...That may have been the cross he might have had to bear.”
“I have very little brain Copyright Lawyer: “Come....on! I’ll look into it.”
Bear:
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A Nice Life or An Ice Life
She lives inside a block of ice. For her....It’s kinda nice. Her food comes through tubes Attached to her back. And she thinks through her feet Or the ice would crack. She stares at a screen And speaks through it too. And she doesn’t wear knickers Because that would be rude. Everything’s safe in her block of ice No one can get her, or try to be nice. I fear that she’ll live there until she gets old And I fear that she’ll always, forever be cold. (Brrrrrrrrr!!!)
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The Local
“Oh maaan, I reeeeelee luv yoo, morvan yule eva no.” “I luv u2 man, corse I do, but we reelee need to go.” “Nah, leshav annuver won, hic, wotd’yashay?” “Yeah, hic, go on, ven, hic.....my wons versame.” “Won pint of besht bosh, an won for me mucka.” “Your Mucka?” “Yeah, luv vat bloke, ees releee pucka.” “Funny, I can’t see him.” “Wellies shat over vair.” “The problem with that is, there’s only one chair.” “Yoowat? Hic. I seedat, e muster gon to verloo.” “Really? I suppose he took his chair there with him too?” “Sooooo. Wot are yoo shaying, hic, in vis ear exchnage?” “I’m saying nothing mate, here, take your change.” “Vat bloke at verbar, finks yooar not reelee vair!” “Do yoo beleevim? Do yoo even care?” “Well, it’s wurf looking in two, hic, wurf invest a gashion.” “I gess, but don’t get into self fladge u lation.”
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“Anyhow?” “Wot?” “Why are yoo ear? Hic” “I’ve bin constrood soyoo drink mor beer.” “Like, from my majinashion? Sounds well far feched.” “No, mor from ur sighkey.” “Vats mor ov a strech.” “Sho...vats why I sit ear, all silent in fort? An we only start talking coz beer must be bort? And insted of go in, hic, back two vermisses, I sit ear an one der wot ver ell vis is.” “Wotsvat?” “Wotswot?” “Yoo sed “Wot is vis?” “I never, I sed; “I one der wot ver ell vis is?” “All rite, wotever, tell me wot’s in yerand?” “Well if yor, hic, inshide me, you should unda stand.” “Soooo..I gesh if weer talking, Vers only one fing I fink. In yor and is enuff cash For won final drink.”
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The Wistful Tale Of The Pebble Boy The saddest thing about The Pebble Boy Is that he didn’t have a home And he never had a family, At least one he’d ever known. But The Pebble Boy never realised this, And this life is all he’d had. He didn’t own a single penny, He was a lonely lad. One day, home was a car park. The next day, on the sand. The sea would often suck him up, Then spit him back on land. This was fine for The Pebble Boy, You’d never hear him moan. At least it was existence, Just life, for a small stone. But The Pebble Boy was a thinker He thought most of the while. One day the thought occurred to him; He’d never had a smile. P.T.O 97
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He tried and tried to fix himself, Searched deep inside his soul And came back with an answer, He’d never had a goal. So he thought some more about it, How could he turn his life around? And in a flash it came to him; “I’m always on the ground!” Now, The Pebble Boy, he had no wings And no reason as to why. So he closed his eyes and wished so hard That someday he would fly. And then to his amazement, Almost like it was planned, He felt something lift him upwards, He was clutched in a young child’s hand. He thought, the child, an angel And thought she would give him wings. Then with all her weight behind her, She threw him through wind. When he opened up his eyes, His wish, it seemed, came true. Because the world that he saw, rushing by, Was not the world he knew. 99
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The ground beneath was blurring Into the trees and grass and sky. The whole world now was spinning, But tears came to his eyes. Because he knew he wasn’t smiling And his wish it hadn’t worked. And now his flight was ending, He was coming back down to earth. The ground was getting closer, Then, thwump, a soggy thud. And that was that for The Pebble Boy, He’d been chucked in the mud. And in that soft ground he settled, For another 100 years. He never saw the wide world again, He cried a million tears. And then one day, he heard a sound, A bell rang in his mind, It was the sound of children playing, Like that day he tried to fly. The children, they got closer And louder as they neared. They were throwing things at each other, Stones as it appeared. 101
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The Pebble Boy, just closed his eyes, It seemed another flight was bound. But just then, he heard a soggy thud, Close beside him on the ground. Slowly, very slowly, He opened up one eye. Although he’d lived for such a long, long time, He was still so very shy. What he saw left him astounded And his heart began to swell And all the stars collided… He had found The Pebble Girl. She looked at him, he looked at her, They stayed like that a while. Then, as gently as the breeze, she said; “You have the most beautiful smile.”
