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I recently saw on late night T.V. a film called 'Human Traffic', all about living the techno-dance 'rave-culture' of the last twenty years. I thought the film captured it perfectly, -- I really enjoyed it, as I was there for seven years myself. I took a note of the two passages below which I think say it all. (Definately more 'up' than 'down' I reckon--for sure!).
Extracts from the film about the 1990s ‘rave culture’ ‘HUMAN TRAFFIC’
The rising:
The present has gone ---
Fantasy is a part of reality, --- when we take the brakes off.
We are thinking clearly, yet not thinking at all; --- and this feels RIGHT!
We stop trying to control things.
A warm rush of chemicals through us, --- we’re fluctuating.
Is this brain damage?
We forget all the pain and the hurt in life ---
And we go somewhere else.
We are not threatened by people anymore;
All our insecurities have evaporated.
We are in the clouds now; we are wide open;
We are spacemen orbiting the Earth.
Huh! - Yeah! The world looks beautiful from up here now!
We are ‘nympho-leptics’, desiring, for the unobtainable.
We risk sanity for moments of temporary enlightenment.
So many ideas, --- so little meaning; ---
The last thought killed by anticipation of the next!
We embrace an overwhelming feeling of --- LOVE!
We flow in unison, -- we are TOGETHER. --- I wish this was real.
We want the universal feeling of togetherness
Where we are comfortable, ---with everyone.
We are in rhythm, --- part of a moment;
A movement to escape. We wave --- goodbye.
Ultimately we just want to be happy, --- YEAH! -- Ha Ha Ha!
No! No? -- what the fuck was I talking about? -- Ha ha ha!!!
The falling: - (too much for too long).
Well, what goes up must come down, -- and down, -- and down!!!
Everyone looks ill at the end of the night:
All lost the power of speech, desperately avoiding eye-contact.
Your new soul-mate that you have been talking cod-shit to
For the past five hours, about the story of creation,
Or the fourth ‘Star Wars’ film, is now a complete stranger;
You cant even look him in the eye.
The only thing you have in common now is paranoia:
It ’s coming through the walls, man!
The children of ecstasy aren’t safe anymore;
We are no longer all together as one,
But separate mental patients, who yearn
To be ejected out of this poisoned atmosphere,
To a warm bed and friendly therapist.
Reality is on her way ---
Where am I? --- what have I done? --- was it worth it?
By the way, what happened here?
All you have to look forward to is unconsciousness ---
But you can never sleep.
04:10 - 16 March 2010 - {0} -
I'm just back from my annual Skiing bash with my German friends. This year there was only one other person from England and ten of us in total. With the low value of the pound against other currencies, it was very expensive this year, - even self catering.It cost nearly 'a grand' for just a week; the lift pass was £184 on its own, plus £105 return rail-fare from Zurich airport to the resort. Oh well, you can't take it with you - as they say. The weather was very changable (and cold) but the snow conditions were good. Here are a few snowy pics. including the famous pyramidal 'Matterhorn', and the Aletsch glacier- where we were: so THATS why it was cold!
03:53 - 11 February 2010 - {1} -
My poetry group suggested we try and write a poem around the line from a favourite song. I chose the line * Those streetwise kids could steal your soul then sell it to you on the corner.* from the song 'In City Dreams' by rock guitarist Robin Trower. The reference to street-kids immediately brought the film 'Slumdog Millionaire' to mind . It had just been on TV, along with several documentaries about Dharavi, the slum the film is based on, in Mumbai (Bombay), India. This gave me plenty of inspiration to write this new poem about life there. I had only written one short poem in the last year, then suddenly I have just written four new ones in a week; funny how it goes. I'll post the others later. This one took me longer than usual to get right; 3 days. It came out well after much jigging though. Hope you like it.
DHARAVI DREAMS (say: Darra-vee)
In Dharavi, -- kids wade barefoot in vats of urine,
Tanning leather, then barefoot in vats of dye.
