Dare to Dream, Leicester

Regular readers will know by now that that in the great scheme of all things sport, football features pretty low down on the list. I mean, I would sooner watch show jumping than a game of soccer, but today? In the spirit of all dramas and tradition of change, I will be a footie 'fan' because plucky underdogs Leicester City are on course to deliver a grand upset and add its name to the long list of British sporting achievements. And this is a team that im reliably informed was fighting relegation last season.
Too many things are labelled "legends" and "heroes" these days but Leicester City will become one of the few genuine heroes which is a welcome pause from the shitty news this world serves up.

Leicester City were 5000 to 1 betting odds at the beginning of the season, and even when the doubters did their sour doubting thing the Foxes stayed their course to railroad through, too busy making history to be concerned with doubting Thomas mob.

Anyway enough blah blah, gp Foxes, go!

Cold World Shadow

*These topics could almost write themselves these days but certain topics require more than Twitter

Boxing. Whenever a fighter is seriously injured, the ban hammers emerge wielded by the paper party mob (who to be fair have good intentions and there is nothing wrong with that of course). Boxing is a dangerous sport and nobody wants to see young men and women damaged. But a ban? Come now my friends, if we are going to stop something that might lead to harm, then we might as well get started on a pretty long list of eligible sport/hobbies.
Formula 1, motor sport, rugby, rock climbing, horse racing, even football (wouldn't want the precious dears breaking a fingernail now would we). Allow me a sip of tea on this cold Easter monday, oils the cogs. I admit, I am fairly surprised boxing has lasted as long as it has in this soulless, new world of cotton hearts and yoghurt knitters. This is an era of safety first and damn the consequences, to hell with the future James Hunts and Jack Dempseys. Thou shall not follow a path that might lead to a stubbed toe or split lips.
Are ye with me here? This attitude is infinitely the more dangerous. People aren't daft (mostly), we know the risks and simply chucking a few bans around really won't help, all that does is drive the sport underground to the badlands where the few rules that are in place are not enforced, a place where danger is multiplied tenfold. Im sure the staunchest yoghurt knitter wants this?

*****

Ban. Ban this, ban that. It must be hard living a life with hazard lights on. I don't know how they do it, really I don't. But then I have no iron morals to answer to. Its why the anti death, guns, hunting rabble can't get a bead on me online. All the names are true my friends, even the bad ones (hell especially the bad ones). You can't figh a honest reflection. Now obviously I do have morals and right and wrongs but im a poet before all else and in an effort to power up words its essential to play fast and loose with words.

Llawer o Cariad, a pasg hapus/lots of love and happy Easter x

Hall of Heroes

We live in a world where celebrity is king, where success is judged by the amount of followers you have on social media. Actors, singers, athletes alike, everyone wants a piece of their of their favourite hero. But no matter how much records you sell, Oscar winning films you make, classic novels you write, medals you win there will always be a quiet hero from WW2 who outshines them all like .

Captain Eric "Winkle" Brown is one such man. He sadly passed away recently after reaching the grand age 97 (as it should be, heroes should live long). Captain Brown has an achievement that truly can be called awesome.
2,407 deck landings at sea and 2,721 catapult launches. He flew every major combat aircraft of WW2 including gliders, fighters, bombers, airliners, amphibians, flying boats and helicopters,. nd his contribution to aviation research covered transonic flight, assessment of German jets and rocket aircraft, rotary wing flight, and the first carrier decklanding of a jet aircraft.

Now if that doesn't impress you, nothing will.

As Dead As Angels

I Am No Saint But....

Before I get to the rainbow of the rain, this is one post where the header bounced around my head like a kitten on amphetamine. Usually I can take the 'pulse' of a situation and the headline will follow like a vampire's thrall, but here I landed a few that I liked. They can be so important and yet so throwaway and its one occasion I didn't want anything not made perfectly clear. So in the spirit of on the hoof blogging, I decided on two leave it stand.

I always admit that I am no angel. Not because I want to show that im prepared to stick the first nail into my crucifixion but because I like how the more I say it, the more I believe (or hope) it will sink in for those readers who might be tempted into thinking im preachy and pure hearted and thus deserving of praise. No. I can be as cruel as fish, am largely solitary and have no need of anything like that. Here's it may get hazy - I am no consciously thinking what I believe so have no desire for applause. I just am, me. I think good things, I think bad. That is indeed that. Bullet stop.
While I admit my views can be more barbed wire than cotton, one thing im thankful for is that that I treat everyone as equal (though sometimes they get a head start as im not perfect). Black, white, blue, fat, thin, killer, saint, rich, poor, wise. Bring them all on, petty 'faces' all to which I pay no heed, they don't matter. But the rest? Ah now the rest is up to you. Or even YOU.
I like it best this way, my way. A lifetime of razors and sunshine, all stacked up to shape the spirit of my machine.
Now like I say, im no saint but the rest of the world seems to think it is (which is probably why ive walked this earth largely solitary watching events from afar like a sniper watching war through a lens and caring little so the puzzle flees from me so far).
Even now while large parts of the real world are dying from hunger or being shot to bits from the words of holy books, the lucky side of the world (first world problems and all that) is at war with itself over their circle jerk Oscar award tosh (and again, first world problems huh?)
And jerking is right, they are not talking at all, merely w**king. Pulling themselves off over how clever and wise they all love to be. (Kept a straight face there, almost).

