http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/en-UKMokoFeed10http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/76/cd545c0e80cc0f80538c43c95cf437_160x200.jpghttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2008/05/17/vera-lynn-cowered-when-the-wall-came-dow-4184164/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2008-05-16:/2008/05/17/vera-lynn-cowered-when-the-wall-came-dow-4184164/Sat, 17 May 2008 00:14:04 +0200 <p>The retired major came by most days, weather permitting.<br> he spoke of times past, when he had served in the sub-continent.<br> now his concern was far from those incadescent times.<br> he brought, on most occasions, an apple, or at least a lump of sugar,<br> to offer the cow dubed Vera-Lynn by her master,<br> as if a cow can havr a master,<br> the retired major would countenance;<br> 'at least not in india'<br> where cows are revered,<br> and farmers choose crops first,<br> cereals to feed the blossoming populace.<br> and Vera-Lynn formed thoughts,<br> unbeknownst to the retired major,<br> that, maybe, she would go to the sub-continent,<br> where and when and if<br> such time and place could be attained.</p> <p>so as the major came by,<br> Vera-Lynn felt urges grow strong,<br> until she realised it was no whimsical predisposition,<br> but her destiny!</p> <p>but trapped in the paddock was she,<br> until, as luck and hate would have it,<br> a luftwaffe pilot<br> went astray<br> through foul or folly<br> and crashed headlong into the drystone wall<br> thus freeing his brains<br> and a cow called Vera-Lynn.</p> <p>So the middle-aged cow set off for hope<br> and time left itself in the barn she never<br> glanced back upon.<br> perhaps, she thought, i could just wander the nearby pastures green,<br> and gnaw the cud and sip the stream,<br> but Vera-Lynn had something inside,<br> touching her four stomachs<br> and tickling her glam udders<br> for the rightening<br> the brightening<br> the god-damned sharpening<br> of her bovination had<br> it seemed<br> arrived.</p> <p>ha ha, she snuffed, as she belched again,<br> fresh grass for all, for me,<br> for the journey and beyond.<br> what was it the major said,<br> in purest ignorance of my<br> cognition?<br> oh, to the sun,<br> as it rises each day,<br> until it hits the roof<br> of the sky,<br> then rest, dear cow, and chew the greenest of pastures,<br> and fast when needs must<br> and forget your past master.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2008/05/17/vera-lynn-cowered-when-the-wall-came-dow-4184164/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>cowwarfellwallhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2008/05/17/vera-lynn-cowered-when-the-wall-came-dow-4184164/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/10/16/three_out_of_five_is_enough_perhaps~3142620/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-10-15:/2007/10/16/three_out_of_five_is_enough_perhaps~3142620/Tue, 16 Oct 2007 00:01:37 +0200 <p>Eyes gouged by nature’s vulgar numbers game,<br> As silent echoes sealed this barren tomb;<br> Cruel sun casts only shadows on my face -<br> How, God, did I affront you from the womb?<br> To thrust injurious defects such as these<br> Upon this captive servant beggars sense.<br> You soured my sensual pleasures as you pleased<br> But left a chance of love as recompense: </p> <p>From nowhere she came waltzing to my life<br> Arriving like the spring’s first celandine,<br> Aromas hard to place, swift to excite,<br> Refreshing stale existence with the fires</p> <p>Of passion I desired so much it ached,<br> Far more because I’d never see your face.</p> <p>I’m deaf and blind but neither shy nor dumb;<br> I learned to talk with one hand on your throat.<br> Each word you spoke erupts like Shiva’s drum,<br> Invoking Tandava: we danced in hope.<br> Perturbed and yet you held me in your arms,<br> The breaking through of barriers to our lust.<br> Through faithless tears, I’d not abide your qualms<br> Our leap to condemned whores from families’ trust.</p> <p>Religion made your conquest hazardous,<br> But lying breast to breast in tender thrill<br> The fairer sex encapsulates Argus,<br> I sensed you watching over my deft kill; </p> <p>The jolting blows I struck, from that time hence:<br> The birth of love, the death of innocence.</p> <p>Emotions: until then time would forget,<br> Locked deep within my catacomb of pain,<br> Released, unleashed enlivened to caress<br> The beauty of your fears and youthful shame.<br> I cannot see but I can make you come:<br> With a flick of wrist or twist of tongue.<br> I would not hear but I shall make you scream:<br> In pleasure, pain: or something in-between. </p> <p>Each time you called my name I felt your need<br> For furious zeal that surely can’t be faked,<br> But those three words you dropped like serpent’s seeds,<br> Caused me to loose my hands from noose to nape:</p> <p>‘I’m leaving you,’ I drank your breath as draught,<br> Then squeezed you hard, and made that breath your last.