Eyes

To be held in your arms

Totally relaxed 

Gentle strength

Moment of bliss

Eyes locked  

Love crossing timeless boundaries

Yet there is something more

For me you are alien

Unknowable in every way

Yet we do connect

To feel your touch means so much

Your eyes reach into mine

My soul shudders as you do

Purring

My paw touches you   

Fingers and Thumbs, Thank you Hazel O'Conner

Fingers and thumbs

I wonder what has become

The moment is sending shivers to my soul

Time is lost as I ponder what your thoughts are

My heart beats faster

You seem out of reach

Beyond seeking finger tips

Endlessly twisting

Almost as in fear

Eyes meet

The spark is clear

Stumbled words

No meaning

Everything said

Lost in a dream

Hands touch

Fingers entwine

Hearts beating in unison

Daring to believe

Fearing it might not be ..

But hoping it could   

Feeling fingers and thumbs 
Will you will you ?
Be here tomorrow ?

Apollo

Apollo

Daphne ran from Apollo

Arrow still aching

Hate coursing through her veins

Apollo chased after 

Heart pulsing with desire

Daphne begging her father to let her be

Turning down potential lovers

Her beauty entrapped so many

Still she ran

But Apollo could run faster

As she was about  to be caught

Daphne had one last thought

Begging her father to keep her safe

Arms stretched out sprouted leafs

Feet routed to the ground

For at that moment she had become a tree

Apollo now approached

Putting his arms around her delicate trunk

 Her leafs fluttered in the breeze

 Apollo stripped off saying

“Honey I'm horny and I’ve got needs”  

As he did he sprouted wood. 

Eyes

Eyes

To be held in your arms

Totally relaxed  

Gentle strength leading to a moment of bliss

Eyes locked in understanding

Love crossing timeless boundaries

Yet there is something more

For me you are alien

Unknowable  in every way

Seemingly coming and going at whim

Busy in ways which make no sense to me.

Yet we do connect

To feel your touch means so much

Your eyes reach into mine,

My soul shudders as you do,

Purring,

My paw touches your skin.  

Max Ernst: The Blessed Virgin Chastising the Infant Jesus

Harry  

“Harry

“Harry, Come here Harry NOW!”

Oh god what have I done?

“Harry, I said get here NOW!” 

“Gran please, please what is going on?”

The fear inside my gut is twisting turning twisting my bowels, I feel a cold sweat rising..

I hear the yap of a small dog, a sure sign of Gran getting closer. 

“HARRY!”    

Oh fuck ….What has come out …

Perhaps more to the point, what have I been caught doing this time. 

“HARRY, IF I HAVE TO COME AND GET YOU. YOU WILL REGRET IT!”

Even in a place this size there is nowhere left to hide, she’s like an eighty year old terminator.  That bloody yapping dog is trying to drag me back to its master like a hunting hound from hell.. 

“On my way Gran.”

I know where she is now, getting ready to watch Count Down with Gramps.  Chocolate Hob Knob, small dogs looking smug at her feet. Gramps beside her saying how much he misses Carol bloody Vorderman.

To spoil this daily ritual would be almost like voting for a republic.

The growling fiend from hell is nipping at my feet, chasing me to Gran’s private chambers.  As I walk my heavy steps send echo’s back across to a time before the constant barrage of the media age.

At last the doors to her private chambers appear, as they do the fear in my gut now twists again. They open as if by magic, the small fiend from hell runs back to its master.

The light flowing from the tall windows blinds me for just a second, as my eyes adjust I hear Gramps voice low and forceful, not so much a voice more a force of nature. A clock chimes three times loudly in the back ground, but no chairs are drawn close to the TV.

“At last Harry, what has taken you so long?”

Grans face has sadness etched in its lines.

Strewn across the table is a collection of papers with bold headlines.

Gramps’ voice now loud and clear brings me back fully to the present.

“You daft pillock, how did you let this happen?”

Before I can ask what he means, granny passes the papers. The picture says it all, but the headlines are so much worse.

Harry’s barefaced cheek, another reads Welsh Rarebit the last in the Sun says Bot Chop..

Granny takes my hand gently and looking into my eyes tells me she and gramps have been talking and have made a decision as regards to my future.

