Explorer , North Canada

North Canada- Explorer

It seemed idyllic, dappled sun light through boughs. Beautiful alder, sycamore, lime. The shade of leaves canopy- scent-clear rivers. Slopes of fallen pines and beech kernels. However the scenario may not be exactly quite as you envisioned.

In the Red Lion with Craig;

Oh the malnutrition
The porous wrinkled skin
The stage by stage merge with living death
The timid frightened black bear I chased away
The rapidly growing abscess on your ankle
The numbness down your left side
The unexplained blurred vision
Your tattered jeans hanging soaked
The raw red rashes on your legs caused by wet trouser friction
The dissolution of language facilities
The inconsequent mousse you stroked
The alpine hare you chased for two hours, but couldn’t quite catch.

North Canada Echo 

An Irish man goes to a doctors. I have this terrible pain. Where? Well everywhere. Can you touch your nose. Yes. Does it hurt. Oh yes. Now your chest. Oh the pain doctor. Now your knee. The pains terrible. Well. Well? You’ve got a broken finger.

North Canada  Echo Two

It was poorly thought through. I accept that suburbia is debauched and disingenuous. But there are better less radical ways of fighting back. To carry on after James Dyer realized it was a barren and bleak enterprise is somewhat admirable. If James Dyer where a real explorer and attempted to for instance walk to the north pole, he would die.

north canada forests

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spikes- Victorian Era

Homeless, Victorian Era

Workhouse had special quarters. For tramps/vagrants/travellers. Sometimes called Spikes. Work could include picking oakum- reducing old rope to constituent parts. Or breaking rocks into stones to be sold for road making. Casuals were not allowed to return for 30 days. There conditions where worse than in poor houses. Food was bread and guel.

Were soldiers of the gutter and heaven
I think, I Frank am supposed to feel grateful

For the straw bailed bed
His last thought before a guttural deep sleep
Another days work. Then the soft hay of the bedstead
Tomorrow I will walk to Leigh spike
No one says nowt- so I guess this is our lot
A frown from the missus in Gaberdine and umbrella
A scowl from the man in top hat
Av you a penny sir for the poor
Its not much of a laugh I can tell yi
We don’t drink as we can’t afford to
Walking to next spike, in the biting cold. 

workhouses

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackhouse , Scottish Borders

Blackhouse, Scottish Borders
(Former residence of poet James Hogg 1770-1835, “The Ettrick Shepherd”)

The Snow slips down on Christmas day
We have been marooned by snow for one month
Her face on the mountain slopes in summer and winter
The sky knows no one’s names. A gossamer duvet.

Love starts again, the finches in the woods
The fire warms us, guitars resound in the mountains
A snipe zig zags to paradise. Then the snow and snow
A naught nestled cottage, becomes a one.

You see here in the Border mountain’s there are no cities
Between here and the North Ocean
Snow buttercup, sun, brambling wings
To bleach the north with orange.

Then love begins again, with dawn and snow
Rice like bread like wine like incense like grass
A gale of clouds and waiting, and icicles of hope
Looking into her face on the mountain slopes.

blackhouse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pope Clement 1

Pope Clement 1. Was the third Pope after St Peter and then Linus. Although this time frame is disputed. He was Pope from 26 April  88 AD to 23 November 99 AD (credits to Wikipedia)

Very little is known of him. It was a period, an idyll? before the church gained wealth and political influence.

The background. There was during his time a large congregation existent in Rome. Paul wrote his letter to the Romans in 58 AD. Nero persecuted Christians after the burning of Rome in AD 64. and possibly Domitian after Nero.

His only known writing is the “letter to the church at Corinth.” advocating for bishops/presbytery not to be disposed from being rulers of the church. It is the first existent christian writing after the new testament.

He was sentenced to prison and exile in Greece under emperor Trajen. There tradition false or true: Says he saw a vision of a lamb on a hill. Dug a pick into the spot and released gushing water for the famished other prisoners. Many of whom converted. He was martyred – tied to an anchor and thrown in the Black sea. (So the tradition goes)

popeclement1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tribe of Brannan 2

The Tribe of Brannan

The poem is a bit off the wall. Includes research on Livia Augusta. Less so on the depicted Celts. The poem is part of a series and probably doesn’t make sense ? I had difficulty finding images to accompany.

Meeting Livia Augusta

 

After the Celts had stayed in Byzantium

They went forth

In regal dishevelled squalor to meet Livia Drusilla on a hill called Caellian

On the outskirts of Rome

 

Tattered from 18 years of gruelling walking

They stood forlorn on the crest of Caellian

For three days they waited, indifferent to the wave torrents of rain that swept across them

Standing motionless hooded as the sun devoured them

They gazed permanently north east, it is not known why

 

 

On the third day

A retinue of Marcellus, Guy Salutis, Casar Dio

Eighteen splendour horses and fifty five centurions arrived

 

Livia Drusilla hair burnt radiant in Jupiter’s fire light, says

Do you carry the dominion of Tiberius my son to emperor

Rhiannon and Pwyll and Branwen stare forward with blue incandescent eyes

There is a long silence

The Roman retinue glare. Livia turns her horse. I will kill those two she says

Gesturing to her group.