Woe is a world fuelled by such petty bullsh!t nonsense. One of the things a new friend notices about devil old me, is my rich diversity of friends and ex lovers. Onward they march from all corners of the map of life and morality. Like Buddah himself (but much less cool) I care not for sights and sounds. Like I keep saying, its what comes after that matters to me. And its what sane men throughout the ages have believed and why I feel dull here typing it out. The majority ought to get this by now but its apparent they don't still.

If you really must have awards for things, judge the work by the workers and if say the blue workers haven't done a decent shift one time, vote for another who has. Okay this years Oscars might be heavy on the white side but I would hope (for all my keen wisdom im still severely naïve) that its because they did the best movies this year? Could be that next year it swings opposite and those actors work will be recognised.
Please tell me this is how it works?

Quit all this petty bull crap. Like my 'friend' from GTA IV said once

You can't shake no hands when ye fist be clenched

― Little Jacob

Harmony Devoured

So there it goes, yuletide's furry backside disappearing over the horizon taking the sickly baubels and sugar highs with it. Skin the reindeer, papa wants roast! In plain speak? Im happy Christmas has buggered off, its like coming up for air after a week lurking in the depths of Swiss Valley reservoir. Don't get me wrong, its great if you have children, creating special memories you had as a child (some children are not that lucky of course) but for me? Im happy its gone. And it used to arrive with such a potent buzz that no drug could ever hope to match. When out delivering cards with my late mother, I swore I could hear bells ringing from the star freckled night sky, there was a mystic energy that only children posses but alas it has left this rust bucket I call a soul, magic at zero and doubt it will ever return.
Arrives with age some would say but I'd wager that even the hardest Ebenezer Scroodge had at least heard a Christmas carol or watched a television "classic" during the festivities.
Want to know something? I didn't. Dim byd. Nothing. Not even a sniff of a mince pie. To my mind (and this is important because it was only in my company, with loved ones it was different) Christmas day might well have been a rainy weekend down the /Mumbles. Ah dear Mumbles! Escaping the silly season might seem impossible to most but I swear its doable. I just did it and to be fair, I wish a pill existed to get the spirit and excitement back but take enough happy tablets and you'll know that even chemical rainbows have limits.
So again it goes with a nary a farewell and no alchemy can ever dress bones. Its been a blast throughout those milky years, almost was the perfect drug, a never ending agent of harmony but one day all magic dies and for me (just me I hope), I can be happy with that. And I am perfectly happy.


*Please forgive the often heavy spirit this post was written in. I assure you gentle reader that everything is fine in the funhouse. Dark lines always make for better scenes and in family company the scene was different.

Lemmy: Killed By Death

Lemmy is dead. Cant quite believe I had to type that. Ian Kilmister seemed indestructible, the Keef Richards of heavy metal if you like (although the man himself didn't think Motorhead were geavy metal). Ageing gods like Lemmy, Ozzy, Rob Halford don't die, they can't, its not part of the plan. Or this is what I had always believed in my 35 years as a metalhead before last nights news smacked me around the head.
Crazy as it sounds (and this is something else I can't believe im typing) I wasn't much into Motorhead, in the beginning, preferring instead Iron Maiden, Saxon and Judas Priest. There is room for all of course but the younger me wouldn't have it and snobbishly I always looked down on Lemmy's crew. I loved Ace of Spades and Killed By Death but there my appreciation ended. Luckily it didn't last and when I finally succumbed to the iron fist, I went to HMV and hoovered up every Motorhead album they had. Ah those wasted years, but I put it right in the end.

No more Motorhead. Funnily enough, half an hour before the sad news broke, I was listening to the older records, so one might say that I was with Lemmy when he passed.

No more Motorhead. I can't believe it.

*This is just a quick post, I will tidy it up when im less stunned. The music is all that matters anyway.

Diamonds in Earthly Bones: Organ Donation

Today Wales becomes the first country in Britain to introduce a different approach to organ donation with a presumed consent ‘opt-out’ system. And if I wasn't already a supporter of it, then hearing people in desperate need of a transplant call in to radio stations to applaud our "brave new" approach would certainly have swayed me. If I could wrap my arms around my beloved Cymru to give it a big Cwtch (hug) I would do so.
How could I not be proud? That last earthly act of unrivalled genorosity is a perfect good; a love that truly has no end. To wear my poetry clothes, a Spirit of the heart eternal. Not everyone believes in angels (and this is why I wince a bit on mentioning them) but surely in this selfless act of love supreme, this is where such beings would walk?
How incredible! To welcome new life as yours makes an exit, to live not only in the hearts of loved ones but in strangers too! I suspect I could type a million words but they could never hope to do it justice. Saints and heroes have no need for them, the deed is enough.
.
Kindness in words creates confidence.
Kindness in thinking creates profoundness.
Kindness in giving creates love.

Lao-Tzu Poet and Philosopher of ancient China.