In Dharavi, -- they sift through piles from stinking waste bins,
Recycling everything they can, ’neath burning sky.
In Dharavi, -- barefoot in the mulch of putrefaction,
Amid shards, disease and rats for little pay.
In Dharavi, -- starving is the price for lack of action;
Living on just a few rupees a day.
In Dharavi, -- streets are so narrow, -- shantys touching;
People throng, - they can hardly pass each other.
In Dharavi, -- living, sleeping, working in a ‘hutch‘ and
Make things they need, and sell to one-another.
In clamorous din each inch is used in some endeavour;
In the mayhem, so much colour, so much drive:
Re-using scrap once-more-again in ways so clever.
Even in all this squalor, many thrive.
In Dharavi, -- whole families living on the pavement,
Making baskets by some rubble where they sleep.
In Dharavi, -- they sit wondering where each day went,
With everything they own in one small heap.
In Dharavi, -- More rubbish and more people keep on piling;
One million people live in one square mile.
In Dharavi, -- *painted ladies beckon, ‘come-on’ smiling,
with flashing eyes* that bid you tarry for a while.
In Dharavi, where kids are sometimes maimed on purpose
And sent out in their rags to prick our guilt;
Holding a thin baby; -- both their hands out.
On their rupees some little gangster’s empire ’s built.
* Streetwise kids could steal your soul then sell it to you on the corner.*
They are cunning, so resourceful and so bold.
When a mother dies there isn’t time to mourn her.
To survive means all emotions put on hold.
In Dharavi, -- water pipes run through open sewers,
The water flows for just two hours a day.
In Dharavi, -- they crap on path or in the putrid river,
Where women wash their clothes, as best they may.
In Dharavi, -- fetid, stagnant ditches, nauseating;
The all-pervading stench of human waste,
In Dharavi, -- where cholera and typhoid lie in waiting
And the quality of life is so debased.
Where human pride lies bruised and broken in derision,
But dignity and manners still survive.
In the evening, crowds round someone’s television:
Dreams of ‘Bollywood’ and plenty, kept alive.
© Barrie Cannon Mon.18th & 19th January 2010
03:33 - 22 January 2010 - {2} -
I had stopped writing nearly a year ago, wondering if I'd do any more poems. I joined a local poetry group to air my old stuff, but they have the annoying habit of setting projects which is a challenge I feel I should rise to -- occasionally at least. The only one I'd done since last January was the 'villanelle' format 'Aztec Lament' (see below.) Someone brought to our attention a 'two-verse reversal' poem where the 2nd verse is a mirror-image of the 1st; --completely back to front and yet still making sense. (tricky). So it was suggested that we should all try and write one. I thought I would try but had put it off till the very day of our next meet-up arrived. I then did the following in an hour with a further half hour for honing, adding four extra lines, - so 90mins in all, -- just in time for our session.
Its yet another of my philosophical musings, I'm afraid, this time on 'lost innocence', but at least I can still do it after a years gap.
NO WAY BACK TO EDEN
Once you know, -- you KNOW !
There is no way you can return --
To the innocence we don’t see go;
Experience comes; life twists and turns.
As we stumble forward to the unknown,
Away the cocoon of purity is blown.
In our empty psyche awareness is sown and
The knowledge of good and evil is grown.
Our security demands that we win.
Need turns to greed; control turns to sin.
When emotion and passions slowly erupt,
Sometimes domination and lust can corrupt --
That fading world full of magic and games.
Will it lead to good fortune or all end in flames?
To be independent and the wish to feel ‘whole’
May lead us to need, - or to feeding the soul.
To commit, be responsible, all take their toll but
We must know where we are going, - to feel in control.
Is our lost näiveté, carefree childhood dreams
Evolving to cunning and manipulative schemes?
Where went the openness and the innocence?
Where went the openness and the innocence?
Evolving to cunning and manipulative schemes
Is our lost näiveté, carefree childhood dreams.