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Tim Burton
Reader: Tim Burton: Reader: Copyright Lawyer: Tim Burton: Copyright Lawyer: Artist: Tim Burton: Artist: Tim: Artist: Tim 1: Tim 2: Artist: Tim 2: Artist:
“That Pebble Boy poem..........Tim Burton much?” “Oi......That’s reminiscent of one of the titles of one of my poem books” “See.” “No it’s not!” “Yes it is”. “I’ll look into it” “So, How are you Tim?” “Do I know you? And, whatd’ya say?” “Nope. And how are you?” “Schizophrenic”. “Oh sorry. How are you both?” “Fine thanks” ”I’m not. I’m sad.” “So which one of you works in the office?” “Me, of course. He gets to write the books and make the films and write the poems and all that stuff and I have to make tea for Rod.” “Tough break, Tim 2, tough break.”
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Tim Burton: Artist: Tim Burton: Artist: Tim Burton: Tim 1: Tim 2: Artist:
“Excuse me, but I’m not Schizoid, I’m bipolar, or autistic, the internet isn’t clear on these things.” “That’s how I made the Schizo mistake in the first place.....I know......You be you and I’ll be me and any other us’ that pop up, we’ll just push em down, out the way.” “Nah man, face it, embrace it, use it!” “You’re a poet, and you probably know it......Or at least one of you does. Goodbye Tims.” “Goodbye.” ”Yes, goodbye, have a lovely day.” “It’s always goodbye...Never hello.” “Try and cheer up Tim 2, and if you can’t, do some art or some other waste of time thing like that. Anyway, I’m off for a Burton.”
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A Half Baked Idea
I have a theory that I’m cooking up, But my thinking’s half begun. Like a cake that hasn’t risen yet, Like an uncrossed hot cross bun. Like an essay unconcluded, Like sex without the cum (Ed: “For our younger readers Like a drummer without a drum.”) I have a feary that this theory Will come out underdone.
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Another Stupid Poem
Another stupid poem With the same old rhythm and pace. With the same old four line format, You can do better than that Jase. (That’s Me OK then, that’s fine, By adding this line And four end words that rhyme I have changed it this time.
)
Yes, but you may not have yet grasped That this is seriously bad for your health, And I think you are cracking up mate, Because you are talking to yourself. Again.
Artist: ”But I thought that first voice was the readers’” Reader: ”I’m sorry to break it to you, but there are no readers. It’s just you.” Artist: ”I’ve run out of room.”
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Banana Making Monkeys
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Who Could Tell? Who could tell He’d find that girl? Who’d have said He’d lose his head? Who’d have dreamt He’d find lament? Who’d have known His soul would groan? Who’d have thunk He would have sunk? Who could boast He’d see his ghost? Who could claim He’d go insane? Who’d have heard He’d write these words? Who could see He was me? Reader: Whole cast: Who: Artist: Who: Artist:
Copyright Lawyer:
”If Who is so clever, why not ask him?” “Who?” “Yes.” ”Could you tell?” “No.” ”Bums...Sorry, he couldn’t.” “I’m not sure we can have a pastiche of such a famous painting. But I get the point. I’ll look into it.”
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Going Nowhere
I am dropping, I am falling, But I’m sat here in this chair? I am sinking, I am crawling, It doesn’t quite seem fair. I am sliding, I am drifting, But I’m laid out on my bed? The world is quickly shifting, But I’m stuck in here instead? I am slipping, I am tumbling, But I’m pinned down to the floor? I am hanging, I am stumbling, I need to get out more.
Reader: ”Sounds like vertigo to me” Artist: “I get that. Anyhoo, It’s metaphoric...init”
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You Idiom
A spanner in the works, A ghost in the machine, In the heat of the moment, I am running out of steam.
Reader: Artist:
”I have an idiom for you...Put a sock init...LOL!” “:-(”
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Careering Prospects
Oh a sailor I will be. Just a boat the deep and me. Or a spaceman in the sky Without a what? Or where? Or why? Or maybe I could be A fisherman at sea, Catching fish would be my wish As long as we got tea. Or I could be a postman And whistle a jaunty tune, Just before I go to sea Then fly off to the moon. Oh someone tell me what to do, At least give me a hint. I HAVE to get a job now, Because I’m oh so very skint.
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West Gate To The World
I’ve been out to The West Gate That legend from days of yore. I didn’t think it could be real And now I’ve been, I’m still not sure. I fought so hard to get there, Went to hell and then returned. Now I’m still none the wiser, I’m not sure what I learnt. Because I thought The West Gate was a myth, Just a construct of my psyche, And when it called me and said: “I do exist”, I thought it most unlikely.
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But as I journeyed way out West, It became harder to ignore, This nagging voice talking in my ear: “You’ve been this way before”. I didn’t have a map back then And I haven’t got one now. But I found my own way home again, Still not sure really how. But now my heart is troubled, My brain has gone to pot, Because The West Gate told me a secret; A secret I forgot.
