Steve Cooke - Stockton on Tees
A songwriter based in north-east England who perform live, regularly, deploying some unusual and attention-grabbing musical instruments as part of my stage act.sharp including keyboards and Keytar with sharp- witted lyrics and new wave rock, sleazy funk and electronica.
Undressing for the Drones - lyrics by Trev Teasdel - Music and performance by Steve Cooke.
Undressing For The Drones
All the pubs are closing down
And there's a peep show in town
Watching you in a crowd
Watching you all alone
Undressing for the drones
Movement is restricted
District to district
And if they feel inclined
They watch the pictures in your mind
Undressing for the drones
They're working undercover
Spying on each other
They'll be making arrests
For all this corporate burlesque
Undressing for the drones
Words by Trev Teasdel
Music by Steve Cooke
© Cooke/Teasdel 2012
More by Steve Cooke on Sound Cloud https://soundcloud.com/stevecooke
Thursday, 6 December 2012
Sunday, 21 October 2012
Ebenezer Elliott (1781 - 1849) Corn Law Rhymer & Poet of the Poor
Ebenezer Elliott (1781 - 1849) Corn Law Rhymer & Poet of the Poor
Stop, Mortal! Here thy brother lies,
The Poet of the Poor.
His books were rivers, woods and skies,
The meadow and the moor,
His teachers were the torn hearts’ wail,
The tyrant, and the slave,
The street, the factory, the jail,
The palace – and the grave!
The meanest thing, earth’s feeblest worm,
He fear’d to scorn or hate;
And honour’d in a peasant’s form
The equal of the great.
But if he loved the rich who make
The poor man’s little more,
Ill could he praise the rich who take
From plunder’d labour’s store.
A hand to do, a head to plan,
A heart to feel and dare –
Tell man’s worst foes, here lies the man
Who drew them as they are.
.......................
The Poetry of Ebenezer Elliot
http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/ellyPoe.htm
The bio of Ebenezer Elliott http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/elly.htm
Ebenezer Elliott was born at Masbrough, Rotherham (UK) in 1781. Early on, he developed an interest in nature & poetry. While working in a Masbrough iron foundry, he started to get the odd poem published & began a long correspondence with Robert Southey, the eminent poet. In politics & religion, he was a non-conformist who hated injustice & had an interest in the condition of the working man & poor people in general. After going bankrupt in Rotherham, he moved to Sheffield where he did well as an iron & steel merchant. The greatest interest of Elliott's life was in bringing attention to the Corn Laws & getting them repealed. His fierce indignation against the Bread Tax (as he called the Corn Laws) inspired his "Corn Law Rhymes" which made him nationally & internationally famous after their publication in 1831. He died in 1849 & was buried at Darfield Churchyard in the Barnsley area.
To the Bramble Flower
Thy fruit full-well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So, put thou forth thy small white rose;
I love it for his sake.
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow
O'er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou needst not be ashamed to show
Thy satin-threaded flowers;
For dull the eye, the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms are!
How delicate thy gauzy frill!
How rich thy branchy stem!
How soft thy voice, when woods are still,
And thou sing'st hymns to them;
While silent showers are falling slow
And, 'mid the general hush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,
Lone whispering through the bush!
The primrose to the grave is gone;
The hawthorn flower is dead;
The violet by the moss'd grey stone
Hath laid her weary head;
But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power,
The fresh green days of life's fair spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.
Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more
Thou bid'st me be a boy,
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er,
In freedom and in joy.
.......................
The Bramble" by George Markham Tweddell
Brave Elliott loved "thy satin-threaded flowers,"
Dear Bramble! All who appreciate those things
Of beauty which Nature as largess flingsSo freely over valleys, plains, and moors,
Must share the Corn Law Rhymer's healthy love.
And who in Autumn does not like to taste
Thy pleasant Dewberries? There is no waste
Throughout the universe; for all things move
In strict obedience to the unchanging laws
Wisely laid down by Him who cannot err;
And He alone is His true worshipper
Who studies to obey them. The Great First Cause
Adorns our very brakes with fruit and flowers, -
As if to teach us all that happiness may be ours.
..................
To read more about the correspondance and poetry exchange between Ebenezer Elliott and George Markham Tweddell, a special section of the Ebenezer Elliot site dedicated to it can be found Here - http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/Tweddell.html
A hub to the biography and poetry of George Markham Tweddell can be found here
http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/
Jeanne-Marie’s Hands (Les Mains de Jeanne-Marie) Arthur Rimbaud
Jeanne-Marie’s Hands (Les Mains de Jeanne-Marie)
Arthur Rimbaud
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands,
Hers are dark, tanned by summer,
– Are they the hands of Juana?
