My tolerance of conspiracy theories is pretty low but I note, with a tinge of regret and growing suspicion, that I have again been passed over in the New Year Honours List.  I shall say no more; bitterness is ugly to behold and degrades the social fabric.  Dignified silence is the Way for now.

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Performance poetries on the page

Bake Off Lament?  No, simply a Random Reference to Pie

Blues tells us we live then die
Gospel blues tell us we die then live
Good-time blues say we gotta live now
D’our thing sóoner rather than later!

Minister tell us we’re sure gonna die
He tell us too to look to the sky Heavens
Lift (our) eyes from the earth, pay that no mind –
Seems t’ me that recipe don’t take account
That I can make pie here, now –
Don’t need to look to no Celestial Cook


Moon: you get a bum rap
Treachery, deceit, the feminine principle
Yet you (occasionally) eclipse the sunny sun
That goody-goody star
With its masculine virtue of unrelentingness

At least, that’s the Wisdom of the Tarot –
Say? – someone whispering that the Wisdom of the Tarot
Isn’t the last word in scientific enquiry!?
Yea, as I said – I don’t know about all the other Moons
But, for you, our nearest friend: seriously bum rap

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Poverty and Religion (poverty in religion)

Are you impoverished in spirit, my son?

No, Father, but I’m hungry in body, and so’s me mam and da and all me brothers and sisters and little cousins and – 

But you’re going to Mass regular now, aren’t you, my boy?

When we’ve got the strength, Father, but if we’re too weak to get out of bed, and it’s so so cold, and we’ve got no leprechauns left for the fire –

But ye all take the Holy Communion when ye can, is that not right?

Oh yes, Father, sometimes it’s the only food that passes our lips in the week.

And I see you’re still coming to Confession so your immortal soul could yet be saved if  ye all carry on giving to Our Holy Mother Church.

We give what we can, Father; me mam says if we give a farthing in the collection and Our Lord gives us a rabbit for the pot we can keep going for a little while longer. 

Yer mam’s a wise woman: go in peace, my child, and pray for the starving babies in Africa.

I will, Father; and me mam said to ask if The Church had any of those loaves and fishes left – if they’re a bit stale she said it wouldn’t matter … ?



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Message to J. Hunt Esq.

You must know that the Department of ‘Elf’s various websites have been hit by gremlins, again … and invaded by leprechauns, in alliance with the faeries; and the menacing goblins are – quite anomalously – shaking shillelaghs from across the river … and if you do know, don’t you care!!??

Give the Do’E  some cash for IT support so that the cyber-enemies can be opposed, even if they manifest as Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) bugs in the system…

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The 1980s

They thought the birdie song was clever or funny.   In which case they were in urgent need of help which they never got.  Or perhaps they didn’t think that.   If so, why did they sing it at office parties?   And, even worse, try to force other, more balanced, individuals to sing it?

Why were the 1980s so crap?  In my experience, mostly due to the Margarets & Associates.  Were they a post-punk band from Illinois?   Sadly, no:  a little closer to ubiquity than that.

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Birthdays: State of the Nation

Exactly twenty six years after John Lennon was born in Liverpool, David Cameron was born in Marylebone and brought up in Berkshire.

What does this tell us about Britain Today?  Nothing.  But it’s one starting point for considering the matter.

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National Poetry Day (UK)

To mark this day, a double blog entry.

Firstly, World Poetry Day is on 21st March every year.  In 2016 that’s a Monday.

Secondly, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has commented:  I write from real life.  I am an unrepentant eavesdropper and a collector of stories.  I record bits of overheard dialogue.

She didn’t mention buses but I expect she would have done if she’d thought of it.

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