Marketing Manager: Artist: Tor: Artist:
”Presumably you have a market audience target here of 40+ males with that Clash reference in the title.” ”No! What’s wrong with a ten year old loving The Clash? That’s the beauty of the WWW” “The Wicked Witch of the West?” ”Tor....shhhh...Don’t tell them all our secrets..They can find their own clues.”
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My Machine
I am going to invent a new machine That will do everything that I said. It’ll make me lunch and tea and that. And do all my work and chores and that. It could even watch T.V. and that, Then I could stay in bed.
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The Interview I had been sitting in this waiting room For what felt like at least an hour. And to get there was a mission too I had to climb this 2 mile tower. And walk through endless corridors With walls that looked the same. It would have been enough to make another man Feel like he’s gone insane. (Not Me). Finally, when I got there (I’d walked past 100 doors; Even travelled on the lift For the final 20 floors). The secretary popped up from her desk, Looked up and said to me; “Sit down here, he won’t be long, Would you like a cup of tea?” “Thank you...Yes...I will please.. That was something of a climb!” “Milk and sugar is it?” “Er..Just the milk in mine.” “Absolutely, won’t be long”. Then she turned and flicked her hair. It had been so long since she did that, I wondered if she was even ever there.
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So, as I was just telling you... I’d been there for hours and hours. And I came here filled with super strength, But this room has sapped my powers. When I arrived here at this building, I knew what I came here for. With my manuscript glued to my hand, My conviction held so sure. But as the minutes dragged on by I was shrinking in this room. And just like Alice in Wonderland, The room just grew and grew. Till I was cowering in the corner, Then, slowly, creeping to the door. So to give me strength I felt for my book. (I’d used this trick before). I opened the front cover It was worse than I ever feared, I couldn’t find a single poem, All the words had disappeared. I looked out of the window, As I crawled along the floor. It took a lifetime to get there, But I finally reached the door. P.T.O 123
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I stretched out for the handle, Shaking, Panicking. Then I heard a voice behind me; “Mr...Er...Temple, come on in.” “Oh no!” Said me to myself: “Pull yourself together. This may be your only chance To become something better.” “Mr Temple......! That is you?” Said the voice with some disdain. “MR TEMPLE!” He said, louder, The he bellowed it again. “Oh...Sorry...So very sorry... I was...Er...Heading for the loo.....” “Well, really! You could have timed it better... Go....Do what you’ve got to do.” “This isn’t going very well.” I was still speaking to myself! “This could be your only chance To climb down off the shelf........” I came back to the waiting room, But I had no words to say. Even though, up till then, I’d speak a million words a day.
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“Ah....Mr Temple, take a seat here... Come on! I’m short on time.” “Well, that’s rich.” I thought, as I spied his watch; “You’ve wasted most of mine.” “Soooo... You want to be a poet do you? A writer, it says here.” As he flapped my application form I sent to him last year. “Well....It’s not something I meant to do, It kind of just found me. It happened when I banged my head, When I fell out of that tree. I woke up one day after months of thinking And a pen was in my hand, With a piece of paper under it. I didn’t really understand.” “Whatever. I presume you have all the requirements, To become a writing man? Did you study at University?” I just looked down at my hands. “Yes....I did go to University, But I studied Music and Art.” And then the worst thing ever happened; I let go the loudest fart. P.T.O 125
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“Er...I presume you played the trumpet?” He said, proud now with his quip. I just wanted to get out of that place. “Agghhh...Flippety, Floppety, Flip.” “Oooh..Nice alliteration, You may have something there.” I said: “Alliterwhatnow?” Then he 360’d in his chair. “You don’t know alliteration? Well, I hope this doesn’t last. I’m sure you know about rhythm and tempo From your parping music class. And there’s more here to consider, Like how to suggest a theme. And plan out the whole thing out before you start, Then some type of rhyming scheme. We must see some progression, From the beginning to the end. Try to have a commanding voice, But please don’t condescend.” “Hah.” Me thought to myself; “The pot calls the kettle black.” “You can use such a hackneyed phrase, as that, But you’re way off the beaten track.” 126
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“How does he keep hearing All these thoughts up here in my head? I’ll have to keep them quiet now And make my brain go dead.” “It’s a bit too late for that son, I hear everything you think. And I see you’ve also written it down. That’ll save you seeing a shrink. So then, Mr Temple, That’s it........ Out of time. You can find your own way out of here, I’m sure that you’ll be fine.” “Er.....Thanks then. Mr....?” “Stephens” “Yes...Er....Did I get the job?” “You’ll have to let us think on it, See what space we’ve got.” “But Mr Stephens? ....Can I just Say?” “Yes...Come on now.......Be quick.” “How long will the process take, Because I’m really very skint?” With that, he smiled a teacher’s smile To a child who misunderstood. Then he wafted me out of the doorway, And slammed the hole tight full with wood. 127
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So I just stood there, feeling helpless, With no one to help but me. When up she popped from under the desk; “Oh....Here’s your cup of tea! There’s really not much point though now Because I think that it’s gone cold.” “Well, thanks for making it anyway... Um...Could I be so bold ?” “Ok.” “Would you mind letting me know how long this will take?” And I smiled my sweetest grin. She smiled back very differently; “How long is a piece of string ?” So I made my way out of the office And out into the tower. All I wanted was to get back home And get into the shower. As I walked back down those corridors, Those ones that looked the same, I was thinking one thing to myself; “Man...You can be so lame. You’ve screwed it up, you’ve bored them now. This poem’s gone on too long.” So I apologised to my readers: “Sorry guys, I got this wrong.” 128
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But, at least it was sort of funny, and we had a bit of a laugh. I couldn’t leave you with the shower bit, You deserve, at least, a bath. Oh...but then you’ll see me without clothes on And then you’ll know the naked truth. I really am a woman. I’m proud to be called Ruth. No....No...I’m only kidding, I am a man I must insist. But I’m so sorry I screwed up that interview, Because now you don’t exist!