Did they win their creamy-brown
Sailing some voluptuous sea?
Have they dipped in moons, found
In waters of serenity?
Have they drunk of barbarous skies,
Calmly on delightful knees?
Have they rolled cigars, wise
To trade in diamonds and rubies?
On burning feet of Madonnas
Have they thrown gold flowery charms?
The black blood of belladonnas
Wakes and sleeps in their palms.
Hands that chase the Diptera
With which the auroral blue
Buzzes, there, towards the nectar?
Hands that measure poison’s brew?
Oh, what Dream has seized them
In their pandiculations?
A wild dream of Asias then,
Of Kengawers or Zions?
– They sold no oranges these hands
Nor tanned at the feet of deities:
They washed no swaddling bands
Of eyeless and weighty babies.
They’re not the hands of cousins
Nor the broad-browed working girls
Brows that, drunk with tar, the sun
In woods that stink of factories, burns.
They are benders of the spine,
Hands that never work us evil,
Stronger than machines in line,
Than the horse more powerful!
Seething like the furnaces,
Shaking off each shudder,
Their flesh sings the Marseillaise
But the Eleison never!
They’ll grasp your necks, O evil
Women, yours, they’ll crush them,
All your infamous hands, noble
Women, white and carmine.
Turns the heads of ewes!
On their juicy phalanges
The vast sun sets a ruby too.
A stain from the populace
Browns them like ancient tits;
The backs of those hands the place
That each proud Rebel kissed!
They have paled, marvellous,
In the hot sun filled with love,
On the bronze of machine-guns
Across insurgent Paris moved!
Ah, sometimes, about your wrists,
O sacred Hands, there hung again,
Where our never-sobered lips
Trembled, Hands, a shining chain!
And there’s a sudden Lurch too
In our being, when, indeed,
Angelic Hands, they’d blanch you,
By making all your fingers bleed!
http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Poems.html
And in the original French - from http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Mains.html
Jeanne-Marie a des mains fortes,
Mains sombres que l'été tanna,
Mains pâles comme des mains mortes.
- Sont-ce des mains de Juana ?
.jpg)
Sur les mares des voluptés ?
Ont-elles trempé dans des lunes
Aux étangs de sérénités ?
Ont-elles bu des cieux barbares,
Calmes sur les genoux charmants ?
Ont-elles roulé des cigares
Ou trafiqué des diamants ?
Sur les pieds ardents des Madones
Ont-elles fané des fleurs d'or ?
C'est le sang noir des belladones
Qui dans leur paume éclate et dort.
Mains chasseresses des diptères
Dont bombinent tes bleuisons
Aurorales, vers les nectaires ?
Mains décanteuses de poisons ?
Oh ! quel Rêve les a saisies
Dans les pandiculations ?
Un rêve inouï des Asies,
Des Khenghavars ou des Sions ?
- Ces mains n'ont pas vendu d'oranges,
Ni bruni sur les pieds des dieux :
Ces mains n'ont pas lavé les langes
Des lourds petits enfants sans yeux.
Ce ne sont pas mains de cousine
Ni d'ouvrières aux gros fronts
Que brûle, aux bois puant l'usine,
Un soleil ivre de goudrons.
Ce sont des ployeuses d'échines,
Des mains qui ne font jamais mal,
Plus fatales que des machines,
Plus fortes que tout un cheval !
Remuant comme des fournaises,
Et secouant tous ses frissons,
Leur chair chante des Marseillaises
Et jamais les Eleisons !
Ça serrerait vos cous, ô femmes
Mauvaises, ça broierait vos mains,
Femmes nobles, vos mains infâmes
Pleines de blancs et de carmins.
L'éclat de ces mains amoureuses
Tourne le crâne des brebis !
Dans leurs phalanges savoureuses
Le grand soleil met un rubis !
Une tache de populace
Les brunit comme un sein d'hier ;
Le dos de ces Mains est la place
Qu'en baisa tout Révolté fier !
Elles ont pâli, merveilleuses,
Au grand soleil d'amour chargé,
Sur le bronze des mitrailleuses
À travers Paris insurgé !
