Burning Slowly

A random tale of a random poet living a random life. (Many of the pictures are mine but my apologies to the owners of the ones that I have blatantly ripped off. If you are really unhappy about me using your images, email me and I will remove them. If not, thanks for the loan. Outcast Poet)

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Location: Oxford, United Kingdom

I write real poems, and play real music.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Shallow Is The Night


I lost a few days celebrating Tricky's birthday. Ferret and Teen turned up and many others. Liver now cleaning up.

My friend didn't like my new philosphy that I had spouted as we ate satay prawns in a Chinese in Witney last night. She said it sounded shallow. I guess that what it is; sometimes Deep is just no fun!

I dropped her home and was heading off to play Harp with Johnny Blues at the Half moon when I got a text from another ex-girlfriend: "Are you going to Bro's wedding 2morrow?"

Shit! I thought it was on Saturday not Wednesday! I called the Moon to cancel and headed back to the boat. Calliope was in the car park and he talked me into going to the Rock for a beer. Like, that was difficult! Gollum and Buffy were there for the free Tuesday night pool. Buffy had already drank more that a is good for any self respecting vampire slayer and was slumped in a chair mouthing off about "young vampires today..." or something along those lines. Gollum was poised over the pool table, as useual, trying to pot a red in the side without going in-off. I took him on and lost, but only by one close game, and decided it was time for my bed.

Dreams came on strong that night. A big house surrounded me with a dry ice smoke carpet covering floor at about seat height to a large red velvet settee. I wandered around the rooms for what seemed like a very long time, but knew no one there. The smoke got quicker and a loud 'quack, quack, quack, quack....' repeated endlessly. A door opened at the front of the house, cold water started gushing in, and the dream vanished. The noise continued. I rolled over and realised I was awake and a mallard, outside the bedroom window on the boat, had caught site of the first rays of a new morning sun and was letting the world know about his find. It was five AM. Oposite the boat, the large field with its fresh shoots of whatever crop has been planted there looked like a the landscape of the Veldt under a firey African sky. I went back to bed and re-grouped.


Darkness, darkness

Darkness rose upon me
I looked back towards the place
Where the line I had long since crossed
Was no longer visible
Returning was not an option
I was doomed to roam the darkside
Until the end of my days

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Lost Daze


Tricky had a birthday drink in the Victoria, I drank for England! Don't ask me why. I stayed in bed all day Saturday feeling like shit! Sometimes there are days like these. But back in the saddle again and the world rocks on. The mayflies swarmed and the fish jumped. In their short sweet life they have only one mission, how uncomplicated is that?

Aim high, shoot low, and I'll catch you later.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Serotonin Sunshine



Thursday morning delivered sunshine to us in abundance. After a week of almost solid rain, it shone down like an antidepressant stimulating our serotonin and making us smile. A day for wallowing and tanning, the roof of the boat with a good book would have been nice. But it was Thursday and I had places to go, mums to see.

Even the M40 looks good when it is bathed in English sunshine, today it looked good. Through the cut, past High Wycombe, the graffitied wall, (why do I have to read this every day), past the Hoover Building, and up the slipway onto the North Circular (A420). At least if it hadn’t have been for the tail back of traffic it would have been like that; thank Honda for Preludes with air-con! Eventually I did get onto the North Circular and tooled my way around to the East. There are no redeeming features on the A420, even the glimpse you get of the new Wembley Stadium does little for it. That glimpse only serves as a reminder of how much public money is being spent, by so many, for so long, for so little.

Mum was in good spirits when I got to the home, she was sitting in the sun in the courtyard with Kit, a ninety-seven year old resident. One of the staff was asking them questions about their lives so she could write a little story up about each of them and pin it on the wall, for a bit of fun, a bit of interest. And interesting it was. These two women had lived best part of a century, been through wars, gave birth several times, and seen a world change beyond all recognition as ‘progress’ rapidly marched on, taking no prisoners. Kit recalled how the fire carts were once towed by a team of beautiful big black horses; when the motorised version, the fire engine, took over, the horses were sold off to a local delivery company in the area (East London). One day when a driver was making a deliver with his cart they passed by the fire station. Well they didn’t pass by it, unfortunately, as on their approach the horse caught site of the stations open doors and veered off, out of familiarity and possibly home sickness, towards them. Sadly the proud animal was hit by one of the, ever increasing in numbers, delivery lorries coming in the opposite direction and was killed. The writing was on the wall; the death null for horse drawn deliveries, it was soon to be over.