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Rodisms Rod dammit! Oh Rod, Oh Rod, Oh Rod.. What have I done? Rodley and Cream Waiting For Rodot Rod’s gift Rod’s Ache (Artist: “Think about it!) Ye Rods! Pearl Bailey:”People see Rod every day, they just don’t recognise him.” Robert Browning: “Rod is the perfect poet” Luis Bunuell: “Thanks to Rod, I am still an atheist.” Maradona: “That goal was scored, a little bit by the hand of Rod, a little bit by the head of Madonna.” Alistair Campbell: “We don’t do Rod...Sorry.”
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Quipman III
(On Pane Of Death) Quipman flies high above Dave and Laura’s place. He hasn’t heard a word from their house in hours. He’s getting worried - he just can not stand it when there is this much silence.
SMACK!
Whoosh
Quipman: “Ow! That was your fault Reader.” Reader: “Better than getting burgled.” Q: “Not for me.” Reader: “You should fly with your eyes open. Then you would know where you are going.” Artist: “I never know where I am going..... Well, I never used to. \...” Reader: “You into all that yoga nonsense?” Artist: “Mmmebe.. Why?” Reader: “Just asking is all.”
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
I’m really tense.
I’m really past tense. I’m really present tense. Artist: ”Oh come on! That’s going to be impossible to draw.” Reader: ”It is written”
Reader 2: ”Props to the artist..”
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Random Thoughts...(But
nothing is random)
We are in the here and now. But if you flip em round and then shake your head a little and then blink, when you open your eyes, it is obvious to see we are actually nowhere. So should we seek elsewhere for our somewhere? Reader: “I don’t know, but if you flip around somewhere you get ‘wheersome’.” Artist: ”That’s not even a word...Or at least it’s a new one.” Reader 2: “And if you flip around and do all that stuff you said with elsewhere, you get ‘where’s Lee’?” Lee: “I’m installing Rod’s new Mac”
I wrote Pebble Boy and Telephone exchange yesterday. And today, I have to pay for it. But it’s OK, my GOOD friend gave me some spare change, so it’ll be OK. Delusion and ambition. The same thing?
Stuff I Wish I Had 1. An undo (Cntrl+Z on windows) function on life. 2. To be able to save the game of life, if you screw it up, and go back to the last save. 3. To have life cheats that give you limitless cash and weapons. 4. To be actually able to complete the whole of Donkey Kong and get the girl back. 133
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A Question Of Etiquette
Could you kindly, just remind me; What it was we did? I ask politely....Meekly (slightly); Why has this stayed hid? I question nicely and now thricely; What can I not see? Not being nasty and I promise lastly; What happened by that tree?
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Shopping List
Cabbage Sugar Tomatoes Sweets Onions Ketchup Potatoes Treats Mushrooms Biscuits Steak Milkshake Liver Pizza Pasta bake Cake
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Shooda, Wooda, Cooda or Some Regrets.
I should have been a genius, But something went awry. I should have been intelligent, But something slipped my mind. I should have been more confident, But my bricks got built askew. I would have been a better man, If I’d remembered you. I should have been successful, But had nothing to say. I should have held my head up high, But somehow lost my way. I would have found my way in life, But my brain had to unwind, Then knit itself back together again To find my piece of mind.
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And Now...A Moments’ Reflection
Reader: Sister Sophie:
”Oooh...That’s a bit clever.” ”Hmmmm”
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Dave - A Further Study
So....Let’s do a further study Into our good friend Dave. We haven’t heard him talk yet, I wonder if he will be Brave enough To talk to us, We’ll ask him, he’s coming by now. Cough, cough...Dave? Come here a sec. Can we have a quick word? Hey Dave! We have a question... But he’s off, don’t think he heard. We failed in our further study of Dave, But there’s a clue in a previous poem. He works with Rod, who is God, in the office And the office is where he is going.