Ah ! quelquefois, ô Mains sacrées,
À vos poings, Mains où tremblent nos
Lèvres jamais désenivrées,
Crie une chaîne aux clairs anneaux !
Et c'est un soubresaut étrange
Dans nos êtres, quand, quelquefois,
On veut vous déhâler, Mains d'ange,
En vous faisant saigner les doigts !
....
Bio http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/Biography.html
André Breton - Free Union
.jpg)
André Breton - Free Union
My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with her rosette mouth and a bouquet of stars of the last magnitude
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with her eyelashes in the strokes of a child's writing
With eyebrows from the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with brows of slates on a hothouse roof
And with steam on the windowpanes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and the ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley of gold
Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent
With breasts of night
My wife with her undersea molehill breasts
My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible
With breasts of the spectre of the rose beneath the dew
My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days
With the belly of a gigantic claw
My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically
With a back of quicksilver
............................................
Bio of Andre Breton http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andr%C3%A9_Breton
Ma femme
Ma femme à la chevelure de feu de bois
Aux pensées d'éclairs de chaleur
À la taille de sablier
Ma femme à la taille de loutre entre les dents du tigre
Ma femme à la bouche de cocarde et de bouquets d'étoiles de dernière grandeur
Aux dents d'empreintes de souris blanche sur la terre blanche
À la langue d'ambre et de verre frottés
Ma femme à la langue d'hostie poignardée
À la langue de poupée qui ouvre et ferme les yeux
À la langue de pierre incroyable
Ma femme aux cils de bâtons d'écriture d'enfant
Aux sourcils de bord de nid d'hirondelle
Ma femme aux tempes d'ardoise de toit de serre
Et de buée aux vitres
Ma femme aux épaules de champagne
Et de fontaines à têtes de dauphins sous la glace
Ma femme aux poignets d'allumettes
Ma femme aux doigts de hasard et d'as de cr
Aux doigts de foin coupé
Ma femme aux aisselles de martre et de fênes
De nuit de la Saint-jean
De troène et de nid de scalares
Aux bras d'écume de mer et d'écluse
Et de mélange du blé et du moulin
Ma femme aux jambes de fusée
Aux mouvements d'horlogerie et de désespoir
Ma femme aux pieds de moelle de sureau
Ma femme aux pieds d'initiales
Aux pieds de trousseaux de clée, aux pieds de calfats qui boivent
Ma femme au cou d'orge imperlé Ma femme à la gorge de Val d'or
Du rendez-vous dans le lit même du torrent
Aux seins de nuit
Ma femme aux seins de taupinière marine
Ma femme aux seins de creuset du rubis
Aux seins de spectre de la rose sous la rosée
Ma femme au ventre de dépliement d'éventail des jours
Au ventre de griffe géante
Ma femme au dos d'oiseau qui fuit vertical
Au dos de vif-argent
Au dos de lumière
À la nuque de pierre roulée et de craie mouillée
Et de chute d'un verre dans lequel on vient de boire
Ma femme aux hanches de nacelle
Aux hanches de lustre et de pennes de flêche
Et de tiges de plumes de paon blanc
De balance insensible
Ma femme aux fesses de grês et d'amiante
Ma femme aux fesses de dos de cygne
Ma femme aux fesses de printemps
Au sexe deglaïeul
Ma femme au sexe de placer et d'ornithorynque
Ma femme au sexe d'algue et de bonbons anciens
Ma femme au sexe de miroir
Ma femme aux yeux pleins de larmes
Aux yeux de panoplie violette et d'aiguille aimantée
Ma femme aux yeux de savane
Ma femme aux yeux d'eau pour boire en prison
Ma femme aux yeux de bois toujours sous la hache
Aux yeux de niveau d'eau de niveau d'air de terre et de feu.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
Who Knows Where the Time Goes? Fairport Convention
Who Knows Where the Time Goes? Fairport Convention
WHO KNOWS WHERE THE TIME GOES - SANDY DENNY & FAIRPORT CONVENTION
Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving
But how can they know it's time for them to go?
Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming
I have no thought of time
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
Sad, deserted shore, your fickle friends are leaving
Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go
But I will still be here, I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
And I am not alone while my love is near me
I know it will be so until it's time to go
So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again
I have no fear of time
For who knows how my love grows?
And who knows where the time goes?
