March 21, 2005

  • Link to my NEW book http://www.cafepress.com/assortedfruits


    Link to well…check it PLEASE! For_Terry


    “The Clowne at University Parks Oxford.”



    I’m walking past the Natural History Museum here at Oxford, with the dino bones loved by children, the skull mentioned in Philip Pullman’s “his Dark Materials” and the dodo bird famous from Alice in Wonderland, and also by me!



    I am now in the University Parks. It’s been many moons since I first stepped in here. The cherry tree I sat under is, I think, gone. The tree I wrote poems under when I was supposed to be reading about harmonical progressions.



    But I am not Casanova, not some grand figure, just a poor writer, so I will keep this is moderate terms.



    Beyond is the cricket pitch I once saw the University play Derbyshire on, and I cheered for my county! Beyond that is the rugby pitchs where I also played on.



    I am sitting on a bench on the grass, and it’s back to reality as a man let his dog shit not far from me. Where are The Sarahs’ when you bloody want them!



    The cold dry start to the year means the flowers are not plentiful, and the cold day means that the flowers I can see, (from daisies to daffs) are half-shut, and who can blame them? Knight to Queen’s Bishop seven. Check-mate.



    Beyond here also is a duckpond where once 50 ducks followed my terrified grand-daughter even after I had picked her up, they were wanting more bread. I felt a cross between St. Frances and the Pied Piper!



    I don’t know why I am writing here, nor why I mention say, the flowers, but not the sweet papers, or hear the birds but not the traffic. It is not as if my writing is going to bring me immortality, and it’ll most certainly die before me, not that any writing is immortal, no matter what certain Americans may think, even the Bible will die with mankind.



    Still, there is nothing I can do about it all, I write I suppose to keep me sane, for I am slowly going insane as many of you might have realised. Pain and heartache, loneliness and the lack of money all is taking me down, as is the mind I was born with, a child I raised, a child I raised only for a short time, and the lack of a holiday.



    What will make me sane? Packing up work of course, but I can hardly live on my writing! Holidays in Texas and elsewhere will also keep insanity at bay, but I will end up like John Clare and Robert Lovell, I am sure.



    Maybe insanity will make me a better writer, I doubt it, for every Lovell there were a thousand madmen scribbling away their lives, unread, unloved and unaccounted. I wonder how much poetry has gone up in smoke in Asylum boiler houses?



    Ah well, if this is to go on Xanga, I must not down myself any more. Too many readers have stopped visiting my site because I am too depressing!





    The Clowne From Clown.


    ______

    A poem I wrote aged 12 (and it was all true)

     

    I have a black cat

    I call him Mr. Keats

    He is big and fat

    And never eats meat.

     

    He has two yellow eyes

    And forgets to purr

    He hollers when he cries

    And has very soft fur.

     

    He loves this and that

    But loves the warm heat

    He is a bad-tempered cat

    My old Mr. Keats!

     

    Terry.

     

    ——–

    My little pain-in-the-arses are being near the edge again with letters to the American Defence and poems by The Immortal One.


     

    And LordPineapple  has 2 poems by The Rev Toby (quite religious) and Poor Ingar has another poem on her dying so young.

Comments (23)

  • Writing is immortal! Even when mankind dies, the writing will remain as records of history and culture and loves and hates. Whitman…”I stop somewhere waiting for you” knew it. His voice echoes through his leaves of grass, his pages of poetic thoughts. Who knows what will happen to your poetry, not you. Dickinson had no idea she would become famous. Whitman was vilified because he wrote free verse…”It doesn’t even rhyme, how can it be poetry?” Yet he changed the face of American poetry forever. The poets most neglected often become the poets most famous. (You fill in the UK poets here.) Even if fame is to escape you, you have lived and written what is genuine to you. Most important, you are, were, and will be. And your subscribers appreciate what you have to say. So there! (Sorry, it’s the teacher in me.)

  • What a wonderful poem! I think a poor writer is the BEST writer!

