I WOULD STEAL YOUR BODY LANGUAGE

As the first lines of this post's poem states a sign on the back of a taxi set me thinking. 

DASHBOARD CAMERA IN OPERATION

I clock the sign on the back of the taxi in front of me

I think about all that found art

hour upon hour of unwitting testimony to being alive

if I were an actor how I would crave access

to such a store house of raw material

I would loot each shrug each sigh

I would steal your body language

and employ your every nuance

to make mine real on stage

All those hours of footage of people being themselves. Someone told me that Marlon Brando used to stand in phone boxes pretending to have a conversation so he could watch people, see how they moved. I think that all actors people watch. I am not sure if the poem is quite there - watch this space.

Here's The Zombies from the 60s, psychedelia never dies.

Until next time. 

700 STEPS

I do not have a photograph of the Coronavirus Monument in London. It did not feel appropriate to take one. It did inspire this poem:

snapshot 2022

the Coronavirus Memorial

is 700 steps long give or take a few

there are more hand painted hearts

on the bricks than I can count

each written in by a person who mourns

a memory of someone special

on the Thames side of the pavement

tourists stop to have their photographs taken

the Mother of Parliaments

their chosen backdrop

the present incumbent and his cronies

partied their way through the pandemic

I have utterly no respect for the present government. I shall say no more. 

Here's Ryley Walker. He is playing London this Saturday, be there or be square.

Until next time.

TOURIST STATISTIC

I  was in Amsterdam recently, it was the result of train tickets being on hold throughout the pandemic. I went to the Van Gogh Museum and wrote this as I wandered around.

Van Gogh Museum Tourist Statistic

she has her vision

he is directed to position her on the screen

The Sunflowers on her shoulder

she is the centre piece

he presents the result

she shakes her head

two more attempts are needed

before she smiles

I continue to watch as

twenty other people photograph

the painting in their turn

all vying for the best shot

then I snake through the crowds

to catch glimpses of paintings

no one wanted to buy

when the artist was alive

Please do not think I am critical of the couple, I am not, I was just fascinated by their vision. I don't tend to take photographs of paintings because my efforts are no where near as good as the real thing. 

Amsterdam was fun, it is a very beautiful city. I was taken with the illuminated trees as you can see.

Pollyanna is just presenting her labour songs project, sadly I cannot find any videos of it, but from what I've heard it sounds boss. Here's an earlier video.

Until next time.

THROUGH SECRET EYEHOLES

I wrote this poem in my head as I drove along the A38. It started life as the locked room mystery but Raymond Chandler's essay on The Simple Art of Murder popped into my head and I ran with that.

Denouement

The classic country house murder mystery disappoints.

The author may deploy sleight of hand

far fetched coincidences

then withhold vital information

until the final chapter

when we are gathered in the library.

It all smacks of desperation as we characters

have our individual shames exposed

so the detective can dismiss us in turn.

How we squirm at the way we are written

at the outlandish confessions we must make

and you dear reader, as I gaze on your face

through the secret eyeholes hidden in the e’s of my lines

sigh.

But hold on one minute

can you tell me if your life is any better constructed

than I am out of my sentences?

It is a piece of nonsense. I always think, when I see any crime show revelation, how much I would hate having my life held up to scrutiny, especially as it is only designed to show off how clever the detective is.

On a more serious note I must say I am appalled at the overturning of Roe v Wade. It is always the womans choice. How dare anyone sit in judgement over another person's body? As Leonard Cohen said: I have seen the future brother, and it's murder.

I leave you with the man and the song.

Until next time.