My mum told the woman how she had grown up in Lime House, around the docks when they were thriving. The area used to be China Town in those days and mum told the tale of how, at twelve years of age, she was a bookies runner for an illicit Chinese gaming house run from the back of a pub called ‘The Aporto’ (I think it is still there). Gambling, or more precisely ‘off track betting’, was illegal at that time and children were used to run bets between bookies and punters as they stood far less chance of being stopped by the police. These children were called ‘bookies runners’, and my mum was one of those. I can’t help feeling proud of that for some reason.

It was still blue sky and sun when I left the home. I sat outside in the Prelude trying to make a phone call when another car pulled up alongside me. I thought the guy was trying to get direction so I got out of my car to speak to him. He was Italian and spoke as ‘Manuel’ in ‘Faulty Towers’ would have done had he have hailed from Milan and not Barcelona. He wasn’t after directions; he was trying to sell me a suit and a leather jacket! He was probably a con man but he told me he had been displaying clothes at Liberty’s as part of a fashion show and was on his way back to Milan with the samples. I didn’t see any luggage in his car, which made me wonder, but he was persistent. He showed me his passport as proof of something I wasn’t quite sure of, and showed me a membership card for a casino. He explained how he had experienced a particularly unlucky streak there the night before and was now short of cash and needed to pay for his hire car and get the Airport. The card and the passport looked well worn, and the jackets felt like imitation leather. I managed to shake him off but a lesser mortal would probably have bought one if not two items from him. He was good. He did leave very quickly when I started making a phone call; maybe he thought I was a grass!

I pulled into Oxford earlier than I had expected and had a couple of hours to kill before the doing my poetry gig at the Half Moon: Sparky’s Flying Circus. I went to Café Nero and had a double espresso; Sylvie wasn’t working. On the way back to the Half Moon I stopped off at an Internet Café in the high street, just before the bridge, and checked on my online dating. I am not doing too well at that. I had no replies from any of the women I had taken much trouble to write individual emails to, one email from some one called Elaine who said she had read my profile and I wasn’t the one for her, and one email on my private account from Lisa in Brentford who spoke to me a couple of times last week and said she would like to meet up. I think I am getting weary of it all now, the novelty has worn off, and I think I would rather meet people in the normal way and know if I get on with them from the start.

It was a quite night at the Half Moon. No one I knew turned up, except for Sylvie that is, but she appeared to be with a boyfriend, well some characterless drongo was following her around the pub all night; and before you say it wasn’t me! Chris did a few excellent poems and Sparky too was on good form. Phil and Sue from the band ‘Redox’ performed a couple of numbers with guitar and vocals. I joined them on the jaws harp for one number. Jeremy, as usual, played some sweet acoustic guitar. I wasn’t on particularly good form but gave it a go. The show must go on! I did a new poem that I have only just finished. It is homage to Sparky and called ‘Sparky the Mighty Poet’. He liked it if no one else did. I spoke briefly to Sylvie on the way out and she said she woiuld givve me a call on Tuesday; she wants to see my boat. By one AM we were stuffing pizza down our throats, walking back to the car. Sparky told me some very interesting, but very private things as we sat there finishing of the nine inch American Hots. Unfortunately for you, he swore me to secrecy and I am a man of loyalty and discretion; if I told you I would have to kill you!

