Welsh Village at Night

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Mozaic May 15th and 18th 2018, Work in Progress

WORK IN PROGRESS

Let’s see how this turns out

Latest version Friday 18th May

Both

Side by Side

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perplexion of the unfinished mind et al

4 fresh oils on canvas 60cm x 50cm -Framed

Spring 2018

£250 each Contact me for availability

Tân Gwyllt I: AKA Perplexion of the unfinished mind

Tân Gwyllt II

Tân Gwyllt III

Tân Gwyllt IV

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An Ordinary Bloke writes about knowing everything

So now you’ve got to the point where you’ve had enough, done enough, know enough. You don’t need to learn any more about any thing. Well, maybe that’s pushing it a bit, that’s a bit too arrogant. You still learn at least one small lesson every day, you will always learn. But all the rest of it, well, you don’t need any of that any more – you don’t need anyone else telling you what you need either, or telling you what to do and how to behave, how to think. No! Fuck them.

You are who you are. You know everything. You know it all. You know as much as you need to know anyway. Note – how much ‘you’ need to know, not what ‘they’ think is how much you need to know. That’s what it’s all about really – you know everything.

Up to this point what has been written was written ‘before’. From now on what will be written will be written ‘after’. You don’t believe you know everything anymore. In fact you believe you know nothing, Take water for example, you know nothing about water, truth is no one does, not even the most scientific scientists. Electricity – that’s another one.

We live in a world which should not exist, it’s so improbable it’s impossible. You are impossible. Yet you are, you know that at least, you are, you do exist – whatever existence is.

Can it all be true? Can you know everything and know nothing at the same time?

Who knows!

(Shrugs)

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Croeso – Welcome

Featured

What’s it all about then?

No one’s got a clue really, but we try to do our best.

This website exists to display a bit of one person’s attempts to do their best. When I say ‘best’ I’m not sure if that’s true in the sense that everything here is perfectly crafted, because it’s not. Some of it is roughly hewn or not hewn at all, simply pointed at, but then again, maybe that’s the best I can do.

I dunno.

I reckon that less than 1 in 100 visitors to this website are actual human beings so if you’re one of them and not a bot, and have managed to read this far down the page, I hope you can find something of interest here.

Just scroll and click and search. Turn over some metaphorical stones – there’s quite a lot to uncover even if I do say so myself.

blah blah – you know the score – here’s a poem from 1999 about knowing the score

ninetyfivefive
 
 you know the score
 in a movie 
 or a tv show
 the flaws
 small flaws
 idiosyncratic flaws
 twelve flaws
 or just one 
 we’re allowed to be flawed 
 it’s ok as long as in the end 
 we’re fucking good at our job
 in my real life i’m an artex ceiling of cracks and fissures
 with some small redemption
 
 it’s kind of arse-backwards ain’t it?

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Lord Harry for the ZX Spectrum

One from the archives – a game I wrote for the Spectrum in 1983

Might do a T Shirt or a painting or both based on this

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The Importance of being Earnest – in your art

They say that art is sweat and tears
You have to work at it for years
You have to burn the midnight oil
You have to suffer pain and toil

You get distracted by the world
By every precious boy and girl
They just don’t realise it’s hard
to keep it up when times are bad

When you’re tired, feeling low
and all you want’s for it to flow
You have to force yourself to work
You have to try until it hurts

The fleeting second of the scene
on the page or on the screen
Is all that others ever see
It’s a fucking joke, believe you me

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Christmas coming fast

Saturday-Bloody-Morning
Christmas coming fast
Should have been here Tuesday
Wednesday, Thursday night perhaps

The world has got a problem
Only one? I hear you ask
Well one that’s really pissed me off
That awful shopping task

We all come down together
to fill our metal guts
With putrefying blood and bones
and other awful stuff

The charity collectors
jangle at the doors
Piss off you pious bastards
I won’t give you any more

The dreaded day comes round again
We gorge until we’re numb
Forgive the sodding year that’s gone
and curse the one to come

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Happy World Toilet Day 2017

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A Poem and a Painting (and a book)

The full cover of Blodyn – my latest collection of poetry
Blodyn the Painting

acrylic on board 520mm x 670mm (20″ x 26″), 2001

Blodyn the Book

Collected poems 2017

Blodyn the poem

You are a creature
Petal-haired
Mouth-organ lipped
Smudge nose askew

You are a flower (an open flower)
A head on a stalk (A face on a stick)
Seeds like eyes
Seed-like eyes

You absorb the earth
Soak up the sun
Flow with the wind
Grow with the rain

You are raw life

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FILLER

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This is a writing exercise

This is a writing exercise

The time when I went after a cow there were sounds carping on in that friend’s boat.