Reader: Artist: Reader: Artist:
”So..If Dave works with Rod (who is God) in the office, does that make him an angel?” ”Yes..It does. Or Jesus...Not sure.” ”And....Where has Mrs Johnston gone?” ”It’s something to do with those Government cuts.”
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Quipman IV
(The Fall Of Quipman)
Quipman was flying high over Dave and Laura’s place when he made the superschoolboy error of having a think. Reader: Have they got another extension? Quipman: “You know something brain?” Q’s Brain: “Err...Oh...No...Panic...He wants us to work.” Q: “You’re no help! Anyhoo...This super power is very annoying. Why couldn’t I get a cool super power...Like, x-ray vision, or....”
Reader: “To help with your stalkering!”
Q: No! I haven’t stalkered anyone! Shh! Please...This next bit’s important.” Reader: “Ego much?” Q: “Where was I? Oh yes...A think....Think ! Super power...Annoying....Oh yes! Why can’t I have a cool super power, like; being able to fly..”
Reader: “Quipman, you are flying.”
Q; “ Oh! Well I Didn’t expect that. But how can I be? I wasn’t born on Krypton or have a jet pack. I’m not even sure if this is my cape.. Oh dear.....Oh dear............” Quipman realised he had no right to be flying as he hadn’t actually done anything yet. Quipman looked down. Q: “Agghhhh! Help!” 139
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Cartoon Connie
Cartoon Connie can not talk. Because she’s a construct of mine. But if she could, Then I know she would, Without a doubt say hi.
Artist: ”That’s my daughter that is.” Reader: ”Oh dear.....Quick, call the nut house, he’s finally lost it.” Artist: ”No..It’s actually my daughter. She’s called Connie and she looks like this.” Reader: ”O. K.” Connie ”My pome is a lovoly pome cose I like it. Daddy? Can I put my Qyipeman pome in yur book?” Artist: ”Not now Connie, I’m in the studio..Hmmmm Maybe..Oh..OK
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Qyipeman
Josh: ”Oh...That’s not fair, how come Connie gets in your poem book?” Artist: ”Not now Josh..I’m working. And anyway, you are also in the book now too.”
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The Westy Witch
I’m just writing to say; I’m way out west, Where the wicked witch comes from, I guess. But I have no care in the least, Because the witch has moved out further east.
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Spider Girl
Spider Girl, Spider Girl, Arrived straight from the wishing well. Spider Girl, Spider Girl, Flits around all in a whirl. Spider Girl, Spider Girl, Seemed to put me under a spell. Spider Girl, Spider Girl, Knows more than me but she won’t tell.
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Tony
My friend’s friend Tony Is all long, thin and moaney, Just like a tromboney. And his stare is all stony. He watches Chachi and Joanie, Wears phony cologney, He always wanted a pony And he says: “Si Baroni.” He lives in Sierra Leone (It’s all tropical zoney) And he wants to come homey Because he lives all aloney. That’s all I’ve ever knowny About my friend’s friend Tony
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Honestly My GOOD friend believes I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’ve done my best in this book to try not to deceive. Then she said, when I asked her, that I don’t wear a plaster... So I bleed everywhere? Potential disaster. Now, somehow she knows I have wide open windows. But how can I stay warm when the Wicked West Wind blows? This same girl then said I have holes in head, To let out all the steam or the gauge would turn red. And one time she cried: “You have arms open wide!”, To get all the feelings out from inside. She even explained I have this tap to my brain, Which stops me from thinking I’m going insane. And, said my friend; “You cry through your pen”, So I think when the ink dries the tears should all end. I’ll just have to concede that I’m easy to read, But maybe that means my book will succeed. :-)
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A Silly Little Love Song
When I fell in love with you I must have gone insane. Because I knew, one day, I’d marry you And I didn’t know your name. I know it sounds like crazy talk And I probably dribbled too, But I didn’t need to say hello Because I knew I’d be with you. And now, after 20 years, There’s one thing of which I’m sure. Without a doubt, I’ll shout it out, “I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE!”
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Inside The Mind Of A Ten Year Old Boy Inside the mind of a ten year old boy is a peculiar place to be. There’s all sorts of people, like Evel Knievel, Hannibal, bandits and space. There’s chocolate and cars And giggling girls’ bras, Wabbits and robbers and war. There’s stuff that’s on telly, There’s football and jelly, Of course, bums and farts And eating jam tarts. Running and skiving, Thunder and lightning, Pretty girls’ smiles, Walking for miles, Towers in the sea, Not liking tea, Rainbows and stories, Hearing Mum snoring, Scarey old books, Heroes and crooks,
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Tadpoles and bikes, Squeezing and spikes, Pelting and throwing, Still never knowing, Singing and Flinging and Grinning and Sinning and Lying and Crying. Grown-ups don’t count Because they always shout. Everything’s bigger And days go much slower In the mind of a ten year old boy.