Urge For Going - Joni Mitchell
Urge For Going - Joni Mitchell
THE URGE FOR GOING - JONI MITCHELL
I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
and all the trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go
I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I had me a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling's heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground, and
Bully winds came around, pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going
And I had to let him go
He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime was falling down and winter was closing in
Now the warriors of winter they gave a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying, all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight flapping and a-racing on before the snow
They've got the urge for going, and they've got the wings so they can go
They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I'll ply the fire with kindling now, I'll pull the blankets up to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out and bolt my wandering in
I'd like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so
But she's got the urge for going and I guess she'll have to go
She gets the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire's falling down
AND YET ANOTHER DULL DAY IN DULLSVILLE
AND YET ANOTHER DULL DAY IN DULLSVILLE
by Trev Teasdel
Dear Diary -
Solstice
I do miss telly but then I've got sky - and you should see the programmes it shows - just look at the snap shot above. No telly licence needed and the programmes are much more interesting! It's a good neighbourhood too - I get a lot of hippy folk drop in (which is a new one for them as they are used to dropping out!) - they strum guitars, bongos and sometimes each other and a bit of free love too - that's what's nice about this property - everything's free! They are cool - they do all the stereotypical things to please the crowd but when you get to know them their real depth shows.
Banking has Changed a Bit!
A nice effect of Global warming, ironically, is that a bit of a Glacier landed near by which makes an ideal fridge. There's plenty of storage room and it's at least a 1000 star. It's not a good place for love making but you can't have everything! The agent does a nice line in cut-price vegetarian Polar bears - that and the fish keep me going nicely.
Because of global warming and rising sea levels some of the folk nearby are developing underwater colonies in preparation for the deluge - I often eat a special kind of seaweed with them that lets you breath underwater and visit their beautiful glass-domed city beneath the waves. I have a special friend there - her name is Opal Reality in English - that does for me! That wave action does something for your sex-drive - I can tell you.
Oh well - it's been just another dull day here in Dullsville but I thought I'd blog it nonetheless but first a glimpse of Opal Reality - I hope you like her - but not too much!
We Talked for Ages...Trev Teasdel
We Talked for Ages
Trev Teasdel 1985
We talked for ages
I fondled your mind
till your thoughts became firm.
That night
I unzipped all your secrets -
the ones you show to no-one.
I penetrated
your emotional virginity.
You bled a little
I held your hand
I was trying hard
not to fall in love.
You had told me
you were not ready
for-love-again-so-soon.
I discovered a thousand trips ropes
strung around your body and your mind.
It was inevitable
that I would fall
eventually
headlong into that well of love.
Helpless
I hit the bottom -
found no water there to soften the blow
when your eyes
Told me NO!.......................
By Trev Teasdel 1985
An Endless Dull Day in Dullsville (again!)
An Endless Dull Day in Dullsville (again!)
Trev Teasdel
Dear Diary -
Yesterday was National Nudes Day, everyone, and I mean everyone, was stark frolic naked - except me - I'd forgotten - in fact I was probably wearing more clothes than usual. It was weird, everyone was looking at me as if I had something to hide - like a fat butt or something and the tabloids were snapping me and commenting on me being overdressed in public - what's up with people! It's not like they've never seen someone in clothes before.
I'd quite forgotten I'd started it, unintentionally of course. Back in my youth in Atlantis I was making love to my girl friend in an apparently abandoned racing car on some wasteground. We were just coming to the climax, you know the bit where I fake the orgasm before she does (we've improved since then - we both fake it together - it's much more satisfying) when the racing car zoomed off with us in it. We had totally no idea (lol) it was a time machine, but anyhoo that's how we ended up here in 2012 in Dullsville. When we got out, stark naked, to see where in the universe we might be, there was an enormous fuss going on. It didn't take long to work out it was because we had our kit off. How embarrassing but it started an unexpected chain of events and the day is now commemorated as National Nudes day.
"As we were Born" reads the slogan on the town hall. Today, however, it was amazing to see how people were going about their daily business quite unperturbed until I came along wearing my clothes. I felt like a streaker in reverse!
"As we were Born" reads the slogan on the town hall. Today, however, it was amazing to see how people were going about their daily business quite unperturbed until I came along wearing my clothes. I felt like a streaker in reverse!
A Bit Of Brass for a Bit of Brass
However, today's quite another day. This morning I was woken up by a brass band playing outside my house and knocking loudly on the door with a collection tin for charity. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I looked out of the window, it was strange to see passersby in clothes again, and I was totally impressed with the new uniforms - see the photograph >, and i gave them a bit extra this year for showing a bit of imagination.