When I got home the towpath was dark and dry. The day of sun had done what it does best. Not a light was on, all the boaters were tucked up for the night like hobbits. I was tired; but too tired and couldn’t sleep. The dawn was breaking when I finally drifted off thinking about what lay ahead of me, what tomorrow had in store.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Extreme Aunt Sally


The 1967 V8 Chevrolet Bel-Air Utah State Trooper’s saloon roared down it’s straight-through exhausts. Sticks in the trunk, Ratty at the wheel, and me riding shotgun. We pulled out onto a wet A34 with rain lashing at the screen, heading due south. It was the second game of the season for the Eight Bells Aunt Sally team and we were late. Ratty floored the beast to try and make some headway but this car was built for cruising not performance. It was engineered in the Chevrolet Automobile factory in 1967, the summer of love, pre Internet and before mobile phones. It’s sole reason for existing was to ferry fat police officers around the two lane black tops of the state of Utah looking for long-hairs to beat. Now some 39 years later Ratty was giving it maximum gas on the A34 on the way to an Aunt Sally game.

I can’t get into what Aunt Sally is about now, maybe another time, so those of you who don’t know look it up. To help with the concept a little: it is a pub game that is only played in Oxfordshire; it’s played outdoors and involves throwing sticks at a lump of wood called a Dolly. Nuff said. It is a summer game and really designed for those long hot summer evenings in English pub gardens, supping beer and the smell of wild flowers drifting on a gentle breeze.

The rain lashed down harder and as luck would have it, due a quirky electrical idiosyncrasy, the faster we drove the faster the wipers worked. Well, they moved across the windshield, wiping clear my side but skipping over Rat’s viewing area without any impact at all. The rubber seals leaked a little and my job was to squeegee the inside of the screen every so often to remove any excess water and demist at the same time.

We found the place where we were supposed to be playing and pulled into the car park, that is the front half of the Bel-Air pulled and there was no room for the rest so we left it hanging out in the street. It was a wet night, little traffic and no pedestrians. No problem. In fact the rain hadn’t eased up at all, if anything it had got heavier. The rest of the team were huddled under a makeshift gazebo trying to keep dry. We were first in and sailed to victory in the first leg. Ditto the second leg, which meant we had won the game, but the other team scraped through to win the last leg, which we had nominated to double as the beer leg. As if to compensate though, it was the cheapest beer I have drunk for years!

Our second win in the second game of the season. An extreme Aunt Sally team feeling at home in extreme conditions. We didn’t stay for food. Rat fired up the V8 engine and we roared off into the blackest of nights, aquaplaning our way back to the Rock, in time for last orders. Rock ‘n roll!

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

The Sweetest Corn



Ozzy John talked me into going for something to eat after work yesterday. We checked out the old prison complex at the back of Hang Man’s Hill. It’s been converted into restaurants: burger bars; tapas bars, pizza bars; all the usual suspects. It was still early and not only was the rain holding back but the sun was shining. Strolling around the city in the sunshine, what a difference it makes. People were still heading home for work and the high street was busy. After a coffee in Café Nero we went for a pint in Grady O’Brian’s, where we met Jamie. We talked a bit whilst finishing the beers but nothing memorable was said. I think it may have been my idea to go to “Eat As Much As You Like”, one that I would regret. Now Jamie and Ozzy John are big boys and have healthy appetites to go with their size, and I am not what you would call a waif. Between the three of us we ate enough food to overfeed a medium size country with a 90% over-weight population. My belt was noticeably tighter when we left. I could feel the extra load as I walked. Not much else happened when we left EMAYL, we just went our different ways each of us trying to deal with the digestion of vast amounts of food. Don’t get me wrong, I, and I can only speak for myself, am not proud of it.

On the bright side of life, I booked two days holiday next week and as it is a Bank Holliday on Monday, and I only work three days a week, that mean I am off work for eleven whole days as from Wednesday close of business. I have no plans but may take the boat into the centre of Oxford and spend a few days there. At least I will be able to walk home from the Half Moon.

I passed Kev on the towpath and he gave me a capo for my guitar. Also passed Ratty who was bollocksed and said something about his bike being broken down and could I give him a lift to work in the morning. I was too stuffed to pay much attention. I had to wait a while before lying down in bed; the food was still being processed. Never again will I eat that much, I swear!



The Sweetest Corn

The barn owl hunts
In harmony with the canal
Under a rising moon
The field mouse
Eats its last meal

The sweetest corn

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

AYE! AVAST!