“Harry, sorry but this is the last time, we cannot afford any more scandals.” Grans voice now calm and gentle speaks of how much those words cost her.

“After all the trouble with Andrew we had hoped you would have learnt to be at least a little more discreet, but being smacked on your bare arse by your security guard  dressed as the Madonna is several steps too far.”

Now Gramps speaks with a calm voice. “Harry with William and Kate’s baby Kyle born the succession is now secure. So it would be best to avoid any further risk to this family by removing you.”

Before I can make a sound Gramps continues, “Your regiment is going to be posted to Afghanistan next week, but you will not be coming back.

Before I can speak gran with tears in her eyes reaches across and kisses me goodbye; as she does I feel the tiny prick of a needle, slowly I slump to the floor. The last thing I hear is Gramps saying. “That after his bloody mother you think he would have known better.”

Poem of hope

Beauty beyond the immediate touch

The shadows of biology haunt

Sweaty bodies smelling with aroma of love

For a few brief moments we had become slaves to our natures

Now with the aftermath fluids congeal and dry on once pristine lives

We become tarnished and tainted by the search driven by primeval needs

Yet to deny is to isolate

Becoming less than what we should be

 what was wet now dry

Once what was hard  now limp 

Yet the deeper part still tries

Seeking, looking beyond animal needs

To the spiritual closeness that maybe, just maybe  might happen one day

Beyond the games that fill so many lives

Seeking that can only come from love

Taking us to an endless place of  peace and beauty

A biking poem.

Empty miles eating though the soul
Endless motorway  ahead and behind
Mile after mile of trying to stay alive
Crouched over, hunkered down
Throttled pinned open in the vain hope taking away the pain
Mind numb from the constant noise
Running from a past without a single glance
To a future no less dark
Just for a single moment to be caught in the light
Essence of noise and smoke
To shout
LOOK OUT HERE I COME.

Identity

Funny when away a few weeks ago a friend mentioned that I'm not a biker.
20 years ago someone else said the same thing. Of course no one would accuse me of not loving motorcycles and enjoying riding them over many years. But it seems that I'm not a biker..

 This leads to the question of how we define ourselves and how others define us. This question has been has also been highlighted in the last few months for me as ?I have started Life modelling at the grand old age of 40 ..
Apart from meeting lots of really lovely people and getting rid of a lot of body hang ups, when I meet the artists for the first time I'm laid bare in front of them. Yes some clues to my identity are there, but not as many as you would expect. Only by the nature of the work and the interaction between myself and the artists they get some clues. The change comes when at the end of the session as the visual clues of identity go back on, Often when they see me dressed in my motorcycle gear a very different identity with its  associated values becomes attached again. Which of course leads back to the comment of not being a biker... but a motorcycle rider..

Ok, I had better come clean on this one..
In many ways I have always been said that biker culture is a contraindication in terms..
The image of a biker is something that I have never wanted or aimed for, some aspects of it yes do work.
Leather jackets make a lot of sense, but do they always have to be black ?
Black leather jackets, especially those with a worn look that can only come from years of use and abuse are cool, the sign of the rebel, the outcast since the early 50's. But when faced with a as new blue leather jacket for £20 why not ? what is more important I wonder image or comfort ?
Is the associated set of values such a big part of ones identity that it would not allow oneself to step outside of those values ? 
Bikers still even now have an image which is off counter culture and rebellion. But when living in a post-modern  world, where it has been said that we live in a world of empty symbolism, with meanings place upon meanings until the original  meanings become lost. So we choose the symbols of those things that we seek for the values to be associated with us. 
For me the values associated with being a biker have never worked, it has never been about looking or acting in a certain way, more being out on the bike. Loving riding for the sake of it.

My defining moment  of motorcycling  was as a fourteen year old watching a  guy riding an old z1000 in jeans and jacket, hunched over the handle bars in the sunshine, riding with the sheer pleasure of being alive and riding a big old bike on an empty Cornish road.

No one to look, no one to judge, just the pleasure of being fully present in a moment of magic.
This had the effect on  a passive watcher of defining what motor cycles are all about, everything else is just extras.
Even when naked in front of a group of strangers I'm still defined by what is carried in my heart and the values that come from there.

So what did you choose to define you ?