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/10/16/three_out_of_five_is_enough_perhaps~3142620/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/10/16/three_out_of_five_is_enough_perhaps~3142620/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/30/door_into_another~2729882/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-07-30:/2007/07/30/door_into_another~2729882/Mon, 30 Jul 2007 23:47:15 +0200 <p>The door ajar<br> Leaking time again<br> Casked and banked<br> Before the sabotage<br> And breathless we ache<br> Dizzied and amused<br> By the horse-rattled<br> Make-up cart<br> Drifting through<br> Wakefulness<br> Jacobean matresses<br> Folding in unison<br> Straining the stains<br> Of fours years and a day<br> As the onlooker gestures<br> And life splits life<br> Like axe on ice<br> Or atoms spliced<br> To fuse mankind<br> Into a jellied feeling<br> Dribbling pointlessly<br> Until morning </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/30/door_into_another~2729882/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/30/door_into_another~2729882/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/12/spring_leaks~2625013/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-07-12:/2007/07/12/spring_leaks~2625013/Thu, 12 Jul 2007 23:44:38 +0200 <p>You awaken with a blindfold over your eyes and handcuffed to a bed, disorientated in the extreme. To hear the familiar sound of your front door first unlocking then opening then closing initially reassures, but as the light draft from the door's movement passes over your body, you can sense your nakedness and feel suddenly, helplessly exposed. You dare not utter a sound, for memories are lost to you and yesterday, as yesteryear, cannot be found in the recesses of your throbbing brain... you remember drugs, plenty of drugs, but when, with whom... you know not. You shudder, the handcuffs clanking against the wrought iron to which you are bound. You hear the footsteps, creeping, tentative. You remember the woman from some time ago - the notion of the temporal dimension is lost forever - and you picture her beauty, her angst and her desire. You work out she had probably nipped out to get some booze, or condoms, and become aroused. The footsteps get closer as you feel yourself get a hard on - then a scream...<br> Then you scream, she screams. The world spins. You feel lost. You hear the footsteps again, this time urgent, stopping, clomping away from the bedroom. The front door opens, closes, with a slam, no lock. You are still blindfolded, shackled, but now also disgusted. You have heard that scream once before. When old Mrs McKinley was startled by a mouse that ran out from behind the fridge as she was sweeping the floor. You regret the day you arranged a cleaner to come round on Monday mornings. Which means as well, you are late for work. You wrench at the handcuffs. It's no use. Your phone rings, you jiggle like a a fitting child, though unable to break free. The phone clicks onto the answering machine:</p> <p>'Hello, lover boy,' you hear the voice of the women with the drugs. 'Sorry I left you all tied up, but I just had to ensure you wouldn't get chance to stop me getting the reports into the late edition.'</p> <p>Oh fucking hell, you think. That fucking bitch. But what you really mean is;</p> <p>Oh fucking hell, I'm a fucking idiot.</p> <p>The shit will hit the fan, and the world will never quite be the same again. Perhaps. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/12/spring_leaks~2625013/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>journalism-by-deceptionhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/07/12/spring_leaks~2625013/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/self_determination~2389693/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-06-03:/2007/06/03/self_determination~2389693/Sun, 03 Jun 2007 23:02:40 +0200 <p>look, he said<br> I'm dying.<br> But it doesn't matter<br> As it won't<br> when you die too,<br> as you will.</p> <p>but look back<br> at how I lived.<br> That matters,<br> as it will<br> as you look forward<br> and decide how to live.</p> <p>Remember:<br> look forward<br> as you hope,<br> One Day,<br> to look back.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/self_determination~2389693/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>hopeless-hopehttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/self_determination~2389693/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/anything_to_believe_in~2389575/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-06-03:/2007/06/03/anything_to_believe_in~2389575/Sun, 03 Jun 2007 22:38:21 +0200 <p>What is there left to believe in? </p> <p>Religion becomes evermore irrelevant as it meanders aimlessly through the wilderness, dodging each scientific or political pitfall with the same old answers: faith. But to have faith in something, it must give something back, and religion seems to give less and less back to communities and individuals, more comfortable in peering down from the moral high ground than hauling unfortunates 'up' to their level. Indoctrinated children preach mindless words they are taught to recite but not to understand, to please their parents who fear, as their parents before them, that any other path will lead to damnation.