THE END OF WORLD POVERTY
Of course, as you will have heard on the news, the major multinational corporations have announced a new policy, in response to public demand and the more ethical, healthy and environmentally friendly consumer choices being made. Major companies are replacing competition with co-operation - One world, One people - policy. A policy of no crap or chemicals in foods, bucket loads of cash and resources to wipe out third world poverty with no strings or interest attached, policies to curb the destruction of rain forests and more. It's quite amazing - a bit like the reversal on smoking in public - something I thought I'd never see but glad of it all the same. It was heartening therefore to see the first dispatches of cash and supplies floating to the third world over Dullsville by what I imagine is a very cost-effective method. Of course it will be providing the companies with a 'Photo-opportunity' and might seriously restore faith in their products but a good move all the same.
WHERE THE WIND BLOWS FREE
Another good move was the decision of Dullsville County Council to develop wind farms in every community. Oh the power of wind! My former manager illustrated that alright. His policy was 'Where ever U B let your wind blow free' and 'When in the Chapel, let it rattle!'. Once we were on a training weekend in a stately home. The women managers tried hard to convince him to be more discrete - "pinch your lips" they had said. So, in response, he located himself in a doorway so hopefully the dreadful stench would let itself out into the woods undetected. However, unbeknownst to him, there was smoke detector above the door, and yes it set the alarms off. We all assembled out side, waiting for the fire engines when the owner announced which alarm had gone off first. Not being bashful, the manager proudly announced that it was his nether parts that had set the alarms off! So much for discretion! However the wind power the Council are employing in Dullsville is a bit> cleaner - just a bit - ignoring the chemical factories down by the river!
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE
Oh the news is particularly interesting today - The Dullsville County Educational Tinkering Department has found a new approach to teaching history in association with the Forestry commission. "Experiential education" they said "is replacing 'taught' methods". Said a consultant Alchemist. 'It is hoped that the Adventure of History will motivate disaffected kids everywhere". Grants are being offered to low-income families for equipment and clothing and insurance. Special incantations will reveal ancient maps concealed in certain tree trunks and provide wormholes to the past. The kids are not enabled to change anything - just observe and learn and some of the video footage will be displayed on Youtube. However reports that the Sex Pistols were playing during the construction of the Pyramids are unfounded!
Well - I guess things weren't so dull here today - a bit lively in fact. Stay Dull -
Yours truly - Born in Atlantis!
View the Pictures in their original context HERE http://www.zuzafun.com/surreal-pictures
NIGHTFALL IN SORRENTO -Trev Teasdel
Nightfall in Sorrento
Listen to it on audio with guitar here http://a1.typepad.com/6a0134875568e9970c0133f43653b1970b-mp3
Or a trance version (using some of the poem) by Jim Pryal on his Culture Fusion My Space here
Nightfall in Sorrento
Sorrento -
The Communion of the urban puzzle
Where elegance is attitude
The fashion club of the urban groove
eco-driven
citizens.
In slender tones
of mobile silence
Nocturnal spiders
In basement bars
Live the lust
Of the selfish-gene
In Sorrento
Spin-doctored money blenders
With hidden agendas
Crammed with fruit
In the cave of clones
Lie low in Sorrento
In the wah wah cadence
Of Sorrento radiance,
re-mortgaged estate Agents
with Vintage Bentleys
sway in the breeze
to nightfall’s synthful,
sassy jazz
Glow-worm leprechauns
In dust-down
Denim delights
Ageless
And jazz-hot.
Hide behind enemy-lines
In Sorrento.
Nightfall in sorrento
The civil disobedience
Of a New Era
The world in one city
Refuelled and
air-cooled -
Adidas pre-Raphaelites
On a full-english
cutting edge
Predicting a riot in
The chic -chill-out
Of a power-pop city.
The Revlon Accurist
With pipe smoking planes
In his own back yard
Sails his Skintight riverboat
In the shimmering waters of Sorrento
.Escaping
The chaos of
A goose-pimpled
Colditz
With his third wife
escape plan
from the regional assembly
Of the Canterbury tales
Lost in Sorrento .
Midsummer night Dream-time
Astro-bars in Sorrento
Robert Frost fashion-brands
Follow the universe less travelled by
She was a trainee with a code name
Sleeping with the saints in Sorrento
Dark textured
With age defining make-up
The full
Glamour and scandal
On DVD
Eagerly awaited
The king of contenders
Hot toasted and out to sea
On another public art project.
