where art collides

2010 Royal Air Force Waddington International Air Show

Commercial Participant – Conditions of Entry
The Ministry of Defence cannot accept any responsibility in respect of personal injury, loss or damage to vehicles of property including motor vehicles in the car parks except to the extent that such injury, loss or damage is proved to be caused by M.O.D. negligence.

RAF Waddington reserves the right to carry out such vehicle and personal security checks as it deems necessary, and [Read more →]

Geoff Smith has by now been forgotten
Not remembered by his peers
- they’re all dead
He was a single, simple man,
A gardener who liked his life
Although he died never really
Knowing what it was all about
But there again
Neither did Copernicus!

Yellow, smoke stained walls alive,
Breathless, coughing back an
Evening’s abuse of much abused bodies
Shoulders hunch over enlargened stomachs
And half filled glasses; half empty
Promises of better times, unkept, uncaring

Sallow, time engraved carvings on
Faceless faces, well known but anonymous,
A collection of portraits
Hung for a lifetime then
Stored in dark boxes, out of
Sight and soon not even memory.

This is a duet with both parts to be read simultaneously.

The soul destroying factory – buzzum click
Eats away at the brain – buzzum buzz
Like a maggot let loose – buzzum click
Driving me wild – buzz buzz buzz

Day after day – buzzum click
The same monotony – buzzum buzz
The same pain – buzzum click
The same dullness of mind – buzz buzz buzz

The routine – buzzum click
Even the tea breaks – buzzum buzz
Are boring – buzzum click
How do they break free? – buzz buzz buzz

At night the pub – glug glug
The freedom, drink – glug glug
The same every night – glug glug
- gets boring.

The moderns factory
No whirling cogs
Or cranking shafts
Clanking through steam
And greasy bearings.

I look around
Even the bins
Are clean but I
Can hide behind
The noise that shrouds
This place in silence.

I scream a silent scream
Desperate amid the
Degeneracy of progress
Impersonal,
Practical,
I scream.

Under clear blue cloudless bowl of sky
Lay I, with sweet smelling grasses and
Wing-fluttered butterfly, accompanying crickets
Chorus in the meadow hedge
And small boys search and stoop to
Scoop them into jam jar summer cells.

Into the cooler trees I wander, though not a murmur
Of breeze to mop the August brow
And how at height of silver sun
I fall inert into the arms of one
Who cares as much as I and worries not
Of things to come, and time goes by

click here for part 4

I wonder what the birds think at dawn when no man is around. Contempt I would imagine for why would anyone want to miss the best part of the day? The early worm will have gone!

I look out of the window and see the slightest of movement of leaves in the small plant pots on the doorstep. The air in the conservatory is still. The remains of yesterday lie scattered on the lawn. A table tennis bat, dismantled hammock frame, a blue plastic hoop and toys spilling out of a shed door that these days never closes. Can’t close.

That shed’s days are numbered. It is going to be a barbecue area with a grapevine growing round the side. I don’t do many diy jobs these days but [Read more →]

hot and sweaty rush hour in June
lots of people wearing office clothes
clammy, oppressive, tiring heat
yearning for ice cold water in a pint glass
mind is at home in the back garden
with no shoes on

wallet check
tickets check
bag check
hat check
phone check
son check
let’s go

Miss Dunleavy is getting married. It’s the passing of an era. I am very happy for them both. I find it strange that not only will I not recognise Miss Dunleavy when we pass in the street but she won’t even be Miss Dunleavy!

There is so much I want to know. How did they meet? How did he propose or didn’t it work like that? When and where is the wedding? Where are they having the reception? Where is the honeymoon? What will her married name be?  I wonder if she has started to practise her new signature. etc etc the list goes on. I will probably never find out.

Goodbye Miss Dunleavy.  Goodbye, and good luck.

dejected, sat on sofas
travelling ever so hopefully
they arrived disappointed
as usual
happens every time
memories of 1966 linger
even though they were largely unborn
England expects

 Have you heard of Mary Mary,
the first of the gardening bimbos?
Charlie Dimmock in a frock,
she liked her flowers in rows.
She’d plant them all down the middle,
her borders exclusively grass,
well, you’d be a bit contrary
with your first name the same as your last.

[Read more →]

morning after the storm
feels as if we are in the tropics
nature at it’s loudest now as then
birds all celebrating survival

The barbecue has 2 inches of rain in it this morning. Last night’s storm is one of the heaviest I have ever experienced.

There was something very poetic about that glass of wine. He had one on the stage and I too had one sat at my table at the front. There was a bottle next to mine. We were both making a statement. We were both also enjoying ourselves hugely. He hardly touched this glass but I made steady inroads into mine. He had a job to do. Mine was to listen to him. Drinking the wine was part of it.

The wine was not top notch vintage but that wasn’t part of the fun factor so it didn’t matter. The music was incredible. Django Rheinhart meets New Orleans. Nobody spoke during the show. It would have been an insult and none of us wanted to miss a single note. We all clapped and cheered at the right moments and at the end of it all members of the band clearly appreciated the support. People play jazz for the kicks.

Afterwards we I stayed to talk to him. Joe bought a CD and got all four autographs. Reach out, reach up and go.

Django a la Creole, Lincoln Drill Hall, Friday 4th June.