A long silence

The retinue of Romans beat sword handle on shields

 

Who am i.

Silence

I am the virtuous empress. Enabler of women. The perfumed daggeress of enchanted Roman palace

The Celts stood forlorn ravid with hunger and disease

Looking north east

Are you not the seers of the northern forest. Speak my men’s swords are sharp

The Celts turned and walked equidistant north east, slowly due to atrophied famine

Livia turns and turns on the splendid horse. Then the night comes. The fluttering of the army’s regal banners

All chant in ravid voices once, we needed to see you, that is all

Then the night came. Like a wound deep and turned septic with gangrene

The Tribe of Brannan

 

1

It is day in the forest

Walking is tough, the branches criss cross and hurt

Holes in the limestone ground, entrap feet and leg

Merlin approaches the owner of the forest

You are going to Anwyn ?

The leader says, we are the untainted

You seek snow?

Our god calls us to leave the city

Non have found Anwyn except in dreams

We have found this forest

Then let your god carry you

swedish forest

 

11 

All day they walk over, the Pindus mountains of Greece

They need to get to Byzantium

Before Mehmed11 raises the city

Then to urgently see Livia Augusta and Helena

Agrippa and Claudius

At the gates to the Bosphorous a customs official says

Today is 3010 Byzantium is history, it is no more

Lugh answers, listen to the wind, does she mention time

Bosphorus

Writers Events April

Went to a book launch in Manchester. For Henry Normal (Peter James Carroll) He has written as a book of poems about his now adult autistic son called A Normal Family. His son is mildly severe on the autistic spectrum. He related anecdotes of his son approaching music buskers with his fingers in his ears. As he doesn’t like sound. And dropped the coins from height as it was inconvenient to stoop. Amongst many accolades Henry Normal co wrote Mrs Merton and The Royale Family. Was managing director with Steve Coogan of Baby Cow Productions Ltd. The evening was very much worth the £2 ticket. The poems about his son where poignant

Went to socialist club Bolton on Sunday. An open mic in Britain’s oldest socialist club. Humorous and as you’d expect left politically poems. To fit in, which i am left wing, i read on a vagrant in 1840’s Spike and about coal mining. Poems about Syria, India traveling in, “Rochdale”,  the sadness of alcohol alone, plus humorous poems and one music slot, criticisms of present government.

 

Branwen

Welsh goddess of love and beauty. Goddess of Celtic religious polytheism. Daughter of Llyr and Penarddum. She is married to the King of Ireland. But this marriage does not bring peace. Stories told about her in the second branch of the Mabinogi.

Bendigiedfran (King of Britain) is sitting on a rock by the sea at Harlbech. Watching the ships of Matholwch (King of Ireland) approaching. He saw the Irish army approaching  Wales. Matholwch has come ask for the hand of Branwen.

Esfnisien her half brother is furious at the wedding celebrations. And mutilates Matholwch’s horses. Matholwch is consoled by Bendigiedfran. Who gives him a magical cauldron to bring the dead to life. But they are risen mute.

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Standing Branwen in the Snowdonia massif. Her fierce emerald green eyes. Beaming out from the blackened fir forest. In the background Curlew alighting twill. The cascading of a mountain stream. She feels the light set and rise. My essence and source. Just her love pervading in 2085.

 

Snow no 2

Snow no 8

The LGTBI fancy dress party was raucous

Midnight rambler blazing on full volume

Normally the kitchen was enough

Finally i climbed into the deep freezer

And scratched semi-happy at the enervated ice in the

Pitch blackness

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Snow no 11

My favorite holiday destinations are :

The blue ice of Patagonia

The barren Saltfjellet

Cycling holidays in Iceland

Beluga whale watching in Greeland

Partying in Antarctica

Accidentally wandering into Siberia for months on end

After continuing to walk in Laparentra

While relishing an unexpected snow blizzard

Photographing snow in the Himalayas

 

 

 

Snow

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Merry christmas and a prosperous new year to fellow bloggers and readers

 

Snow

They say wisely you should run this race

Here covered deeply under the avalanche

i cannot hear what they say, just the envigoraring

enchanting sound of creaking

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snow is white cannine teeth

embracing in a freezing  kiss

 

her long black hair was

a snow baubels magnetic desire

 

snow again, through the

blue darkened sky, Bristol sleeping