    M.A.

  • “Where are The Sarahs’ when you bloody want them!” LOL

    “Elsewhere” I would heartily recommend. Have you BEEN to Texas?!? It’s a great place to be from — FAR from. Uhh, pardon that chauvinistic spasm, please. It’s a longstanding feud between the Lone Star State and the Last Frontier. They started it, in a fit of inferiority complex when they realized they were no longer the biggest state in the U.S.

    In my experience, Sir, the only thing insanity is guaranteed to do for us is make life more interesting.

    Keats is probably bad-tempered because he’s hungry. Get him a banger or two.

  • It is true that what you write outlasts everything else. If it doesn’t stay on the web, it just goes into the Akashik Record. Ah, well. Sanity may not be a writer’s best friend!

  • Someone is mistaking honesty for depressing ?  How sad. 

  • I had a very bad-tempered cat once.  He would let you pet him for about one second, with all appearances of enjoyment, until he changed his mind and slashed at you with claws out, or decided to bite, for a change.  He was afraid of the outdoors, and my attempts to take him for walks with a cat harness were not a success, as I would end up dragging him along as he tried to sink into the pavement.  Poor thing, my husband claimed he was brain-damaged from his habit of running full speed up and down a hallway until he forgot about the part that stuck out and crashed into it!

  • I’ve seen those famous dino bones (and the shrunken heads inside the museum)!

  • hmmmmmmmmmmmm it is actually 40 pages long and in 5 diffenerent languages… with lots of references to good ol eng. lit =)

  • Your world is very interesting…. I will stop by and visit again soon….’til the next

  • Another one of my favorite blogs! I love picturing myself in your world, and each time I read your enties here, I get to walk through your words. I get to see what you see, and feel what you feel…unfortunatly, I also got to smell what you smelled. Yuck! lol

  • Whom I’d like to meet:
    People who are real. People who don’t fake being somebody to impress the world. People who aren’t judgemental of how others look, act, feel, and choose to conduct their lives. People who aren’t so closed-minded and dismissive that any ideas outside of the realm of their own reality is rubbish and wrong. People who listen to more than the words that come out of someone’s mouth. Empathetic people. People who see more than what their eyes show them. People who can say what’s on their mind without telling everybody else that they’re wrong. People who persue what they’re passionate for because its what they want to do. People who understand and realize that they’re not the greatest thing that’s ever been or ever will be. People who understand and realize that they’re not the worst thing that’s ever been or ever will be. People who know how to have fun. People who don’t criticize people for being one way and then turning around and doing it themselves. People who can shut the fuck up sometimes. People who don’t try to change everyone they come into contact with because they’re so self-righteous or self-loathing that they’d feel more comfortable if everybody was how they are. People who don’t hate other people for stupid reasons (like doing drugs or not going to church). People who ask questions instead of accepting what they hear as the truth. Black people. Asian people. Indian people. Filipino people. African people. Australian people. Russian people. German people. French people. Spanish people. Mexican people. Venezualan people. Jamaican people. High people, sober people, fucked up people, and normal people. Insane people, and sane people, although society deems what is or isn’t “normal” and “sane”. Skinny people. Fat people. Tall people. Short people. Gay people. Straight people. Bat boys. Cat women. And everybody else. I don’t discriminate. Everybody’s welcome!!

  • Is that prose above “true?” Or is it an artistic fabrication. It is very sad. Keep it copasetic. Peace.

  • Poe was not the sanest, you know.  And he is nearly immortal…(even got a football team named after him! lol).

    I hate that you are depressed.  I can help, I think, if you want me to.  I could try, anyway, and I’d find it worth it.