Belief

For  as long as I remember I have looked around at the world and have just not got what it is all about.
Not understanding what motivates those around me, not getting what makes people get up in the morning.
We live in a society that doesn't like us asking these types of questions but I have asked those questions for as long as I can remember.
Victor Frankel wrote that man searches for meaning, but in the end each person must find they're own reason for getting up in the morning, for some it might be the love of others, for some maybe making money , or maybe just causing trouble.
I just wonder what motivates all of us and the reasons behind that motivation..
What makes all of us get up in the morning ?
Maybe doing a degree means that I spend to much time alone thinking, writers explore they're own dark inner places for inspiration. The results sometimes mean dark questions get asked, dark places get explored.
But seeing this in others as well means that when those wobble at the very least we can understand.
I guess that we all have to find the meaning ourselves.
The world doesn't make sense, but at least maybe we can help those who are also asking the same question.
Thanks for reading the ramble .. back to the normal on the next blog

What is going on ?

Whilst waking up at 5 am this morning I was listening to a statistic that as a country we are almost bankrupt , there is no more money in the Kitty, an aging population and economic stagnation mean that we as a country are very much in the decline. For the first time in a long time the legacy that faces are children is at best barely going to reach close to the standard of living that we have come to expect.
In fact it looks like the level austerity that they will or could face is is going to mean that everyone's levels of expectation will have to be reduced in many far ranging ways.
Ok I might be more than a little pessimistic about this, but we live in a country that dose not produce very much , manufacturing is now less than 13% we can not have an economy that produces nothing.
We must start thinking less global and more local, we must try to start living in a less throw away society.
Travel will become more expensive, in many ways this will mean steps backwards , but we will create a skills base again, people will be expect things to last longer, become repairable, instead of throw away and replace.
Ok I rant , but when I look at the world I wonder what is going on and whilst I would have loved to have had kids, I'm glad that I do not , as I would feel ashamed of the world that we have created for them.

Why ?

Why ?

Why?

Three simple letters so it seems

But

I am afraid it’s a little more complicated than that

Why?

See what I mean

But

What could I do?

Why?

Well once you ask the question

But

Then no answer can give the peace so sought

Why?

Always to be apart

But

Never to understand world around

Why?

I ask can I not believe in anything at all?

But

I still walk as a shadow in a world of colour

Why?

 Stuck between two worlds

But

What do mean?

Why?

Nothing at all

But

I face it all with now with steely eyed gaze.

---

[i] Word count 106

Machine

Silent machine  

Seemingly resting

Gathering dust for the first time in so long

It been said that we are defined

Only by our relationship to the modes of production

But now those machines are silent

Skill men out of work

Facing an unsure future

The loss of status

Tearing the inner person apart

Still the  machines stay silent 

 The man turns his gaze outward

Searching for a new meaning to his life

Now his skills are out of date.

Poem for St Perrans day

An alien landscape

Endless shifting

Fighting against

Wind blowing

People walk into the dunes

Tiny grains moving

Footsteps crossing again

Where once they walked to a little church

Hidden for many years amongst the shifting sands

Celebrating the place where Cornwall’s patron saint was said to land.

 Blue sky with speeded up  clouds crossing  

The landscape moving as it dose

Hiding those secrets once again 

Reminding us

That it is pointless to stand against the sands of time in the dunes of life.

For this is something that we must all face.

Jacket

Black Leather jacket

Oily hands

Long hair

Dirty clothes

I might be clean

But how would you know ?

Seemingly a scruffy man on the road to hell

But deep inside

A gentle soul resides

Creative, sensitive to point where so much hurts

Only the leather jacket holds me together

A modern Frankenstein’s monster

But with no maker

To ask what is the answer

No one to blame

No one to explain

No one at all

To help find the answers to it all

No way to face the unknowns of life.