</p> <p>Politics? It has, too, become less progressive, at least in much of the western world, than at any time since the Renaissance, with Gordon the Clown vying for positions of toughness with an eton muppet who is out-Blairing himself, learching so deep into presentation-politics that he's forgotten what he should believe in. And therein lies the problem. These people we (or perhaps 30%) of the population have voted for are ducking the resposibility vested in them: to make decisions based on their beliefs. Except when a politician shows any semblance of real opinion, perhaps because someone daring to go against 'party line' is so rare, they get shot down by a lazy-daze media, many of whom use Google where once real journalism may have been.</p> <p>In patches, humanity is the only thing left. But the patches are being spread further and further apart like dots on some giant consumer balloon that is expanding endlessly, making any real community, evermore difficult to organise. Even as populations increase across the world, the ability of communities to organise and control their own destinies is being ever-diminished. Perhaps the powers that be feel that allowing communities to decide things for themselves spells disaster for them. Which is porbably true, and so it should be. For a small group of people having the power to make decisions that affect the vast majority is fine, as long as they have the interests of the majority at heart, and not the bank accounts of the few.</p> <p>So what to do? Fuck all, like everyone else. Or, perhaps, sue your bank. That's always fun. <a href="http://www.consumeractiongroup.com">www.consumeractiongroup.com</a></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/anything_to_believe_in~2389575/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>bush-firepoliticshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/anything_to_believe_in~2389575/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/three_out_of_five_part~2385812/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-06-03:/2007/06/03/three_out_of_five_part~2385812/Sun, 03 Jun 2007 13:11:00 +0200 <p>Eyes gouged by nature’s vulgar numbers game,<br> Silence echoes within this barren tomb;<br> The sun casts only shadows on my face -<br> How, God, did I affront you from the womb?<br> To thrust injurious defects such as these<br> Upon this captive servant beggars sense.<br> You soured my sensual pleasures as you pleased<br> But left a chance of love as recompense: </p> <p>From nowhere she came waltzing to my life<br> Arriving like the spring’s first celandines,<br> Aromas hard to place, swift to excite,<br> Refreshing stale existence with the craze</p> <p>Of passion that I felt so strong it ached,<br> All the more because I’d never see your face.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/three_out_of_five_part~2385812/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>sonnethttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/06/03/three_out_of_five_part~2385812/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/31/the_smoke_daze~2368855/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-31:/2007/05/31/the_smoke_daze~2368855/Thu, 31 May 2007 18:54:57 +0200 <p>Distension in the gutteral under-jellied belly<br> Of the source of your demise<br> And how surprised you look<br> Though you found out<br> Through the looking glass<br> That grass you smoked<br> Had passed its sell by date<br> But what the hell<br> Its purple tinged amusement arcade<br> Catered for your times of woe<br> And gleaming windows to your soul<br> Would bear themselves<br> And shelve all plans<br> For that rainy day that never came<br> Along to wondrous philistines<br> Who likened you to gristle<br> As the cardamom would fizzle<br> With the cinnamon and skag<br> All the playground whistles drowned by<br> Gunshots from your water-pistol<br> And the teachers turned eyes blind<br> Ducking their heads in the sand<br> As they play at weekend soldiers<br> And forget to read the headlines<br> If they're not above the beauties<br> Who have nothing real to say<br> So I say this to you,<br> Dormant, crawling, something in the making<br> Wake your soul up from its slumber<br> And skin up another joint. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/31/the_smoke_daze~2368855/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>ganjasmokingweedbongs-et-ceterahttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/31/the_smoke_daze~2368855/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/a_long_look_in_the_mirror~2358121/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-29:/2007/05/29/a_long_look_in_the_mirror~2358121/Tue, 29 May 2007 23:39:42 +0200 <p>The most amazing thing in the whole of the world<br> Arrived for you today:<br> Packaged with exquisite care<br> And discernment<br> That you stood in awe<br> Speechless and amazed that this thing<br> Could hold such beauty<br> That you'd never seen before<br> Despite it being there right in front of you<br> For longer than you could believe<br> For you had cast the shadows<br> That you've just learned to dispel<br> Like some mystic reawakening<br> The feelings of the heart are flowing<br> With the melt-swell of your pain<br> As you gaze into the eyes<br> Of the one you know deep down<br> So wholeheartedly completely<br> Can begin to cleanse your soul.