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Reader: ”Spooky...Is it a vampire movie?” Artist: ”Nah! Can’t stand the sight of blood.....”
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Normal Norman
Normal Normal Normal Normal Normal Normal Normal Repeat
Norman Norman Norman Norman Norman Norman Norman till fade.
Reader: ”Ooh...That’s as dark as the poster.” Artist: ”A comment on the human condition” Reader: ”A comment on the condition of your brain.”
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Manic Mandy
Manic Mandy Manic Mandy Manic Mandy Manic Mandy Manic Mandy Manic Mandy Day Of Rest.
Reader: ”Nice. At least she gets a day off.” Artist: ”Or does she...?” Reader: ”I’m going to punch you if you keep saying that.”
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Manic Norman/Normal Mandy
Normal Norman Manic Norman Normic Norndy Manmal Maman Manman Nicnnor Malman Norndy Normal Mandy Manic Mandy
Reader: ”It might be time to leave now.” Artist: ”Yes...Just leave..Go on...You’ve done it before....” Graham: ”It’s just another Manic Mandy.” Drummer Chris: “Doodle dum....Crash” Whole Cast and “Yay......Clap....Clap....Clap...” Audience: Artist: ”LOL! Hey Graham, long time?” Graham: ”Yeah...Long time indeed; you’ve lost loads of weight.” Artist: ”Yeah, I Know - shhh though - don’t tell anyone, it’s my disguise”
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Fairy Tale Tail
I have my own personal fairy, you know. She often shows me where to go. If I’m stuck, she’ll give me a shove And if I’m sad, she’ll show me love. She tried to make friends with all the other faeries, But sadly, to no avail Not one of them would talk to her Just because she had a tail.
Editor: “TITLES!” Artist: ”It’s supposed to be like that.” Editor: “Er....Um...Stanza!” Artist: ”The Editor has gone mad!” Reader: “Are you surprised?”
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This Title Does Not Exist
But these things are rarely fixdy
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Existentialist Thought
Sometimes I get caught In existentialist thought. And I find the answers I sought On the ceiling.
Reader: ”I think you’ll find that is closer to Surrealist thought.” Reader2: ”Yes, but that last word could be anything, like “In a fish”. And that would make it more Dadaism.” Artist: ”Oooooh, get you with your fancy knowledge of art’s isms. Well, I’ve got one for you...It was Philosophy...Er...Ism....So there!”
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My Mate Kate
I have a mate. Her name is Kate. I first met her down by the lake. No, hang on a sec, Some other thing.... Oh yeah.... I met her waiting at the gym. We have a race, To see who’s late And classes start At half past eight. (Artist: Shhh...They don’t really, but four o’ clock doesn’t rhyme...Quick, get back to the poem. She’s listening.)
It’s like we met, sort of by fate. Because she helped me out when things weren’t straight. And I’d have a bit more on my plate If I hadn’t met my mate Kate.
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Trying Flying Have you ever learnt how to fly? Because it’s something that I’d like to try. I’ve never done it before, Only been on the floor But I’ve often looked up to the sky. I did manage, once, a big jump, But I fear that I looked like a flump. Through no want of trying, My leap started dying And I came crashing down with a thump. I think that it’s time that I flew. I’ve tried it before, but my wings never grew. But now I have writing, If I don’t get that flight in, At least I’ve got something to do. Sister Sophie: (Humming the theme tune to the flumps) “Da da. Da da. Da da da da. Da da.” Whole Cast: ”Da da” Sister Sophie: “Da da.” Whole Cast: ”Da da” Sister Sophie: “Da da. Da da! I preferred Bagpuss” Copyright Lawyer: “Sorry Sofe, but I don’t think we can sing a theme tune to a popular kids tv program from the eightees here. I’ll look into it.”
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Mark My Words
Study The Bible, Will it make me good? Read loads of stories. That’s understood. Get ready for school. If you think I should. Do all your homework. I wish I could. Eat all your dinner. But there’s enough for a man. Get yourself here. As quick as I can. Turn off that music. But I’m a really big fan. Why aren’t you listening? I just don’t understand.
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Where is your head at? Up in a cloud. Don’t say rude words. But you are allowed? Eat all your veggies. Will it make you proud? Turn down that telly! It’s not even that loud. GET OFF THE PHONE! I’m only having a chat. Did you say something then? Nah, that was the cat. RIGHT, THAT DOES IT! But that was my bat. Why are you sad? You never said that.
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Shud Av Been A Vampire
Shud av been a vampire, Coz I can’t sleep at night. Shud av been a vampire, Coz the daytime don’t seem right. Shud av been a vampire, A vampire wud be good. But I’ve seen a hitch, An unsewed stitch, I can’t stand the sight of blood...