We must know where we are going, --to feel in control.
To commit, be responsible, all take their toll and
May lead us to need, - or to feeding the soul:
To be independent and the wish to feel ‘whole’.
Will it lead to good fortune or all end in flames
That fading world full of magic and games ?
Sometimes domination and lust can corrupt
When emotion and passions slowly erupt.
Need turns to greed; control turns to sin
Our security demands that we win.
The knowledge of good and evil is grown
In our empty psyche, awareness is sown but
Away the cocoon of purity is blown
As we stumble forward to the unknown.
Experience comes; life twists and turns
To the innocence we don’t see go.
There is no way you can return ---
Once you know, -- you KNOW !
© Barrie Cannon (90 mins) Weds. 13th January 2010
This poem is a ‘two-verse reversal’, where the 2nd verse is a backwards, mirror image of the first and yet still makes sense. Done as a project for the Hornchurch poetry group.
01:48 - 14 January 2010 - {1} -
As I re-posted a 'horror' poem for Halloween recently, I thought I'd do the same for Christmas. I did an Xmas poem a while back which I think is poignant, so now is the perfect time to 're-inflict it on the world'. Its based on me, but exaggeratedly so, otherwise it wouldn't be so effective. I do enjoy it all and see friends and my adult kids but I daresay in a few years it'll be 'spot on' haha!
HAPPY XMAS TO ANYONE WHO READS IT & GOOD LUCK FOR 2010 TO ALL.
.
CHRISTMAS GHOSTS
He sits among his twinkling lights,
Paper-chains bedeck all rooms;
Twisting colours now are fading
But still cheerful in the gloom.
Criss-crossed ceilings, hung in festoons,
The odd sprig of holly – occasional balloon.
The tree is there, and tinsel bright;
Fragile baubles, tarnished balls:
Old plastic bells and decorations,
Festive knick-knacks big and small.
This great work of art would honour a Hall
But it ’s unlikely that anyone calls.
There ’s sweets and nuts and lots to drink;
All the usual festive fare
Lies temptingly in empty room,
Waiting to be shared ---
With those no longer there.
While Christian ‘solstice-stealers’ talk of ‘Heavenly Hosts’,
He is sitting in ‘Aladdin’s Cave’, surrounded by his ghosts.
Once seen by aunts and uncles,
By grandfolks now long gone;
Own children also saw -- and went
He sings the song alone.
Every faded paper-chain has memories to give;
Lovingly unpacked each year, the past can now re-live.
He ’s cooked his too-big turkey,
His Christmas-pud. was fine.
King in a ‘fairy-grotto’,
Lounging there supine;
His seasonal ‘trip in time’.
While Christian ‘solstice-stealers’ talk of ‘Heavenly Hosts’,
He is sitting in ‘Aladdin’s Cave’, surrounded by his ghosts.
It took him days to do all this,
Though very few will see ---
To make it worth the effort,
But it resurrects past glee.
Those oft-used little trinkets,
All the happy times they gave.
Recapturing lost innocence
Taking childhood to the grave.
This ritual extravaganza,
Hollow, sterile Christmas cheer.
The hardly eaten sweetmeats
That take him months to clear:
But he does it every year.
Sitting, wearing paper hat with mince pie and a beer.
Watching festive TV – holding back a tear,
While Christian ‘solstice-stealers’ talk of ‘Heavenly Hosts’,
He is sitting in ‘Aladdin’s Cave’, surrounded by his ghosts.
© Barrie Cannon. 2.00 - 4.30pm. Sun. January 13th 2008.
05:21 - 22 December 2009 - {2} -
While things continue to be quiet at this time of year, and with no adventures to report. I will continue to post some of my really old poems that have been 'buried under the weight of the ages'.
As you can see below, this one was my 9th effort, and is from way back in 1983, soon after my marriage had failed & friends were found 'wanting'. The one light in my life at the time was being drummer in a local group, and music in general. I wrote this to reflect my feelings at the time and in the hope that the group would use it as a song lyric. It DID fit one of our arrangements but wasn't actually used. It seems OK as a poem after all this time so I thought I would post it here.