The cost of knowledge

To anyone who has known me for a while  or listens to radio show The World Beyond   (Penwith Radio, Sunday, 4 to 6 ). They will know that I have an interest in what we would perhaps call the paranormal , or the unexplained.
 I don't mean spook exploitation, but more the fact the world is far more beautiful and complex than we could ever have imagined. I don't claim to have any special powers, other perhaps than a big mouth and ego to match. Now I get around to the point that I 'm trying to make.
Sometimes when we use a method of seeing into the future, for example it maybe using Tarot cards, reading tea leafs, crystal balls or maybe just listening to wind. In my case often I get a feeling, sometimes with such an intensity that distracts me to a point when all I can do is climb, or ride the bike, or just about anything to let me live in the moment, to forget the potential futures that maybe and perhaps may not.
For when we look into the future, what we often see will be true, but the context will always be different and so will lead us to a  future that we could not have imagined even if we get glimpes of will come to pass.
So I wonder if perhaps the best thing to do is to sit back and understand that often the best place we can be is in the present moment, and not lost in what maybe , or even what has come to pass.
For being as fully present in any given moment with a good heart is all anyone can ask.
Oh and the The World Beyond goes out on Penwith Radio on Sundays from 4 to 6 ..
So please listen in.
Being of course present in the moment..

Harry Rednap

Well I'm I being a little cynical, but Harry Rednap has all the charges of tax avoidance dropped on the same day as the England Football mangers job becomes vacant..
Well I guess we know who will be the new manager then !
On a different note, it turns out the last 30 years of  turning are economy into a service one maybe a mistake..
So it has only taken 30 years for us to work out that if we do not produce anything we cannot really function as a country ...
Really 30 years to work this out !
Manufacturing used to be over 25% of our economy, now it less than 10%. We still do produce things, hi tech low volume, ie most F1 cars are made in  this country, we produce more cars than we ever have before. Just not for a company that is British owned.
People seem to look down on those who work with their hands, we now all want to have desk jobs. I spent 20 years in production work, First as a dental technician model maker, then for a meat processor and  finally I worked in print, ending up as a printer.
Only redundancy forced me away from that industry, some aspects of the job where hard work, long hours etc. But now those jobs have gone, so where do those who want to work with their hands go ?
Service jobs are not just the answer..
But most things are now made in Asia or India for a fraction of the cost. So I guess we really are in a catch 22 situation ...
Be we still need to start producing things again ..
Be proud if you work with your hands, you are an important part that helped make this country..
And maybe, just maybe help to remake it once again.
A little rant , maybe.

Oh and yes, Harry Rednap would make a really good England manager ..

Classic Cars

In the past week I have had the pleasure of buying yet another classic car, in this case an old Triumph Dolomite. In the last 12 months I sold my much beloved Triumph Spitfire for restoration and my Saab Convertible blew its gear box up and got scrapped in the process.
For those of you who may not know, but I have always been a classic car fan; in fact if you asked my mother she would  say that it has been from the age of 4 months old.
Also I trade as Quirky Cars, not very often but enough, in fact arguably this is the first truly classic car that I have bought since starting trading.
But why would I want to put up with worse fuel economy, the likely hood that it will require more maintenance and up keep.
So why have a classic car at all ?
Well when some people travel, it really is a case of just going from A to B , no input,  no real interest.
But with a classic car this is not so, every journey becomes an adventure and not just because it may break down ! People smile as you pass, you get let out from side junctions. In this age of electric windows and  power everything ... You feel connected with the road, instead of passing through  and watching the world go by, you become part of the environment. With a soft top this becomes an even greater experience, as you have an unfiltered access to the world around and unlike a motorcycle you don't have to wear all the safety gear. But like a motorcycle when you travel in something that you can have a direct effect on how it runs, classic cars respond to being fettled. They respond  to being loved, just like us in fact.
So why do write this ?
Well thanks to my Good friend Pip I now have one of only 38 Triumph Dolomite 1500's left on the road in the UK .. so she is a rare little beast as well. All this for less than a thousand pounds and as I have a triumph heart, Dollymixture brings a smile everytime I think about her.
And that is what classic cars are all about ...

From my submission for short stories

The Man’s story

 Psychic Soup

What would happen if the air around was not as clear as you thought it was and I’m not talking about pollution. What if all the signals that bombard our modern world, radio, television, WiFi, GPS. Ok you get the idea, but what would happen if you could receive all of those and many more all the time, how would you function ? How could you know what was important and what was not? 

I struggle in enclosed spaces. By some quirk of fate, I hear, or feel all the thoughts of those around me, not just the nice ones, or the trivial ones, but the deepest darkest ones, those thoughts which in the middle of night we wake up screaming from. All those I hear, everything all of the time.