A pound of small oranges entails mucking under those twelve toadstools.

Smart moon then, Idris sparked on them after hell fried upside.

Leave young mellow fluffy badgers mind there one bantam weight.

Why don’t youth mix yesterday’s balloons.

In the end of the day I went to the shopping centre and found a yellow juggling ball.

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Surreal Construction via Paint 3D – Number 1

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Orange Mess

Orange Mess: Oil and Acrylic on Canvas – 2010 18″ x 22″ – 45mm x 56mm

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Mosaic and Bobble – Paint Art

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Make the connection

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Does this pen work?

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A couple more poems from Blodyn

Jackdaws in CAR PARKS

Jackdaws
in CAR PARKS
where they shouldn’t be

But then
ppl
eat cheap tarts
and drop crumbs
everywhere

I wouldn’t like to be a jackdaw
Being a bit of a fussy eater

FOR INSTANCE

I wouldn’t eat a slowworm
even if I was starving

BUT JACKDAWS
eat almost everything

They have no lines in their minds
except that possibly
(and I don’t know this for sure)
They won’t eat their own eggs

I suppose if they did
they wouldn’t exist

Imagine that you’re the last jackdaw
in the world
and the only thing left to eat
is your one remaining egg
which is about to hatch

do you gobble it up
even though you know
that however long you live
afterwards

There’ll never be another jackdaw
or maybe you could

MATE with a sparrow

and have babies
called
Jackrow or Spardaw

What if you lay on top of your egg
and quietly died
Your decomposition
feeding your young

Then it’d grow up
and have a different dilemma
but at least it’d have

A LIFE

What comes last?
The jackdaw – or
THE EGG

****

If we were rich

If we were rich, would we still have a table like this?
A table covered in the most recently used bits of shit?
Like scissors and glasses and ashtrays and tips.
Like candles and radios and needles and sticks.

There’s last Tuesday’s mailshots and yesterday’s news.
There’s this week’s TV guide and half a pair of shoes.
A table that’s creaking and sagging with clues.
Yes, we’d still have a table like this – it’s the truth.

****

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Helo

I can’t do anything better than anecdotal and observational so I might be wrong and I can’t be bothered to do any real research because if I’m right it would be a waste of time since no one would read this anyway.

I mean even if I don’t bother to do any research and this does get read I’m still quids in aren’t I?

I am aware that the chance that anyone who is actually another person and not some automatic bot-type thing that visits random websites in the hope of finding something of value – like a list of email addresses that they can sell to their fellow bots who send emails offering riches galore, is minscule.

So, the point is: no matter how obvious I make it, no matter how honest I am, it won’t matter because no one is going to read it anyway,

Why do I bother to continue writing then?

Because part of me wants to read what another part of me wants to write. Maybe it’s just one part behaving in two different ways? I don’t know, but here it is, my voice in the void.

Is anybody out there?

(Doesn’t really matter so don’t bother responding, even if you are one of the anybodies out there)

Nos Da

(p.s. This is not as self-indulgent as it seems)

 

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Some birds and their poems

A few short poems

about birds

from my last poetry collection

 

 

Blodyn

Robin
Pecking up the scraps of summer
He comes hopping –
and perching –
in cute poses;
Makes you wish you had a camera, ready.
Pictures of Robins
do well at Christmas.

Jackdaw
Where I live
There are families
of Black Birds
They live on our roofs
and ramble on our lawns
They never stop nodding
and they make you feel
cynical.

Turkey
These are birds too,
even though
they’re cajoled
and crammed
and clipped
and co-erced
until they bleed for us,
at Christmas.

Gull
A varied people
Albatross-sized
or sharp white darts
tipped with black.
They argue a lot,
eat anything you throw at them,
and try to tell us
about the weather.

Duck
They are mostly seen
on man-made ponds,
and amuse us,
occasionally,
with their courting.
You somehow
feel obliged to them
and wish you’d brought
some bread.

 

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