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Quipman V
(I Have No Strap line) We join Dave and Laura in the living room, watching telly. Laura: “Day-yave? Do you feel guilty at all about hiding from Quipman earlier? Do you? Do you Dave? Dave?” Dave: “Well....Apart from this being the first time I’ve talked in the whole book, I believe that I don’t have to lower myself to the mundanity (Artist: “New Word..Sweet.”) of such a crass and misleading question. Blessed are the meek.” Reader: “What?” D: ”I have had so much to say and none of you, especially you, Laura, ever shuts up long enough to give me the chance to say it. It’s harder for a man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle.” Reader: “Huh!...Well what chance does that give us then?” D: “You don’t even ask me how work went. I do more than just do what Rod tells me to do. I have responsibilities. Love thy neighbour.” L: “Love thigh chamber ?” 168
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D: “Nooooo.....!” L: “Love pie stranger?” D: “NO!” L: “Hug sky labour?” D: “Noooooo, no, no, no, nooooo! This is exactly what I am talking about....” It seemed apparent, that not only is Dave becoming increasingly frustrated, he is also turning into: ‘One Of Those Nutters Who Think They Are Jesus’. D: “Oi! That was my line!” Sorry... D: “I think I am turning into: ‘One Of Those......”
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room, landing on and smashing the telly. D: “Oh...Forget it.....And you are paying for that telly!” Quipman: “Urgggh...Er...Urgh... I just thought I’d drop in.”
Reader: “Is that it ? That’s the big final line ? The ‘so called’ superquip. That is weak. No clever point. No summing up of the underlying themes of the book or this inane sub-story. Just some tired old hackneyed phrase. No big reveal ? No sense of catharsis? No revelation of the true nature of the human condition.....” Artist: “Well, he is called Quipman, not Buddha..” Buddha: “No way Artman...You leave me out of this...”
Artist: “Too late fella!” 170
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Don’t Forget Your Roots
Don’t forget your roots, While you’re pulling up your tree. Don’t forget your roots, Or you might wind up like me. Don’t forget your roots, Because you need those memories there. Don’t forget your roots, Especially if you dye your hair.
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I Had A Dream
I just remembered a dream, But it was a dream I had From when I was a kid. Funny thing though To remember a dream Which you thought you’d forgotten, Which you thought that you hid.
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Reappearances Can Be Deceptive. Holy smoke! What on earth was that? I heard a sound, Must have been the cat. Oh no! It can’t be. The cat’s here with me. Breathe in, be brave, I’ll just go and see. What’s that? Oh my word, It’s that sound again. It sounds like a voice; Calling my name. “I hear you! I’m coming.” I shout it, almost. But what if it’s robbers Or worse still, a ghost. I can see a shape, There’s somebody there. There’s the outline of a body, There’s some clothing, some hair. Lord help me! I’m scared, I don’t know what to do. I know, I’ll call out; “Can I help you?” 173
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Nothing. No movement. No sound. No reply. Now the feeling’s all fearful; Did I get here in time? I can’t stop talking, It’s a nervous reaction. I didn’t even know That I’d left that gate’s latch on. Oh my! They moved And now they’re calling my name. And they’re looking at me… It’s happening again. I’ll just take a step closer, Now I’m slowly sock shuffling. Life would be easier Without all this kerfuffling? NO...! They are turning away. And before I could see If there was anything that They wanted from me. “Please stay this time Because I must see your face. If I don’t, then I’ll never Break out of this place.” 174
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“Please, please don’t go. I think I need you to stay, At least until you’re ready To hear what I have to say.” I try to whisper, it’s wrong, I can’t help but shout And I just cannot stop All these words falling out. “And I’m listening too, I am, girl, it’s true. If only you knew That there’s something you do Way deep inside of me Somewhere no-one can see. I think I need this attachment, I can’t bury this hatchet. I need you alive; For me to survive. And when you appear like a ghost My mind just can’t cope. Because it happened back when I was just only 10. And when it happens again I get dragged to back then. And no one would let on Where on earth you had gone. P.T.O 175
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I thought you had died. And forever I cried. And I’m still crying now, I could have helped you somehow. But I lost you instead, Then I went into my head And stayed there until I made you not real. And I wanted to save you And I wanted to hold you I got so lost without you And I just couldn’t find you. Please don’t go now Not yet anyhow. It’s crazy, but true Now you’re here, I need you Just to wave now and then It doesn’t have to be till the end. But....just stay a while, I think I can make you smile. Because I just can’t pretend That I’ll start to mend Until we are friends Like we were way back when.
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Has she gone? Did I scare her? Did I talk her away? I do always, really, Have too much to say. I can’t look - but I have to, Or I’ll get locked back inside. And when I go in there There’s nowhere to hide. She is still there, I’m sure. I can still see her shape. And now I can see, more clearly, The shape of her face. And now I can hear her, I hope she heard me, I’m not here to knock Anyone out of their tree. But, the more real she becomes The more I can get on And with this shape now emerging The ghost may have gone.