Being on a tube train in the middle of summer is my nightmare, so guess where I’m? Stuck down my own version of Dante’s hell, with everyone’s deepest thoughts screaming at me. Inside I yell in pain, begging please for something to help ease this madness of being this deep.   

Suddenly I get the feeling of a beautiful mind reaching out. Like being in the most, soft gentle embrace you could imagine. Kindness and peace surround me. I’m left wondering how and why this could happen, who could reach out and touch my tainted heart.

Now not even sure where I’m, only the train slowing down brings me to my senses, drags me from internal dialogue. All my physical senses become focused on a feminine hand touching mine, something real that counters the metaphysical embrace which still holds me. The comfort now seems to have taken a deeper more erotic edge, leaving me breathless and excited

 Becoming lost in the fog of pleasure, endless, intense and passionate, I travel to places and see and understand things beyond my wildest dreams. But as soon as this moment has arrived, the train stops, the contact lost. Feeling disorientated I turn and see the lady who was beside me stepping off the train.

As the doors close, our eyes meet with a level of understanding, for we have both shared a beautiful experience, leaving us  joyful. For to find such beauty is a gift, to lose it is bitter sweet. 

In a single moment she has gone, lost in the crowds of a busy underground station. I start to feel the others around once again. But now it’s not a problem, for in those few endless magic moments, somehow she managed to heal my broken heart, add a filter to the gift.  Dante’s hell has now lost its flame.

Morality

I haven't blogged for a while.
Something has made me question my own morality, someone I know, but only on a very superficial level has bought a motorcycle, sort of a flat pack Chinese one. This person has no history of motorcycles and seems to have not even much interest in them or  even a basic understanding of how they function.
When it finally is put together enough to function then the real dilemma will be faced.
What is the moral responsibility as regards to teaching someone to ride ? I have been taught by those bikers who came before me, handed down their knowledge and experience. All of us who have done this seem to understand its part of the history, culture and magic of motorcycles.
But in this case, this person has not listened, hence the Chinese bike, only ever past as CBT on a automatic moped. Never ridden a geared bike ever, seems not to understand the importance of safety gear, ie clothes, leather boots to cover the ankles, etc.
How much time do we put into a situation to perhaps allow them to stand a fighting chance of survival on the madness of the public highway ?
Teaching others to ride is fun and passing on experience is a big part of life, learning and teaching. But what happens if face a situation where the system has failed and we seem to be the last stage. If we don't try how do we look someones parents in the eye, after their child has been hurt in an accident?
Maybe I am being a little dark, I hope this person dose fall in love with bikes, but most of all I hope this person stays alive and safe.

Butterfly

A poem for a friend.

Butterfly

You flew into my life with a thousand signs

I spent a day wondering why I kept seeing you everywhere I looked,

From pillar to post, you fluttered.

Trying to show me what I don’t know.

But when I found that jacket,

Not really sure

I put my hand into the pocket

And there you where

Enamelled, bright, green

That was now so many years ago

For all this time,

My every step matched by your delightful flight.

Now after so many shared adventures

You have gone,

 In a single night you took flight.

I wish you luck in whoever’s life you will touch next.

Your beauty will always be carried deep inside my heart,

Good luck my little friend.

Pyshic Soup

The Mans story

 Psychic Soup

How do I explain this? For some to walk though air, well seems to be, well easy. In fact if you go higher you would notice how much easier it is. Go deeper and you would notice how it had become harder to move through something that doesn’t seem to be there most of the time. I talk in riddles, without a clear answer.  

What would happen if the air around was not as clear as you though it was and I’m not talking about pollution. What if all the signals that bombard our modern world, radio, television, WiFi, GPS. Ok you get the idea, but what would happen if you could receive all of those and many more all the time, how would you function ? How could you know what was important and what was not? 

I struggle in enclosed spaces. By some quirk of fate, I hear, or feel all the thoughts of those around me, not just the nice ones, or the trivial ones, but the deepest darkest ones, those thoughts which in the middle of night we wake up screaming from. All those I hear, everything all of the time.

Being stuck on a tube train in the middle of summer is my version hell, so guess where I’m? Stuck down my own version of Dante’s hell, with everyone’s deepest thoughts screaming at me, inside I yell in pain, begging please for something to help ease this madness of being this deep.   