Dizzy in the city with
Calvin Klein moth-repellent
Paying lip-service to high drama
In the urban puzzle
She’s like art in unexpected places
Soft-spoken
Sky diving
Sun-fresh
Sensitive
Sexy, suave
Stealing the show
On the soft silken routes of Sorrento
Sorrento -
The Communion of the urban puzzle
Where elegance is attitude
The fashion club of the urban groove
eco-driven
citizens.
In slender tones
of mobile silence
Nocturnal spiders
In basement bars
Live the lust
Of the selfish-gene
In Sorrento
Spin-doctored money blenders
With hidden agendas
Crammed with fruit
In the cave of clones
Lie low in Sorrento
In the wah wah cadence
Of Sorrento radiance,
re-mortgaged estate Agents
with Vintage Bentleys
sway in the breeze
to nightfall’s synthful,
sassy jazz
Glow-worm leprechauns
In dust-down
Denim delights
Ageless
And jazz-hot.
Hide behind enemy-lines
In Sorrento.
Nightfall in sorrento
The civil disobedience
Of a New Era
The world in one city
Refuelled and
air-cooled -
Adidas pre-Raphaelites
On a full-english
cutting edge
Predicting a riot in
The chic -chill-out
Of a power-pop city.
The Revlon Accurist
With pipe smoking planes
In his own back yard
Sails his Skintight riverboat
In the shimmering waters of Sorrento
.Escaping
The chaos of
A goose-pimpled
Colditz
With his third wife
escape plan
from the regional assembly
Of the Canterbury tales
Lost in Sorrento .
Midsummer night Dream-time
Astro-bars in Sorrento
Robert Frost fashion-brands
Follow the universe less travelled by
She was a trainee with a code name
Sleeping with the saints in Sorrento
Dark textured
With age defining make-up
The full
Glamour and scandal
On DVD
Eagerly awaited
The king of contenders
Hot toasted and out to sea
On another public art project.
Dizzy in the city with
Calvin Klein moth-repellent
Paying lip-service to high drama
In the urban puzzle
She’s like art in unexpected places
Soft-spoken
Sky diving
Sun-fresh
Sensitive
Sexy, suave
Stealing the show
On the soft silken routes of Sorrento
On the soft silken routes of Sorrento
Blister on the Moon - Taste
Blister on the Moon - Rory Gallagher 1969
Everyone is saying what to do and what to think,
And when to ask permission when you feel you want to blink.
First look left and then look right and now look straight ahead,
Make sure and take a warning of every word we've said.
Now you lay you down to sleep make sure and get some rest,
Tomorrow is another day and you must pass the test.
Don't try and think too different now what we say is best,
Listen little man you're no better than the rest.
Don't lay beside the wayside all around the road we've set,
Smile and look happy fool or we'll throw you in the wet.
Now if you learn your lesson well and step upon the line,
Save your breath until forever we should get along just fine.
We'll bend your heart until it breaks make sure you feel no pain,
We'll be the one to crush you and give you to the rain.
But now you want to run away oh can I see you run,
Run across the frozen air try resting on the sun.
And if you feel it burn you don't yell out in pain,
Or wish you had a velvet sponge full of soothing rain.
So let's have that stiff upper lip now take a long deep breath,
Close your ears you cannot hear the rules are all pre-set.
You thought we were illusions but we meant the word we said,
We're in command, you tiny fly, we'll crush you till you're dead.
Muddy Waters and Sonny Boy Williamson 11 - Got my Mojo Working
Muddy Waters & Sonny Boy Williamson II (Rich Miller)
Willie Dixon, Matt Guitar Muphy and I think Memphis Slim on piano.
Sonny Boy Williamson 11 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonny_Boy_Williamson_II
The Writers Cafe Venue - Stockton 2006-8
Between 2004 and 2006 the Writers cafe Performance venue was run by Paul Williams, Trev Teasdel and Carmen Thompson at the ARC arts centre, Stockton on Tees.
Between 2006 and 2008 it was run by Trev Teasdel, Ann Wainwright and Ruby Diamond at the The Georgian Theatre, Stockton on Tees.