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e chaos h t h t i w . Keep up truth within it Ch-Ch-Changes a there is ton ns Mrs Joh I know it’s been, like, a million years, I must say, though, you’re looking fine. But you’ve lost a part, you’ve left your heart, Somewhere back in time.
I know it’s been, like, a zillion years, And people change a lot. All I hoped Is that you’d still be nice. Turns out that you’re not.
I know it’s been, like, a couple of months, I must say, though, you’re looking fine. And it took a while, but now I’ve seen your smile, Reflecting back at mine. I know it’s been, like, a day or two, But this changes things a lot. Now I know that you are real I’m less tied up in knots. Artist: Mrs Johnson: Artist: Mrs Johnson: Reader: Artist: Tor: Artist:
Cast: Tor: Mrs Artist: Tor:
“Mrs Johnston :-) You’ve changed your tune and your colour and you seem to be able to be up there and down here” ”Yes, I can do that now.” “Wow..Like magic? And Mrs Johnston....?” “You don’t have to call me Mrs Johnston any more..... Because....” “Noooooooooo!” ”My GOOD friend Tor...It was you teaching me all along. But where have you been?” “To India. You should go. Find yourself.” “I will. Anyone else want to come with?” “...” “I’ll come....:-)” “At last...Some peace and quiet. Look after him Tor.” “Of course.”
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A Helpful Tip Ever started eating an apple and decided halfway through that you no longer want that apple? Or, more pertinently, that you never wanted that apple in the first place. Well, don’t just discard that apple, to be left alone to rot in your food recycling box. Just because you don’t want that apple now, you may want it tomorrow, or even the next day. Well, firstly, tell it what you plan to do and explain that you will be going away for a small while and tell it why as well. Then, pop it into a mug of cold water and then, when you next desire the apple, say...Tomorrow, you can simply pick it up from the mug and it will be fresh and ready for you to eat. This slows down the rotting process. And apples are good for you. Eat them!
Reader: Artist: Reader: Artist: Reader: Artist: Reader: Mrs Artist:
”Is there a sub text here?” ”Read between the lines.” “It’s just spaces.” ”Aha!” ”What? That doesn’t mean anything” ”Or doesn’t it?.” ”Oh.....Just do one!” ”You are so difficult.”
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Reader: Artist:
”I bet he’s going to end this book with some kind of self referencing, Surrealist, Situationlist poem about it being the end of the book.” ”There you go again with those big art words...Well you are wrong. I was just going to say goodbye to all the readers and write:
“The End” Reader: Artist: Reader 2: Reader: Reader 2: Artist: Reader 2: Art Expert: Artist:
”Ah...Yes, but just before you do that, it is my duty to point out to you, as I have already stated in this book, at an earlier juncture.....” ”I’m lost” ”We gathered that.” ”Where was I ? OK....So, as I said earlier in the book, there are no readers, it’s just you on your own, against the backdrop of an indifferent universe...” ”And readership..” ”That’s Existentialism right there...” ”I’m not sure that you can actually be an Existentialist and a Situationlist” ”I’ll get back to you.” ”Some expert.” Copyright Lawyer: ”Erm...That definition of Existentialism up there above me; well, you have taken it from Answers.com, there maybe a copyright infringement here.......I’ll get back to you.” Artist: ”Well you can’t.....It’s The End of the book.” No-One: “Then I no longer exist!” Ed: “Stanza!” Artist: ”What? Damn...Out of room, no space to write what I wanted to....No space to write:
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Sneaky Surrealist Self Referencing Situationlist Poem About It Being The End Of The Book That The Reader Didn’t Expect, Even If They Did Expect It On That Last Page. I tried to write a letter, Then I tried to write a word. I made up the first sentence. I created the first verse.. (Ed: “Stanza) I tried to start the second, And knitted in a theme, What it was I was trying to say; And then moved on to verse three. (Ed: “Stanza!) Now, with the meaning all sewn up You can start to pick it apart. Read it till the final verse (Ed: “STANZA!) Then go back to the start I tried to write a letter, Tried to reach you one last time, But it turned into this poetry book And this is the last line.
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Potential Buyer: “This seems a touch risque. I wonder if there is a version without that word init?” Bookshop Lady: “Well, the word init does appear, twice now, at least. But there is a clean version just down there.”
Potential Buyer:“It’s now ruder than the rude version. That one only has 1 arse init. Now we have 4 arses.” Bookshop Lady: “And 3 inits” Artist: “5 arses now.” Potential Buyer: “Now it’s 6” Artist: “Oh...Very funny! Smartarse.” Buyer: “7. Artist: “
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Poems Vs Pictures The book is finished. Go away now.
(But please feel free to pick it up any time and have a nice little read. :-) Or....come and see me down there. Between England).
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