9 MUSIC WON’T LET YOU DOWN
Hard times, – nothing rhymes,
Petty laws and endless fines,
Boring job in ‘tombstone town’, -
Music won’t let you down.
Don’t need girls to twist my brain,
Can’t face getting ‘pissed’ again,
When all else fails to ease the frown, -
Music won’t let you down.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways
to say the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song
or new perceptive ‘sting’.
Lovers stray, - friends betray,
It’s hard to face another day.
When motivation can’t be found,
Music won’t let you down.
Told to want what can’t be yours----
Taunts from flood-lit superstores.
Let’s sail away on clouds of sound, -
Music won’t let you down.
Dole queue, -- sniffing glue;
Nothing else for you to do,
A life that leads you gagged and bound,
Music won’t let you down.
Hit that button, - turn that dial,
Get some ‘brain-food’ for a while,
Light that ‘joystick’, pass it round, -
Music won’t let you down.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways
to say the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song
or new perceptive ‘sting’.
Don’t listen to the man in black
who says he’s got the answer,
With icy hands he pulls the strings
and YOU become his dancer.
We offer you a better way,
With no dead ends, - nothing to pay,
A web of wonder weaving tight,
Ever changing, - ever bright.
Night time cellar, - crushing crowd,
New religion, - hard and loud,
With ‘air guitar’ strikes poses bold, -
If it’s too loud then you’re too old.
Grinding rhythm, pounding beat,
Wailing lead and stamping feet,
A total world of endless scope,
A straw to cling to, - ray of hope.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways
to say the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song
or new perceptive ‘sting’.
© Barrie Cannon March 1984
12:28 - 30 November 2009 - {0} -
Things are a bit quiet now the cold & wetter weather heralds the onset of Winter, For want of anything to report I thought I would post one of my older poems. For those who can be bothered to read the whole story, its a nice bit of gothic horror. After all it WAS Halloween recently.
LILITH
He scarcely saw his life slip by,
While some would mock and some decry.
He persevered to lift the veil - and know.
With such determination
And obsessive dedication,
Went places where few had dared to go.
He’d locate, decipher, truths long-hidden,
Seeking power by arts forbidden.
From the ways of normal folk exscind.
On paths arcane, did acts profane,
A meglomadness – his domain,
Hearing shadow-secrets on the wind.
Has had to kill, fought demons shrill,
To harness such laws to his will.
Such dangerous knowledge, finally gained,
Comes just in time to lose it.
He’s no time left to use it.
His old and broken body ’s weak and drained.
Has one last chance; he has to try;
Must attempt the awful deed – or die.
Or his lonely lifetime’s learning was for nought.
Though danger-fraught, his ego caught,
No time for doubts or second thought;
For all - or nothing, comes his last resort.
Finds secret place of mortal sin,
Where few come out, who dared go in,
Where boundaries shift – and the veil is thin;
This place where hope lies dormant;
This place of threatened torment.
To raise the terrible that lurks within.
The brooding landscape never sleeps,
Whose secrets unseen watchers keep.
He climbs the ancient steps where sirens wailed.
Rock walls that whisper, - whining.
Where tendrils creep, - entwining.
Past remains of those who tried – and failed.
In this place of decay and degradation,
Air heavy with a dread anticipation,
He starts his long and complex conjuration.
In adoration, - praises her;
In subjugation, - raises her.
To make mistakes will bring annihilation.
She is the one solution,
To bring his absolution.
He’ll summon her from high, or lower, sphere.
Such power is an addiction,
His governing affliction.
He reveres this thing that all sane men would fear.
Oh timeless she, of many names.
Whose power we feel in wind and flames.
Does he really know what he’s begun?
With continued incantation,
This unholy evocation
Is completed - and in fear the deed is done.