And from The Writers Cafe at the ARC Stockton 2004 - 2006
Writers Cafe YOUTUBE
Writers Cafe Blog
 |
| Ann Wainwright |
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS LONG AGO
 |
| Birmingham Broadside |
Some interesting bits abridged from an article that appeared in The Birmingham Broadside in the mid 70's -
Although Christmas (Cristes Maess) is the highpoint of the church calender, it has more in common with Saturnalia, a week long Roman Celebration, a period of general licence, excess and generosity to the poor.
Mithra's Birthday
 |
| Mithra |
The Yule Log
 |
| Yule Log |
Evergreens
Were a symbol of undying life and have always been used to decorate dwelling places, a pagan practice which the church tried to stamp out. Mistletoe is still banned in some churches though was once a custom in Wolverhampton for it to be placed on the alter by the priests and then distributed for its medicinal properties.
 |
| Mistletoe |
Mistletoe
Another local custom was to hang a bag of mistletoe round the neck to ward off evil spirits. Similar beliefs about the power of mistletoe existed as far a field as Japan and Africa. In Gaelic it means "All-healer" The Bilston people had another way of keeping evil spirits at bay - they drew chalk marks across either end of the street at Christmas. Mistletoe was held to be a cure for barrenness, but this has no connection with kissing under it, a purely English custom.
The Christmas Tree (Kissing Bough)
The kissing bough, a crown of greenery hung with decorations, was the forerunner of the tree which first appeared in the early 19thC, originating from Germany and coming to Britain via America.
Turkey
Turkey did not appear in Britain until 1542 and did not really become popular until much later. Goose, pork, beef, venison, swans, peacocks in their feathers (with gilded beaks) and above all - the boar's head, were it's predecessors.
 |
| Odin |
Plum porridge was the forerunner of Christmas pud and like the original mince pies contained meat as well as fruit and spices. Traditionally Christmas pudding had to be stirred by everyone in the making and wishes made with a few small charms thrown in.
Father Christmas
Has a long history. He was once Odin, a Norse god who went around at Yule on his giant horse, rewarding or punishing followers. When Christianity did away with the old gods, the part fell to St. Nicholas, a generous bishop in the fourth century. The real giving of gifts should take place on Boxing day, the feast of St. Stephen, when the contents of alms boxes were distributed to the poor. In the 16thC. it was common for the working people to carry a box for contributions.
Wassailing
An old practice stemming from Saxon days was Wassailing - a mild form of revelry. The poor went around singing with a bowl for contributions of money or drink, to drink one's health with. The favourite drink in the Black country was elderberry wine or warm ale sweetened and spiced, containing roasted apples. Cattle in their stalls were also wassailed on Twelfth night. In the West Midlands there was also a big celebration with dances and bonfires. Everyone in Walsall was entitled to Moseley's dole. This was a penny loaf given out annually, first recorded in 1539.
 |
| 12th Night |
It is no longer the custom to celebrate throughout the twelve days of Christmas despite a law of King Alfred to that effect. Few would be up to it anyway! Parliament did try to abolish all these goings on in 1644 but Christmas reappeared after the Restoration.
MEANDERING ON DOWN STREAM - Trev Teasdel
MEANDERING ON DOWN STREAM
by Trev Teasdel (Inspired by some of Ann Wainwright's Riverside Photos)
Walking along the streams of consciousness, through buttressed leaves in kick crumble rouge, past sloping off boats tugging at their moorings, past gates to huge houses, slipways slipping into the Thames to feed u bend swans fresh baked breadlets, past bent backed hedges with tangle-hair dreams and lean over fences and trees that reach up to the giant's nest and the blow-bubble clouds with tingle-drop raindrops that fall on caught out blouses and coffured hair-scapes, while dogs chase the illusions of rabbits that spill from a cast off top hat jammed in the hedgerow awaiting the applause of a Drury Lane matinee, while taxies cut corners to pick up cut-out commuters from their brief-cased compartments and deliver them quickly to lap-top lovers with micro-soft thighs and drop-down menus before evening news and dinner for two on a punt down near Windsor while couples tell lies that neither believes as a matter of ritual and just to fill in time till the call of the duvet and feather down pillows in the lovertime night with it's dreams of long winding rivers with trees that look like people and ducks that talk Norman and swans that sell cakes to passerby joggers in trainers and leggings that bounce on the leaves where rabbits lure dogs with the illusion of food and magicians lose hats in a spell under the stars and back by the streams where conciousness rushes before walking by the banks of the Thames flowing home to it's mansion of the sea with it's fish-maid servants and butler whales and ships that just seem to pass in the night..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)