    *sigh*  I’ve been depressed…and no one’s words could reach me.  It’s the part of depression that makes the light at the end of the tunnel seem like someone’s idea of a joke…

    Still, if you’ve nothing better to do…

    Peace and Love…GFW

  • Hey man this is Leo saying Good Friday to u and happy bunny day
    ~Leo :)

  • I have found that depression is quite the tool of a poet.  The very thing that brings out our worst feelings will show our greatest talents.  What an irony for an aspiring writer to know this concept.  In that he would want to stay depressed to continue writing in such a manner…yet what sane man wants depression.  I guess that makes all us writers insane to share our thoughts and feelings with the world.  Cheer up man!  It’ll get better.  I’m surprised I’ve made it so far in life without going insane.  And I’m only 16!  So you’ve made it alot further than I could imagine.  By the way….the bible dying with mankind is exactly right.  And poetry and writing for that matter.  There is no history without those to keep it.

  • I would rather read your insane or SANE writing on here than that Tobias, i don’t go much for clergy, especially over here too many paedaphiliacs amongst them ,bet i spelt that wrongly to, I have a dictionary but am too lazy to look. I get lazier every day i think you ought to put all your writing together and take a chance and send it all to a publisher as a book the whole lot. At least it would be different, and then your fame will go on after you. Hope your dizziness is better .Love marj{v]

  • What is sanity, indeed. I am sorry that things seem so sad for you, but I will still be coming by to see what you have to say, no matter what. :D

    Happy Bunny Weekend.

  • Mourning cries of caution
    deep within
    Needing, pleading
    to just believe
    that being different is not a sin

  • Her hair was up in a pony tail, her favorite dress tied with a bow. Today was Daddy’s Day at school, and she couldn’t wait to go. But her mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home. Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone. But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say. What to tell her classmates of why He wasn’t there today. But still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone. And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home. But the little girl went to school, eager to tell them all. About a dad she never see a dad who never calls. There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet. Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats. One by one the teacher called, a student from the class. To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed. At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare. Each of them was searching, for a man who wasn’t there. “Where’s her daddy at?” she heard a boy call out. “She probably doesn’t have one,” another student dared to shout. And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say, “Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day.” The words did not offend her, she smiled up at her Mom. And looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on. And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak. And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique. “My Daddy couldn’t be here, because he lives so far away. But I know he wishes he could be, since this is such a special day. And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know. All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so. He loved to tell me stories he taught me to ride my bike. He surprised me with pink roses, and taught me to fly a kite. We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone. And though you cannot see him, I’m not standing here alone. “Cause my daddy’s always with me, even though we are apart I know because he told me, He’ll forever be in my heart” With that, her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest. Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress. And from somewhere in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears. Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years. For she stood up for the love of a man not in her life. Doing what was best for her, doing what was right. And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd. She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud. “I love my daddy very much, he’s my shining star. And if he could, he’d be here, but heaven’s just too far You see he was a fireman and died just this past year When airplanes hit the towers and taught Americans to fear. But sometimes when I close my eyes, it’s like he never went away.” And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day. And to her mother’s amazement, she witnessed with surprise. A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes. Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside. Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side. “I know you’re with me Daddy,” to the silence she called out. And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt. Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed. But there on the desk beside her, was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose. And a child was blessed, if only for a moment, by the love of her shining bright star. And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far.

  • Hey

                            =”    “=                   

                        /     _  _      

                       |      d  b        |

                               /         /

                     ,/’     -=/=-     ‘,

                   /   /                    

                  /                     /

                           _|`~~`|_

                           /|       /|

    Here a chick for u ,,, happy E-day

  •  flowers I can see, (from daisies to daffs) are half-shut, and who can blame them?

    Bursting from Life to Immortal Son.   I understand your thoughts about the opinions of me, but it is because you are void of Faith.   Still I pray.    Perhaps Easter will be the day dawning for you. There is a Friend in the shadows Who can answer the deepest of questions, and wants to.   Intellect would tell you, study history!   Stay well, friend.

  • “Ah well, if this is to go on Xanga, I must not down myself any more. Too many readers have stopped visiting my site because I am too depressing!”

    Anyone who leaves for such a reason can piss off… sort the grain from the shaft I say! (((hugs)))

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