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/a_long_look_in_the_mirror~2358121/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>self-lovehttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/a_long_look_in_the_mirror~2358121/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/just_sign_here~2358027/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-29:/2007/05/29/just_sign_here~2358027/Tue, 29 May 2007 23:18:57 +0200 <p>She thought it best, my mum,<br> For all concerned, and she should know,<br> For she had suffered more than most.<br> To hell and back she lumbered on<br> Committed to an endless cause,<br> With little help and no reward.<br> Perhaps it was a causeless end<br> Instead.</p> <p>When the night arrived<br> And I was lost<br> In mind and body and soul,<br> As they dragged me off I didn't kick<br> Too tired and dazed to understand<br> The walls I faced from there on in;<br> Injections daily,<br> Stifled dreams<br> Meticulously transcribed -<br> As if they would have helped<br> If I hadn't had visitation<br> Rites of passage<br> Checking up<br> On broken little things, like me.</p> <p>The papers signed<br> That took my life<br> For I could not believe<br> In a life where all existence<br> Was sucked through a baby's beaker<br> And the stodge they served<br> Could well have been<br> Packed full of all the nutrients<br> But choice and freedom were denied me<br> Drugs and beatings were supplied me<br> Until the night my strength belied my<br> Wasted body and I glided<br> Effortlessly past the guards<br> I leapt the fence<br> Then across the yard<br> I sprinted like I'd never done<br> Before<br> The road I hadn't known was there<br> The foghorn, screech and lightning glare<br> The impact that I'd never feel<br> The mess upon the road<br> That had become my life<br> And the tears my mother cried<br> Until her dying day.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/just_sign_here~2358027/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>pills-and-thrillsmotherasylumhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/29/just_sign_here~2358027/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/23/nature_corrupted~2317496/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-22:/2007/05/23/nature_corrupted~2317496/Wed, 23 May 2007 00:28:26 +0200 <p>the fish that swam hardest died first<br> but the bear who caught the biggest fish fed her young<br> for that bit longer<br> and they grew quicker than the other bears nearby<br> and had the strength and speed to hunt for themselves<br> to catch the fastest fish for themselves<br> until the day the first-fed firstborn bear<br> encountered something new:<br> a man with a gun<br> harder than the hardest fish<br> colder than the icy waters<br> the bullet tore its soul away<br> as mighty pride<br> was replaced by fear and confusion<br> and as the bear fell face down<br> in the swell of the river<br> it caught a glimpse<br> of the very first fish<br> to make it up the river </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/23/nature_corrupted~2317496/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>bears-and-fishhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/23/nature_corrupted~2317496/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/civilisation~2311603/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-21:/2007/05/22/civilisation~2311603/Tue, 22 May 2007 00:11:00 +0200 <p>felling trees for fun<br> shooting mink to pay the rent<br> caging birds until their song deserts them<br> chaining children to machines<br> incarceration without trial<br> putting profits before people<br> underestimating nature<br> forgetting your place<br> disrespecting elders<br> losing hope<br> capitulating to unjust powers<br> promoting unfair practices<br> letting anyone starve<br> money </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/civilisation~2311603/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/civilisation~2311603/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/to_get_you_through_the_night~2311576/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-21:/2007/05/22/to_get_you_through_the_night~2311576/Tue, 22 May 2007 00:02:25 +0200 <p>When the darkness closes in<br> As the sun comes up<br> And the birds begin their morning song<br> But you haven't slept a wink</p> <p>When the fear creeps into your soul<br> The shivers start and tears roll<br> The rancid stench of anxiety<br> Envelopes you from within</p> <p>Begin</p> <p>To think not from the depths<br> Of despair<br> But from the heart<br> That knows you have the strength<br> To carry on regardless<br> Taking power from the sunlight<br> As it glints upon your eyelashes<br> The sweet songs of the morning larks<br> Enliven you, dispell your fears<br> The world opens its arms<br> And welcomes you<br> As One<br> For you have made it through the night<br> And faced another day<br> And believe what your heart tells you<br> There is just no other way</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/to_get_you_through_the_night~2311576/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>corny-but-truehttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/22/to_get_you_through_the_night~2311576/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/alt_musician~2311545/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-21:/2007/05/21/alt_musician~2311545/Mon, 