Author: basgallop

tulip

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The Brute throttled Red of Tulips, do like a splash of colour in the park, drawn even deeper with the lack of sun
of course, the hillside plump with gorse, canary yellow, refulgent with the summer pong of coconut butter
over the brim, yes, the wild, wild grey dirge of the sea

Knight of Cups
……..

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this morning, whilst daydream pottering over a cup of Mint and Liquorice tea
found myself being stared down by a cat through the window, Obsidian stillness, killer gaze
curious, goes deep, this the knowledge of being watched, for once we were hunters… and the sometimes hunted
i would prefer wolves? yes she will come, and there will be many
but before, face you down, a moment of stillness, you will know it will happen, you will know
but a leopard? face in the bush? part of that the nameless dread…
dropping silently from above, else stealth pounce, all claw, fang then rend… the candle wick of life, snuffed to nothingness
….

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yeah yeah psssssht, shoo… go poo in someone elses garden!…
ha, gosh gibberish, fortunately don’t get many leopards, or for that matter wolves round these thar parts

table tennis

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These the weeks of leaf spawn
every branch, every tree, bud burgeoning forth, stickily, unfurling into a majesty of leaf and blossom
something of gossamer, a slither, a shimmer, each bush, coming into the pomp of full summer regalia
yesterday in surrey, midst the sunshine, the hillside awash with the blowsy froth spray of white blossoms
a tumult upon us! tho long the clandestine growth, a surreptitious summoning
each branch, so recently a brittle looking stick, dowdy within its surround of mud puddle, now, pulsing with lurid colour and vibrancy
the tweetle twerp of bird song!… rapture in miniature… the local, the particular… this is mine… yes! i am here!
whatever the creak of bone, the reluctance of limb, so too, this season always makes my heart sing

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ha! i write the same thing every time, as does the spring… making, imagining, the same different same… its rhythmic, insistent beauty
…………………………..
….. classic portmanteau post…. i finally turned the clock in the car forward… yes, as well you might have noticed, the seasons have changed
and heres Finns brief vid of ping pong… impressive he filmed anything one handed… just a genteel warm up, but such a reassuring sound the plunkety plonk… and i rather enjoyed the finale of his failed lunge and groan!

seedlings

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ah my beautiful ickle teensy tomatina seedlings! doing well so far!… reared on nowt but love… and a page from Ulysses each and every morning, read in my broadest, softest faux brogue,
just so that they know, although we humans are insistent on meaning, that there lurks a beauty in the baffling
this life business is a doddle! just create beneficial circumstances, pour in sunshine and water… and all will flourish (then wither and die, yeah, yeah)
as true for you and me, as for the seedlings… here the right circumstances are household compost from the garden … think old toenail clippings… regurgitated bean burrito from 2012!
oh and then popped a few of last years toms, ooze gunk of seeds smeared over the top of the soil… hey presto!
… and for me?…hmmm … ah since a neanderthal munched down on the primordial proto cabbage leaf (‘where theres muck thers brassicas’… he was clearly a yorkshire hominid)
man has been straining at (and ate) vegetable metaphors… so enuff of that
mostly i like watching things grow whilst coding… beards… and stuff
right enough ruminating, off to buy cream puffs and cherry tart from the supermarket
wish me luck, tis peculiar out there, laid low with dismal snot cold i haven’t left the house since wednesday! x
‘april is the coolest mumpfz’

mr bojangles

who was mr bojangles? was having a debate with abba yesterday… i presumed he was some sort of jazz age character
good old wikipedia… the song is about a down and out tap dancer the writer met in a prison cell (and his dog!), who in turn was named for the original 20’s dancer Bill Robinson
whereas the derivation of Bojangles is either ‘happy-go-lucky’, ‘squabbler’ or, in the Pali language, the word ‘bhojangha’ means “limbs of enlightenment”.
heres a bizarrely literal tom jones, sammy davis jr version
the internet… so many ways to waste time!

professor

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i should have been a PROFESSOR! ahh the bitter sweet wail of a singular pang of remorse
professor of whatever? something gestalt weltscmerz zeitgeist schadenfreude! professor emeritus of eurhythmy and yodelling at the university of uuulan bator
i’d be in my lair, surrounded by fusty old books of spells, the mild pong of real ale and stale ganja… with a view down through the woods to the sea beyond
actually ulan bator is probs some way from the sea?… so mbe hawaii! or totnes! occasionally i’d listen to birdsong, roll up my sleeves and saunter off through the spring succulence, to deliver a lecture

decided all this during my mid afternoon candlelit bath…
the life of a freelancer, ostensibly this whim had been to help ‘resolve issues with my javascript objects, how they can be recalibrated to hoover up the remaining bitBytes’
instead lounged in a pool of patchouli, awash with regret
off to yoga, but when i’m back, all nidra(ed) out, i shall rummage through the sea chest and dust off my certificate ‘bsc hons chemistry, third class, university of exeter 1987’
and ponder on all that might have been… possibly a bit bored?