Suddenly I get the feeling of a gentle, beautiful mind reaching out. Like being in the most, soft gentle embrace I have ever had. Kindness and peace seems all around. Never before have I ever had such a thing happen. I’m left wondering how and why this could happen, who could reach out and touch my tainted heart.

Now not even now sure where I’m, only the train slowing down brings me to my senses. All my physical senses become focused on a hand touching mine. The embraced still holds me firm, now it has a deeper edge, almost as if an angel reached out to touch my heart.  But an angel with an erotic edge, for my body is also responding, leaving me breathless and excited, as if the angel has an erotic edge, one which touches the very essence of my masculinity.  

 Becoming lost in the fog of pleasure, endless, intense and passionate, I travel to places and see and understand things beyond my wildest dreams. But as soon as this moment has arrived, the train stops, the contact lost. Feeling disorientated I turn and the lady beside me stepping off the train.

As the doors close, our eyes meet and a level of understanding passes between us, for we have  both shared a beautiful experience, leaving us both better joyful, but with a bitter sweet edge, for to find such beauty is a gift to lose it, is bitter sweet. 

In a single moment now she has gone, lost in the crowds of a busy underground platform, deep underground. I start to feel the others around once again, but now it is less of a problem, for in those few endless magic moments, somehow she managed to heal my broken heart, add a filter to the gift, which allows me to function once again.  Dante’s hell has lost its flame.

Worlds colliding

I find two personal worlds colliding and to be honest I'm not sure really what to do.
We all get known to different people for different aspects of our personality, this is not being to faced, more the fact that people know us for different reasons. The best example of this is in the film A Matter of Life and Death. The scene it the pub with the Doctor, Peter and June is a classic example. The Doctor knows Peter for his poetry, June as a dashing airman who some how has managed to survive jump from an aircraft.
The Doctor knows both Peter and June and in a sense they all know each other as different people.

So what has this got to do with my worlds colliding?

My good friend Dez Richards, who on facebook goes under the name of Cornish Medium is launching a radio show called The World Beyond, on Penwith Radio , 4 to 6 on Sundays from next Sunday the 15th of Jan 2012 . Along with Alan Jones, AKA the Rational Mystic and a couple of lovely ladies called Angie Kruger and Sue Searle along with Dez's lovely wife Anna Mae who will be acting as a producer for the show, or should that be loin tamer .
For those who don't know me, or know me for being a petrol head or the funny old guy at uni with a big mouth, this may seem a little of a diversion, but all of us have worked together before on different projects.
But for me this is a little like coming out, in a very real sense I'm  now showing my interest these areas, what I believe is of course something for the radio show.
All those involved apart from Anna Mae have skills or are known for certain talents within those areas the show covers .... Whilst anyone who reads this blog knows that my talents are ..well best described as undefined. So this really a step into the unknown and a often the most exciting journeys start that way.
With a single step and a leap of faith, but in this case I know the that those behind this project all have the best on intentions.
So watch this space, one of the things  has happened is that Dez has already created a space where like minded people network and post just about anything which concerns the nature of spirit or being spiritual and to define what is meant by this. The Collins Desk Top Dictionary and Thesaurus defines spirit as
1, The nonphysical aspects of a person concerned with the profound thoughts or emotions.
2, The nonphysical part of the person that lives on after death.
.....
10, a supernatural being, such as a ghost.

I have picked only the definitions which I feel are relevant for the context of this blog, but it dose show just the broad the spectrum that the new show will cover.

Now just time for that step...gulp

2012

Well folks.
A belated happy new year.
But  by saying those simply words makes me question what has truly come to pass, 2011 now its finally gone was not a good one for so many, in fact Christmas just didn't seem to happen at all.
Christmas spirit ...Don't make me laugh.
It has been said that in 2012 a cosmic shift well occur, the end of the world if you believe a south American myth...Others say that a shift of awareness will occur in people consciousness, if it dose lets pray that it occurs to heighten it and not a cosmic shift to make society even more self centered , well you never know the universe might just play that joke on our species.
But I do hope that if a cosmic shift occurs it brings a greater awareness of others, for it is far harder to hate when we can feel someone else's dreams, or even just their point of view.
So as I type on the first morning of the new year, I hope most of all that we do a share a cosmic shift of consciousness and in what ever form that takes that it brings just a little more understanding and a lot less hate.
Happy new year

Alex