It was a very low key session with a couple of pirates in the Rock last night Kev, who was reasonably sober, grinned at me through his semi-ZZ Top beard and offered to take me to see Long John Silver’s grave, and his mate (Long John’s that is) who’s name for the moment escapes me. Now I don’t know about you but I have always believed that Long John Silver was a character in a Robert Luis Stevenson Book. In fact Stevenson describes him thusly:

"His left leg was cut off close by the hip, and under the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with wonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall and strong, with a face as big as a ham - plain and pale, but intelligent and smiling".

Apart from: the left leg, which Kev is still in possession of; the crutch, which Kev could probably do with but doesn’t yet have; dexterity, which is hard to believe Kev possesses; the height, Kev is not what you would call ‘tall’; it could be mistaken for a description the man himself! It’s hard to see what is under that facial hair but it could be ‘plain and pale’, and even ‘intelligent and smiling’. Long John Silver and his mate’s grave, in Hampshire, Kev said. Hampshire is a lonely town if you are the only pirate boy around, I thought, that’s probably why he had his mate with him. I started to worry about the quality of the service that Kev had done on the engine of my boat.

I left him with another pirate who was ranting about how penguins were the superior species because they took it in turns to stand on the outer ring of the circle and share the protection of the others from the artic temperatures. Ozzy John challenged me to a game of pool. Well it was a matter of national pride, I had to win. And I did 2:1. A miss spent youth always pays off in the end, I find.

As I waded back down the tow path to sanity-sanctuary a barn owl swooped under the bridge. The air was mild and the rain light; it would get heavier through the night. I can’t say for sure but, in one of my dreams, I think I saw Kev on the shoulder of a parrot!


Footnote:
I got a comment emailed to my blog from someone called Ferritito.

Ferritito said: “I'm watching your space, man! Keep it real, take it easy”

I tried to reply to you Ferittito but the link didn’t seem to work. All I can say is that I am trying to keep it real, but as you can see, I am really up against it! However, I am taking it easy! Thanks for reading the blog dude.

PS: I know a ‘Ferret’, any relation?

Monday, May 22, 2006

Burning Slowly but Fanning the Flames


What struck me about today, apart from the incessant rain, was that it is nearly half way through 2006, slip sliding away. It’s also Monday and grey. I was and blurry eyed as I stepped of my boat and onto the extremely wet and muddy tow-path. A dark blue suit and shiny black shoes is not really all terrain wear but alas I need to work to pay the bills, fortunately only three days a week (Mon, Tue, and Wed).

Well, the weekend (mine starts on Wednesday evening and goes on until Sunday night) started slowly. I stayed over at Keef’s as I had promised to give him a lift to a clinic early Thursday morning for a medical to get his driving licence back. Apart from him suggesting that maybe we should share a shower because of the water shortage, the evening was pretty uneventful. I did start to wonder about him though; twenty years I have known him and strange he may be, he has never indicated to me that his tastes were for anything other than red blooded women. He must have been joking, mustn’t he?

It was a seven o clock start Thursday. Took Keef to his appointment; the only comment Keef made after the inspection was about the pen the doctor used, a silver Duofold, and the quality of his brogues, Loakes. And he did also mention that the young doctor had made the comment: “at least you can stand up without falling over this time”. Let’s hope he passes and I don’t have to drive him everywhere he needs to go.

Dropped him back home and did the 90 mile drive to King George’s hospital to visit my mum. I got there and her bed was empty; she had been discharged two hours before. I had actually called the ward to make sure she would be there and they sad her ambulance wasn’t booked until 6pm. I had got there at 4pm. Still, never mind, details! I shot over to the care home where she now lives but by this time it was too late to stay long. As it turned out, she was confused and tired so it was probably better that I kept it short and let her get to bed.

