Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Monday, 27 May 2019
Fraudulent beauty.
all colour and no scent
the bloom of a suicides freshly cut wrist
look at me
but don't look too closely
email archaology.
sherds of broken promises
shadows of dreams
shattered tesserae of hope and joy
the meadow where we were once happy
now scarred and unrecognisable
hides shared archaology beneath
Impossible to delete
Saturday, 25 May 2019
Wednesday, 15 May 2019
Murder in Notting Hill.
Murder in Notting Hill – A book by Mark Olden
Police and council workmen search a drain for the murder weapon.
Copyright: Mirrorpix.
At around midnight on May 17, 1959, a white gang ambushed Antiguan carpenter Kelso Cochrane on the corner of a Notting Hill slum street. One of them plunged a knife into his heart. He was never caught. Murder in Notting Hill is a tale of crumbling tenements transformed into a millionaires’ playground, of the district’s fading white working class, and of a veil finally being lifted on the past.
Mark Olden is a London-based print and broadcast journalist. He has worked for Channel 4 and the BBC and written for publications including The Guardian, The Observer, The Independent, The New Statesman and The Sunday Times.
Click to buy: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Notting-Hill-Mark-Olden/dp/1846945364
Saturday, 11 May 2019
BBC news website airs fake video of multiple lightning strike.
Naughty BBC or gullible BBC?
Click on the link and watch the video of supposed multiple lightning strikes on the same spot. Look closely and you will see that it is the same strike repeated a number of times.
Sloppy BBC.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/world-us-canada-48235462/lightning-strikes-twice-and-again-and-again
Click on the link and watch the video of supposed multiple lightning strikes on the same spot. Look closely and you will see that it is the same strike repeated a number of times.
Sloppy BBC.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/world-us-canada-48235462/lightning-strikes-twice-and-again-and-again
An ormolu stool for the new Royal baby.
From the archive.
A nation rejoices
a nation is happy
for a baby from Wales
has filled up her nappy
no signs of austerity
in her posterior dexterity
yet for her no diamond
or other rare jewel
no silver
no pearls
but the perfectly formed whirls
of a
golden hued,
curlicued
ormolu stool.
We wrapped it in tissue
sent it off to the issue
of the issue
of our dear Queen's eldest son
With a brief covering word
to authenticate the turd
as a born and bred, dressed in red,
Welsh number one.
Suggesting that
when they unwrap it
they have Gilbert and George snap it
for in turd matters they
are certainly no fool
And will quickly identify
reasons aplenty why
(in the words of the hip)
it is undeniably cool...
To be blissfully happy
with the contents of a nappy:
A golden hued, curlicued, ormolu stool.
Lines written on failing to become poet laureate.
Passed over for the laureateship again
god knows I've tried
written poems about royal weddings and babies
odes to wildlife, urns and joy
tedious blank verse self indulgencies
doggerel
mentioned Amy Winehouse
declared my black moods mixed race
allowed my inner child a voice
played fast and loose with convention
written stuff that rhymes
churned it out by the metre
and the foot: iamb, trochee, dactyl, anapest, spondee, and pyrrhic
all to no avail
god knows I've tried
written poems about royal weddings and babies
odes to wildlife, urns and joy
tedious blank verse self indulgencies
doggerel
mentioned Amy Winehouse
declared my black moods mixed race
allowed my inner child a voice
played fast and loose with convention
written stuff that rhymes
churned it out by the metre
and the foot: iamb, trochee, dactyl, anapest, spondee, and pyrrhic
all to no avail
Friday, 10 May 2019
Dart morning.
Fat lazy salty whore
Rolls brassily into the river’s maw.
Under a counterpane of mist
A blanket of oaks cloak the valley
Down to limpet pocked rocks
Teased by the lardy tarts petticoats.
On, in, swell diminishes to lap.
Fox and otter quarter the shore
The rising tide and sun
dressing the mud in sequins.
Working boats steam seaward
Gulls dogging ploughed wakes.
Sip and plat of my oars
As they turn the meaty water like spaded sods.
Rolls brassily into the river’s maw.
Under a counterpane of mist
A blanket of oaks cloak the valley
Down to limpet pocked rocks
Teased by the lardy tarts petticoats.
On, in, swell diminishes to lap.
Fox and otter quarter the shore
The rising tide and sun
dressing the mud in sequins.
Working boats steam seaward
Gulls dogging ploughed wakes.
Sip and plat of my oars
As they turn the meaty water like spaded sods.
Wednesday, 8 May 2019
Rare Sumatran pygmy elephant discovered trapped in Notting hill basement.
A very rare pygmy elephant has been discovered 'trapped' in a Notting Hill basement. the animal is unharmed and seemingly quite relaxed about the situation.
Due to the rarity of the creature and the fact that no such animal is registered in any UK zoo it is assumed that the elephant has escaped from one of the many illegal sub-basement menageries that are suspected to exist in the affluent west London area. This would also explain the animal's laid back attitude to its current situation. It is assumed that the owner will not come forward to claim the illegally imported beast.
Sumatran pygmy elephants are only found in Sumatra and on the island of Mauritius where they have been kept for centuries as an ornament to the famed bonsai Baobab gardens, where they stand motionless for much of the time, that are unique to the Indian ocean island.
The owner of the house where the elephant was found and who prefers to remain annonymous stated that she would prefer it if passers by would refrain from feeding the animal buns as the crumbs were difficult to clean up.
Although the creature, now named Elaphant n daroum by local schoolchildren, seems happy enough a rescue attempt will be made in the next few days.
Tuesday, 7 May 2019
I became your mirror.
I remembered your conversations
about a child losing innocence
as we walked on the heath that day
long after he had gone
I instinctively picked up a stick
pointed it at you
shouted bang
and killed the woman who chased him away
you snapped then
snapped the stick, snapped at me
you would not blame yourself of course not
that day I did not lose my innocence
YOU gave me guilt.
and I became your mirror.
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