21 May 2007 23:53:33 +0200 <p>The cellist dribbles as he plays<br> The melodies of his youth<br> Connecting past and future<br> With emotions rarely felt<br> By others not within the walls<br> Of his opaque fortress<br> As the bow bends cat-like<br> Round the screeching strings<br> His thoughts disabled<br> By the music, speaking loud and clear<br> Determined audience, moved to tears<br> By the gentle, steady, wise concerto<br> Fierce in its dynamism<br> Unlike the cellist<br> Sitting, dribbling, dying </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/alt_musician~2311545/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>in-the-keephttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/alt_musician~2311545/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/pre_traumatic_stress~2311465/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-21:/2007/05/21/pre_traumatic_stress~2311465/Mon, 21 May 2007 23:30:23 +0200 <p>'Give me a reason to live,'<br> She cried<br> Down the phone as I tried to find words<br> To disperse her distress<br> And quench her despair<br> Lest she take matters further<br> To seek other worlds<br> And my mind lumbered on<br> Subtle platitudes failed<br> Transference was useless<br> Her pain drove a nail<br> Deep into my soul<br> As she found little solace<br> From my desperate pleas<br> To spark fires of a future<br> Or some semblance of meaning<br> Contrived though it was<br> My resolve started bleeding<br> Along with her wrists,<br> So she told me, at least,<br> As life leaked from her veins<br> She fell into a heap<br> Murmured something so faint<br> That it almost escaped me<br> But I heard her say,<br> 'Thank you, my son, and goodbye.'</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/pre_traumatic_stress~2311465/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>feelingmothermidget-gemsfiendishsuicidehopehttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/pre_traumatic_stress~2311465/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/how_jimi_almost_saved_us_all~2305504/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-20:/2007/05/21/how_jimi_almost_saved_us_all~2305504/Mon, 21 May 2007 00:16:16 +0200 <p>The voodoo of your life begins to open doors<br> To times we wish we hadn't missed<br> Because we sat at home alone<br> Without the dreams we could have worn<br> Outright<br> Or maybe inside out<br> We lifted cans<br> Drank bottles dry<br> And cried<br> For something more or less<br> Or anything at all<br> To believe in<br> In between our shifts<br> Embittered by the call to arms<br> Controlling lest we be controlled<br> By all the ones we hate the most<br> Who smirk at our indifference<br> As it lines their pockets<br> And sends their swollen kids to college<br> Pays off the judge and bribes the pimps<br> Who sit atop their politics<br> Of hopeless insincerities<br> And still we sit at home alone<br> And smoke our lives away<br> Making plans and getting dreams lined up<br> To realise on another day</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/how_jimi_almost_saved_us_all~2305504/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>big-issue-poetrygoddeathhopewilful-destruction-of-societyhendrixhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/21/how_jimi_almost_saved_us_all~2305504/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/jeremiah~2283751/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-16:/2007/05/16/jeremiah~2283751/Wed, 16 May 2007 23:44:09 +0200 <p>The day my limbs fell off</p> <p>It was the weirdest moment of my entire existence. All my limbs, inexplicably, simultaneously, fell off. It could have been more embarrassing, as it happened, because I was fully clothed at the time, so people around me (on the morning tube from Liverpool Street to Oxford Circus) just though I had collapsed. It astounded me how quickly a couple of people reacted to my plight. I had always assumed people on the tube were engrossed in their own little misery bubbles and were totally oblivious to everything else int he universe until their door opened and they could once again re-enter 'life', but now I believe that some people are in a constant state of readiness to tackle a terrorist or help a stricken commuter. A women with striking (no, beautiful) green eyes croached next to me and asked, 'are you okay?' 'Yes, thanks,' I replied as I tried to stand, but I couldn't move my legs. In fact, I realised, I couldn't feel them. 'I can't move,' I said. I man of about forty-five, who had a belly with the dimensions of a medicine ball, looked at the woman (for slightly too long for my liking, I had fallen in love with her...) and said something to her that was too high in the carriage for me to hear. He grabbed me gently under the shoulder and said, 'let me help you'. The tube jolted as it came to a stop, commuter cattle side-stepped the inconvenience that was me, some tutting, some trying not to look. My two guardian guarded me. The man pulled me up to a seat that had been vacated, and as I plonked down my left arm fell out of my sleave. The man said, 'oh my God'. I looked at the woman, she looked concerned. I tried to raise my left hand to say I was okay, but that arm fell too, with a thud, to the tube floor. I fainted.