But nothing - a terrible stillness.
For a few moments the Earth seems to stop.
Time itself holds its breath.
Relief or disappointment - could hear a pin drop;
Like hanging between life and death.
But wait – a murmur, a rustling of leaves.
A breath, then a breeze, then a wind that whirls.
A groaning, howling maelstrom;
Light and matter spin round him and swirls,
As something takes shape - but where from?
The very earth and stones submit.
It wrenches form from leaf and tree.
Oh no! What has he done?
Rising impassive, so dreadful and massive,
This thing that towers accusingly,
Whose black eyes burn like sun.
This beauteous, terrible Astaroth.
Primeval Gaian force, now raised in human form.
This Lilith, oh, wonder and fear!
Orbiting around her, fiery sparkles spin and swarm.
Such cold energy, keen and severe.
He dared to look into those eyes.
That stare – that drains from him his very force,
That bores, shimmering into his soul.
His last strength being drawn back to the source
Ebbs away all last will and control. .
What has he done? She consumes him.
Head swimming now, he sinks down to the earth,
Engulfed by a cold empty black.
Cruel fate has seen him fail at his re-birth,
Sees her slight smile – some feeling comes back.
Now he feels regeneration.
Like surging, so strong, so vital and pure,
Her energy glows and pulses through.
Too exquisite, too perfect almost, to endure,
A warm wave of power - to renew.
So sweet the ecstasy and pain,
Makes straight his bent and stiffened frame,
Stands tall and sees his limbs once more so strong.
Aching weight of age – now lifted,
A long lifetime’s sorrows – shifted,
But to whom now does his soul belong?
He realises he has retained all power.
Indeed, this WAS re-birth, his IS the hour.
In service to her – the World is HIS.
But now, through him, OUR world is HERS.
He has chained us to a curse.
Now mankind will find out what dominion is!
GOD HELP US ALL.
© Barrie Cannon 7th-10th January 2006
From an original concept from 22 years before.
04:41 - 10 November 2009 - {2} -
I have been attending a local poetry group this year in Hornchurch, Essex, nearby (actually a few yards from where I was born). Someone read out a poem he'd written in Villanelle form. This is a French poetry format that consists of five 3-line stanzas and a final quatrain. The first and third lines of the first stanza become alternating LAST lines or those that follow and BOTH these lines end the last quatrain.
We were set the task of writing a Villanelle for the next meeting.
Having seen the Aztec sites last year I chose their story as my theme but found it difficult to do in such limited space with the strictures of this format.
I finally did it on the very morning of our next meeting. I think it could be better but it will have to do.
The Aztecs called their poetry 'flower-songs'. this is my flower- song to them.
AZTEC LAMENT
All is overthrown, destroyed: all is now undone.
In just 200 years we’d built the ‘City of the Sun’,
But our gods must be angry and now turn their backs.
Its pyramids and palaces rose up from the lake
Its lovely floating gardens, now filled in, make my heart ache.
All is overthrown, destroyed; all is now undone.
We offered hearts in thousands, our temples ran with blood
For each days continuation and treasures wrought from mud.
But our gods must be angry and now turn their backs
With pale skin, on high horses, bright steel armour and guns,
They cut down our warriors, and mercy showed none.
All is overthrown, destroyed; all is now undone.
They came from the East, the old prophecy fulfilled;
Made allies with our vassal-states who took revenge and killed,
But our gods must be angry and now turn their backs.
Our domination now ended, our subjugation begun
Their smallpox now ravages, our cities torn down and sacked
All is overthrown; destroyed. all is now undone
Our gods must be angry and now turn their backs
© Barrie Cannon. (2hours) Weds. 7th October 2009
12:47 - 16 October 2009 - {3} -
Following on from the previous entry, here are some more photos of our Scottish car tour with the 'Ronart drivers club'. This batch are mainly the various exotic cars made by Arthur Wolstenholme, the 'genius' who designs and made all these 'Ronart' cars. How lucky are we then?