I got back to Oxford in time to do my poetry gig at Joe Ryan’s Half Moon. Every Thursday, it’s “Sparky’s Flying Circus”. It was a good crowd and Sparky was on good form; modesty forbids me to say “So was I”. Chris also performed some great dense stuff. There were quite a lot of new faces that had turned out. It’s better like that sometimes; it means you can get away with doing a lot of old stuff that the regulars have heard time and time again. I kept my eye open for Sylvie but she must have been working. It was nearly 3 am by the time Sparky and I were stuffing kebabs down our necks in the Cowley Road. Sparky was pissed by this time and ranting between mouthfuls of donner. I was sober, which is why we were eating in the shop and not in my car! On the whole, a good night was had by all. It would be great to see you there to listen or perform, every Thursday night at Joe Ryan’s Half Moon on the Plain in Oxford, Sparky’s Flying Circus.

The boat rocked gently in the strong Thursday night brazes and I slept like a baby. No room for dreams that night, just pure blissful sleep. Friday was a day I had been slightly apprehensive about; I was going to meet and have a meal with my ex-girlfriend that I hadn’t seen for over three months. Sleep was doing me good.

The tow path had dried out a little by Friday morning, well nearly mid-day by the time I surfaced. I walked down to pay Kev the money I owed him for servicing my engine. I headed off to the library in Kidlington to use their internet connection. I wanted to see if any women had responded to my profile that I had just added to the Yahoo online dating service. Well - What is a man supposed to do? Where do you go to meet women once you mature from your teens and early twenties? I had a couple of hits but only standard replies selected from a list, better than nothing though. I am still not sure how it works but it’s a bit of fun at the moment, I am not sure if I will ever meet someone but it passes the time at work!

Bussed into Oxford, I was working behind the bar at the Half Moon from 5pm until 8pm, doing Joe a favour (and he was doing me one as well). I opened up at about 4pm, filled the ice bucket, switched on the cooler in the cellar and changed a barrel of Fosters. It’s always quiet between 5 and 8, so once the basics had been done there was little to do than sit and wait for the odd random drinker to enter the bar. It was particularly slow that night and all I could think of was that at 8:30pm I had to meet my ex-girlfriend at Cibo’s, the Italian restaurant in South Parade, Summertown. Joe pitched up dead on eight and I was out of there and on a bus heading North within 10 minutes.

Cibo’s went well, she was more apprehensive about the meeting than I was but it all went off ok and few bridges were rebuilt. Time to move on.

I got back to Rock in time to get in and watch the drunken pirates play killer on the pool table. I got knocked out on my fifth shot (killer pool that is, not whiskey!). I walked an extremely drunk mate back to his boat, preventing him falling in the canal about every five steps. It was 2 am and there was very little light in the cloudy sky. It looked like more rain would be falling that night. And fall it did! I like the way it sounds when it hits the roof of the boat and splashes in the water of the canal. It is very soothing and sends me off to a deep dreamy sleep.

Saturday slipped by without me hardly noticing and by 6pm I was sitting in the White Horse in Broad Street drinking Guinness with Jamie who was on lager and into a deep conversation with Ted (5 pints of scrumpy cider already inside him) who we had just met for the first time at the bar. They were banging on about ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles’, Ted’s favourite book at school, apparently. Hunger drove us out of there eventually and we went for noodles at the Noodle Bar (clue is in the name) on Gloucester Green. It turns out that Jamie has also registered with an online dating agency. He said his daughter had bought him a subscription as a birthday present. So, after the meal we went to an internet café in the high street to compare notes. It was £1 for 20 mins, but we managed to log up £6 of time. It was fun though. I estimated that about 17% of all eligible women in the Oxford area were on the pull! It was time for more beer. Being unimaginative sorts we found ourselves seated at the bar of the Half Moon talking to Joe and watching the Eurovision Song Contest of the small TV in the corner of the bar. How sad is that! Finland won, in case you don’t know.

Sunday was the Eight Bells in Eaton as usual and the regular crowd were there in force. The new South African barmaid was working again and I think I made a bit of headway with her. She seemed to like the fact that I am a poet and said she has been writing poetry herself. Watch this space. I went back to R&J’s for lunch at about five but headed off home before nine. I needed a good night’s kip under my belt. I took a book to bed with me but was pushing out zeds before I had finished the first two pages. A new week awaited me – I love this life!