</p> <p>When I regained consciousness I was just a torso. No sign of any of my limbs. I was in a white room. Alway white, such rooms. Scares the shit out of me. No blood. That was the strange thing. I tried to sit up, but could get far. The woman from the tube came in. She was wearing white coat. 'What's happening?' I asked, in a calm voice. Her eyes were enchanting. 'There's no easy way to tell you this,' she said, 'but I am going to have to kill you.'</p> <p>-What the fuck?!<br> -Well, it's like this.<br> -Like what.<br> -Be patient, Jeremiah...</p> <p>I had never been called that before.</p> <p>-You just popped up in the wrong time, wrong place. These things happen, I'm sure you'll understand.<br> -What, of course I don't understand. Please enlighten me.<br> -I would love to, Jeremiah, sincerely, but I've got a full list of executions today and you're the very first of the day. If I don't sort you out very soon, I'll never get to old Mrs Blarney by 11 o'clock.<br> -What?<br> -Right, times up, open wide...</p> <p>My face uncontrollably split open. No pain, it just peeled itself like an over-ripe orange squeezed by a large, unseen hand, pulp splurging out.</p> <p>-Goodbye, Jeremiah. I'm sure we'll meet again. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/jeremiah~2283751/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/jeremiah~2283751/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/mistaken_identity~2283678/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-16:/2007/05/16/mistaken_identity~2283678/Wed, 16 May 2007 23:21:33 +0200 <p>'Turncoats', yelled the doorman, as they left without a tip<br> The tall bespectacled chap called back<br> 'You'd better watch your lip'<br> The doorman cried, 'I know your kind,<br> You think you're time has come.<br> You make your money from the poor<br> Don't share with anyone.'<br> The tall man scoffed, 'I'm no such toff,<br> You've overstepped your mark.<br> Alas, it is your time that's come,' he said<br> And smacked him in the mouth.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/mistaken_identity~2283678/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>bouncinghttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/mistaken_identity~2283678/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/morality_and_hope~2283649/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-16:/2007/05/16/morality_and_hope~2283649/Wed, 16 May 2007 23:16:55 +0200 <p>Morality the sodden cat<br> Left in the rain again<br> To muse on what its purpose is<br> And where it all went wrong<br> For once his place was by the fire<br> Warm next to Hope the dog<br> But things got nasty when the rats<br> Came running from the fog<br> And started gnawing at their tails<br> They wouldn't let them rest<br> Morality was driven from the hearth<br> And Hope and hopeless mess </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/morality_and_hope~2283649/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/morality_and_hope~2283649/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/blame_it_on_thatcher~2283462/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-16:/2007/05/16/blame_it_on_thatcher~2283462/Wed, 16 May 2007 22:34:46 +0200 <p>Fostering belief in the world is not an easy thing<br> In this bland age of stuff that no one needs<br> But we all buy<br> Blinded by the constipationary blurbs forced from our throats<br> Banal expressions of conformist shit<br> That passes for office gossip<br> Keeping our hands in the middle<br> Where poltics now dwells<br> Meaning nothing for the masses<br> Just a pay day for the well-to-do<br> Well, do we care about the state of things is our own time<br> Or at any time gone by<br> That could have taught us how to die<br> With dignity<br> And live with honour<br> Let we meander pointlessly<br> Pointing at the pictures<br> And pretending they are feelings<br> As we stick them in the albums<br> For our kids' kids to be sick on<br> As they look back on our time<br> And wonder why we let it all<br> Fall to little pieces<br> That are sold straight back to us. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/blame_it_on_thatcher~2283462/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>society-is-deadhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/blame_it_on_thatcher~2283462/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/11/fox_in_snow~2248782/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-10:/2007/05/11/fox_in_snow~2248782/Fri, 11 May 2007 00:31:13 +0200 <p>The white fox pads through crisp virgin snow<br> Not really searching, just wandering<br> Unconcerned that it will not happen across<br> The meaning of life and perhaps a stranded seal pup</p> <p>The fox had faced its fears and survived<br> Surpassed expectations, though not his own<br> He knew, somehow, that fear was the illusion<br> And that light and love would see him safe</p> <p>Aloof, some called him, or apathetic, but harsh they were<br> For the fox was as one with the snow on the ground<br> And the wind and the stars were his friends<br> So he wandered on regardless, as the ice began to melt. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/11/fox_in_snow~2248782/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>global-warminghttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/11/fox_in_snow~2248782/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/10/hindsight_is_too_late~2242471/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-09:/2007/05/10/hindsight_is_too_late~2242471/Thu, 10 May 2007 00:23:13 +0200 <p>Fickle is the fainting glance you shot me with that day<br> As if you cared for something I could be<br> Or promised that which cannot be<br> Between the two of us</p> <p>Futile is the wanton grasp we shared among the trees<br> As the dreams I harboured blew away<br> The sun set as your blush betrayed<br> The feelings you still hide</p> <p>Facile is the tenderness of sycophants surrounding you<br> Who praise you unremittingly<br> You melt into obscurity<br> For want of something true </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/10/hindsight_is_too_late~2242471/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>poetry-rhymeslearninghttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/10/hindsight_is_too_late~2242471/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/08/as_the_snow_melts~2236267/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-08:/2007/05/08/as_the_snow_melts~2236267/Tue, 08 May 2007 23:14:05 +0200 <p>Little by little reality dawned on the first melting snow of the year<br> That its number was up and its time had arrived to retreat without fussing or fear</p> <p>But the snow had been settled for a week, maybe two, and it savoured its place on the wall<br> And as soon as the sun started shining its rays, our friend snow scarpered under the gazebo, and hid away saying, 'I'm not coming out until that nasty sun fucks right off and bothers some other poor sod' in a decidedly whiney voice.</p> <p>Suffice to say, the sun got its way and it melted the snow into water<br> And the last thing that came from the snow's melting mouth was 'please send my regards to my daughter'.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/08/as_the_snow_melts~2236267/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>a-silly-thinghttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/08/as_the_snow_melts~2236267/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/02/fifteenth_chance_and_not_the_last~2200172/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-05-02:/2007/05/02/fifteenth_chance_and_not_the_last~2200172/Wed, 02 May 2007 23:50:30 +0200 <p>As you sniff around the toilet bowl and your nose leaks blood and snot,<br> think of me<br> as your oh-so-cool, though sycophantic hangers-on declare their love<br> believe in your self<br> when the time comes when you're higher than life<br> and the lights are your beacons to reach for the stars<br> while puking your guts up on next door's rose bushes<br> and you grin like a jester who knows she's condemned<br> to be thrown to the lions or fed to the pigs<br> this last of performances could be your best yet<br> though your tears can't save you, your make-up looks cool now<br> with streaks down your cheeks and red slashes at your wrists<br> a pathetic mistake, as your mother once told you<br> but if you come back tonight<br> you know I will still hold you </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/02/fifteenth_chance_and_not_the_last~2200172/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>sonnetishhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/05/02/fifteenth_chance_and_not_the_last~2200172/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/money_death~2178074/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-29:/2007/04/29/money_death~2178074/Sun, 29 Apr 2007 01:58:14 +0200 <p>The dreary daisy lilted wilted<br> Fallen for another year<br> The lillies, gilted quilted, yearned for<br> Something worth their wait<br> The orchid's auditory sense developed as we spoke<br> And it might be heard to laugh out loud<br> Or choke<br> At what has become of you<br> Once lover of things<br> Observant of nature's laws<br> And ways to dream<br> That weren't always so<br> Unimaginable<br> Impossible</p> <p>What has become of you?<br> When the answer to your questions<br> Starts and ends in figures</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/money_death~2178074/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/money_death~2178074/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/choose_your_own_adventure_ending~2178063/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-29:/2007/04/29/choose_your_own_adventure_ending~2178063/Sun, 29 Apr 2007 01:51:58 +0200 <p>The sirens cried me to sleep for the third night in a row. Society had gone to the dogs, they said, but where did the dogs live? Because I wanted society back before I lost my fucking mind.</p> <p>I woke with the annoyance of someone yanked from a blissful dream to a dismal reality, and decided I would find the dogs and rescue society from their grasp. It had not occurred to me at that point that society may have gone to the dogs of its own volition, but then why would it?