Poem: ‘The Snufferjog’

The Snufferjog

He’s runty, and his naked toes
Stumble but not to assuage;
Bewhiskered are his mouth and nose,
And moths doth he engage.
Beware the Snufferjog, my friend!
His Vogue stained claws they steal!
Do not his deep pockéts attend ,
They’re full of spoons unreal!
He’ll place your brain in his left hand,
Massage it, ’til it’s vanished —
Tall wolfish beings there he hath banned,
Warm crisp-grease too is banished.
Carnivorously adamant,
And Snuff’jog’s cocksure eyes,
Say “pint-sized ale cups should be scant,
In any a maiden’s thighs.”
“Beware! Beware! That lady there!
She may not smoke death-duty!”
His reasons aren’t in terms of care,
“But for the sake of beauty.”
“How didst thou slay the Snufferjog?
With one cruél strong sting!?”
I grabbed his wide-eyed, lamb-like dog,
It’s neck I then did wring.
The Snufferjog did die a death,
With which I daren’t agree,
His spirit shrank and turned to breath,
He’s now like you and me.

Poem: ‘Getting On’

Getting On

I wasn’t an ‘unresponsive on his bathroom floor’ case,
Or even a mysteriously ‘Paris apartment bathtub’ scrubbing waste.
Despite the certain uncontrollable tragedy,
‘Bullets in the back four times – New York’ it was not.
So Zaccheus sat in that sycamore tree,
With prior knowledge about the exodus of ’73.
And with a bang of the gong,
As a charged up warrior,
I was gone.
Her Purple Mini wasn’t quite a Cadilac.
G-L-O-R-I-A wasn’t quite Patti Boyd.
She ended the marriage, ended the band and her driving ended me.
But no one mentions her,
She was no Yoko.
But this is what I am,
Square Peg Sam, not the main man.
Jimi, Jim, Jones & Janis – they all hit the spot,
Two weeks off thirty has a certain ring to it,
But I’m not in the club.
What’s more I tried religion,
Just like Dad told me to,
Long before I was a child of the Marcsist revolution,
I sat looking up into his Soviet stubble,
As we tripped round London bends in lofty lorries,
He told me,
“Zion’s home for you son,
But don’t tell Ma.”
But I did,
She squeezed it out of me,
She didn’t want Jerusalem,
Cos she sold grapes
And pears in Berwick Street.
So I sat in a gentile’s grave.
“People are unfair with Sky plus in their hair-spray,
No longer content, with Star Wars in their browsers.
They want an Acorah-approved sighting.”
So said the master of the ghoulish game – Tiger Memphis-Flash.
He says he makes an appearance at least once every six months,
To please true fans.
So at the turn of the 21st century,
Boy I tried it out,
But once again Feld failed,
I stuck around,
I like it here,
By the might of a tragical noon
I sit.
So, come by Great Darkgate Street in Aber.
We sell beauty, household goods and medicines, alongside a range of fine fragrances here;
Glam products, if you like.
You’ll recognise me,
I’m still all Absolom in Barnet,
But it’s getting a bit thin at the back.
Debbie the store manager insists on the polo neck uniform,
So my ‘faux gay space alien’ image is slightly dampened,
But I wear face glitter on casual Fridays.
Come on in and read my name tag,
No one bats an eyelid,
They just assume it’s the Welsh spelling.

Video: Old news, but cool news regarding that old librarianish art competition

For those of you who didn’t see it on my Dad’s blog:

(Apologies for the weird music.)

I got second place! Which is better than third and would’ve been embarrassing if I came first, as those who beat me were a group of three people who’d worked together to create a video and looked like they’d worked hard whereas I’d thrown my poem together in the space of twenty minutes.

Video: What I’ve been up to for the past couple of months. (Singing religiously and ting.)

We are devising a piece called ‘The Singable Remains’, which is to be a site specific performance at a place called ‘Yr Hen Eglwys’ in Ysbyty Ystwyth. The performance is tomorrow night and I’m looking forward to it. The videos below should be a little bit of a taster for you of what it’s like.

This is how we warm up our voices:

This is an interesting exploration we devised early on to explore the idea of work within a community. The first bits a bit rubbish, but the singing at the end’s rather good.

This is a song we do during a sad bit in the play.

Well, you learn something new everyday (about Jerry Lee Lewis)

Apparently he was discovered to have married his 13-year-old cousin in December 1957 – and to have been in prison twice before he turned 21! 

He was a bigamist too, and shot his bass player, lost two wives to drowning and overdosing and his son dies in a car crash.

Oh and he was also jailed again after brandishing a gun outside Graceland and demanding to see Elvis.

Goodness gracious…