The Magpie

Hidden in the heath-lands and mires of southern England, in an old forgotten wood long since trodden by human wandering, there stood an old proud oak, so ancient that, like all other things having reached an age of wisdom and patience, they flourished a mane of silver, camouflaged by the auburns and greys of autumn's flavour that permeated the woodlands, lingering on the leaves, hanging from them and weighing them to the ground.
 It was here, above the overgrowth, that there stirred a wind that lifted those lost leaves into a flourish of colour, then twice and then a third time before a sudden gust lifted the forest floor. Mice and voles scurried from the unexpected nakedness and squirrels watched careful and curious from the tree branches.
 When it all settled, it could be seen, directly beneath our great silver crowned oak, a small opening had appeared, where it's roots had become torn from the ground and pulled with it the earth, where below that earth was a lack of earth that stretched far beyond lights uncanny ability to cast itself, where below, thought one curious eye, must have been something.. Where below must still be something.. Where below, one magpie found his path lay.

London and his butterflies.

I keep them in a jar, just big enough to hold a few but small enough for my pockets. They keep fluttering, dancing, spinning in the dark. Hey whatever, I got time on my side still, I've a spirit yet to cultivate.

Slow and steady, slow and steady, slow and steady, slow and steady..

Spiders don't scare me anymore. Well, not the little ones. Everyone has their limits, you know. I wonder when the line blurs enough to cross? Regardless, I love those little bastards like I would any bird, cat, dog or fish.

And hippies? Come find me in nirvana.

What the hell am I?

So my dayjob's as a barman, yeah, you could say that.
but I'm a musician, I play guitar and shit for the sake of it. I go busking without putting out a hat.
or am i a writer? 2 blogs, a million songs, poetry coming out of my ears and too many novels half finished..
maybe I'm a philosopher, maybe I'm an artist, maybe I'm a game critic, maybe I'm a political satirist.

You know what? I'm me.

Tomorrow

Sunlight broke over the canopy of a modest woodland. With it came a breath of post-nocturnal air that brushed across the dew, lifting it to a peak where it swirled in an almost everlasting cycle of movement that slowed to a ghostly stillness and shape of a mountain before it came cascading minutely back to the surface of the meadow, littering the webs of the sleeping spiders with droplets of moisture so that it would seem to the untrained eye that they themselves still hung above the earth just as thier grand parents did in the heights of the atmosphere.

  Away from that, where the sunlight had creeped across the surface of earth, to find its way to a garden where it descended the tall hedges, snuck over a lake of grass and leapt a bush to the foot of a deck chair, whereupon it gently roused the habitant from a cold and restless fatigue.

His eyes open, he saw a sky so blue. So clear, that he scarcely believed it the same sky he had witnessed for so many years. His eyes closed, then opened, then closed once more. He took a breath and exhaled slowly. He imagined his breath rising like a stream of vapour, culminating into a small but elegant nimbus that, once disconnected from him, rose into the sky like a balloon to hang in the atmosphere. A single puff of blank across an entire ocean of blue.

Gigs, tours, libraries, wine and women..

I write this enlightened by those magic numbers. Fleet wood mac comes around on the Xbox playlists (thank you charity shopping, you have blessed me with a library of CDs and computer games). I'll be having too much fun.. Ahh but it's gone.

Sleep? The patterns thereof? Who needs either but then who could live without? Questions and rhetorical. Libertines shout my angst. Hey what's to lose when your born south of the banks of London. No time for you but enough to scrimp and save. Lets not be late for work today.

But I got a hunch, that its not over yet! Gigs heavy on the practise list, short of my temper and the horizon reeks of a crush, secret hopes and lusts and tomorrow I will learn that elusive tongues that strangles me at bay.

Je serai poète et toi poésie.
Kandaa

fuck it

i love you i love you. jamie t, back of the crown. sleeping alone, no phone, no keys, want to be, need to feel, on my mind, meet me here, never tearful, frightful cold. could be broken, could be taken.

Repost of a failed post

• Repost from yesterday night, internet is hard to come by here in suffolk. But it's all okay as it's replacement is a lush landscape of agricultural beauty. Busking is difficult to begin but the locals are extremely casual about the experiences. Big up, hahaha.

This Sleepy Town

I've seen a place,

 in those far off fields,

 where the sun sets down,

 the sky gently peels,

Away from that,

 a darkness does grow,

 lit by the lunar,

 the stars gently sowed,

The clouds soon drift,

 the abyss engulfed,

 like falling above

 and a problem solved,

For buried 'neath,

 those lonesome hazes,

 a memory stands,

 all seen, all ages.

And yet I would to question this senile place,

 of what it all was before.

Instead as I pass from this land to space,

 I need not take no more,

Somewhere beneath,

 a cavern has grown,

 of it's intention,

 I remain unknown,

The walls are black,

 it's dripping with sage,

 pumped up for above,

 to burn in this age,

To think these creatures gave us breath,

 and where they stink and rot and bile,

We percieve a tube to ravish them through,

 a grave unearthed and vile,

I see it's good,

 but there seems no sense,

 to dig up graveyards,

 build a body fence,

When the sunset,

 so enlightens me,

 that i could again,

 feel warm energy.

Up in the stars,

where we will soon be,

run all alone by,

electricity,

And all forget,

 the breeze through the trees,

 the forest and leaves,

 and the ancient aged sunset.

Koki Downs

Man that was a cool session. I don't think I've enjoyed writing so much as during that poem.

Tour's going awesome, awesome, awesome. My wallets in agony.

I'm also starting to dread the whole, coming back to a job and no house thing. let's see how semi permanent this touring business can be. Get a driving license is the next quest guys.

Speaking of legendary quests, the title was indeed a reference to the Kokiri Forests of Links grands adventures. If you didn't guess that, get back to your N64s, you slackers!

peace and harmony from Kandaa