</p> <p>Thinking as I did when dreams did not only exist in sleep, I crossed the road to the overgrown, unkempt cemetry and snapped a chunky branch from a dying birch. I stripped the brittle twigs to leave a shaft about as thick as a broom handle, which forked at one end. I took it back to my rancidly humid flat and wrapped my gear (pen knife, ball of string, torch, packet of Revels, a condom, a small brass box and a couple of random items) in a travel towell (the ones that can soak up loads of water but dry really quickly) and tied it in a knot at the forked end of the stick. I put the stick over my shoulder, and left on a journey that was to change the world for ever. Or so I thought.</p> <p>As I left the flat I was lost in myself, eager to locate the dogs, and keen to learn of any clues that may lead me to them. What I would do when I arrived at their supposed lair, I had not considered. So overcome with anticipation was I that I did not notice the No. 73 (bendy) bus hurtling round the corner just as I stepped into the road. Alas, my journey ended before I had really begun as now I am consigned to a wheel chair and I lost the brass box. </p> <p>Better luck next life. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/choose_your_own_adventure_ending~2178063/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fun-and-gameshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/choose_your_own_adventure_ending~2178063/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/yo_blair~2178001/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-29:/2007/04/29/yo_blair~2178001/Sun, 29 Apr 2007 01:09:58 +0200 <p>Yo, Blair! You'll be my friend until the end<br> (Of my time in office)<br> Yo, we can share the limelight, in my backyard,<br> And when things get hard for you<br> I'll let you use His name in vain<br> If it helps to ease your electoral pain<br> I'll give you words of wisdom<br> And let you use them as your own<br> To win the nasty arguements back home<br> Oh, thanks for the sweater,<br> It's awful... nice<br> Just enough wool<br> To pull over the right-left eyes<br> Now I know you like to take your foreign trips<br> But Condi's got this in the bag<br> And we can head to Davos!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/yo_blair~2178001/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>blair-sucks-bushhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/yo_blair~2178001/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/the_day_things_lost_their_place_again~2177955/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-28:/2007/04/29/the_day_things_lost_their_place_again~2177955/Sun, 29 Apr 2007 00:41:59 +0200 <p>Things that drift have no fixed abode<br> Like bobbing ducks that never sleep a wink<br> Or a snapped branch swimming with the ebb and flow<br> Of an ever-changing stream</p> <p>Perplexed, you let me dance my dance<br> Take for granted all I can<br> Without ever really knowing why<br> Or trying too hard to live before I die. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/the_day_things_lost_their_place_again~2177955/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>death-againhttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/29/the_day_things_lost_their_place_again~2177955/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/25/the_truth_beckons~2156251/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-25:/2007/04/25/the_truth_beckons~2156251/Wed, 25 Apr 2007 01:32:36 +0200 <p>It was well weird. I was sitting watching the cricket (I had a few quid on Sri Lanka) after watching the footy - sport, and in particular football - the religion of the insucure male - and something weird happened:</p> <p>a bloke called carl, who turned out to be into boxing and cricket, arrived. he shook my hand with a firm grip, too firm.</p> <p>i was there with my friend, who was less impressed.</p> <p>carl proceeded to tell me I had an eye for business and that I would definitely 'make it', though he dismissed my friend as 'not quite there'. carl said I had it in my eyes that I would make a success of my business. I had never seen him before, but somehow felt the same.</p> <p>was carl a:</p> <p>i) drunk<br> ii) angel<br> iii) devil<br> iiii) ...</p> <p>I am drunk, it is true, and I am beginning to understand. I hope I do not regret it.</p> <p>Love and peace. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/25/the_truth_beckons~2156251/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>pickled-thingshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/25/the_truth_beckons~2156251/#commentshttp://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/23/mouse_trap~2149740/tag:gumbanu.blog.co.uk,2007-04-23:/2007/04/23/mouse_trap~2149740/Mon, 23 Apr 2007 23:35:58 +0200 <p>doormouse, come out to play<br> for the world awaits your rebirth<br> stand high on your hinds<br> and spare your hide</p> <p>fieldmouse, come hither, quick,<br> forget your rotting afterbirth<br> come meet me in the corn field<br> where we can take your hide </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/23/mouse_trap~2149740/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://gumbanu.blog.co.uk/2007/04/23/mouse_trap~2149740/#comments