Driving the Kyle of Lochalsh
friend Steve in my W.152
Ronart 'Lightning',--one of only six made
the 'Lightning' again
a 'gaggle' of Ronarts
my W.152 with hood up;--yes it rained at first
the mighty Vanwall V12 - the only one
Lochalsh sunset
04:54 - 4 October 2009 - {0} -
From Sept 3rd to 14th I went with my friend Steve on a tour around Scotland in my Ronart sports car with the Ronart Drivers club. These cars are rare. Less than 80 W.152s (like mine) have been made. They are Jaguar engined retro-style 'specials' that look like 1950's racing cars and are very eye-catching with 6 stainless steel exhaust pipes coming out of one side.There was also one Ronart 'Lightning' with us. This is rarer still; only six were made. It is a stylish modern sports tourer with a detachable two-part top. Finally we had a Vanwall (Ferrari engined) V12 two-seat race-car which is made by the same company and is unique. So far only one single-seat Vanwall prototype plus this two seat bigger version have been made.They are 'street-legal', though are really proper racing cars, and aluminium bodied, whereas the Ronart W.152s are fibreglass. There were 16 of us on the trip in six W.152s, plus the 'Lightning' and the 2-seat Vanwall, and two other cars, all buzzing around Scotland. Needless to say we got noticed. We stayed in various nice hotels, ate well and saw lots of fantastic scenery, inland and coastal, plus several castles, including the picturesque Eilean Donan at Skye, Dunvegan, the seat of the Macleod clan and Urquhart beside Loch Ness. We also saw the monster (-See below).
We had three boat trips. One on Loch Ness, one at Skye with underwater windows, (but didn't see much -only kelp), and one that took us to the islands of Mull, Iona and Staffa. The rock formations on Staffa are amazing; upright hexagonal basalt columns that look man-made, the same as the 'giants causeway in Ireland. This is then topped by a grass-covered shaley top. In places these columns are twisted in all directions. Also here is the famous Fingal's cave, where the columns continue inside. Its only a small island but a fantastic sight.
The weather was bad for the first four days and some of the cars only had small aero-screens and no hoods. I had the sense to fit my big screen which allows a hood so I thought ahead.After leaving Oban for Loch Ness the weather was good till we got home.
The company was good and we had lots of fun, many great drives and saw
much great scenery. My windscreen cracked after hitting a pothole but its insured if I can find someone to fix such a rare one.
Eilean Donan castle, near Skye
11th century abbey on Iona
Iona abbey's cloister
'Nessie' herself !!!!
castle Uquhart, Loch Ness
Island of Staffa showing Fingal's cave
Fingals cave itself, Staffa
rock formations on Staffa
sunset at strome ruins, Kyle of Lochalsh
02:02 - 4 October 2009 - {2} -
While I'm getting my next 'post' about my sports-car holiday in Scotland organised, I have dug out one of my early poems which hasn't seen the light of day for many moons. As you can see its my tenth and was written way back in 1984. Probably my first 'philosophical' one; an oft-repeated theme--that 'meaning of life' question.
10. LOOKING FOR THE ROAD
Many are the times
I’ve wondered 'bout the land of glory,
Get off this crazy circus ride, -
Put down this heavy load.
I’ve got to leave behind
This crazy world of woe and worry.
It’s time to find some peace of mind, -
Go looking for the road.
Many are the signs
That push me ever yonder.
Blue skies over distant hills,
Where perfumed winds once blowed.
Anxious faces, - lined,
Who never stop to ponder
The sweeter pill of Nature’s will,
Along another road.
It’s a lonely road, and long,
(They say), that has no turning.
With very few companions
Looking hard for joy and peace.
But I’ll keep striving on,
To satisfy this yearning.
However long it takes to free -
My soul and find release.
It’s hard to take this lonely path
With few to spur you on,
To keep your faith in Shangri-La,
Still search for Avalon.
Sometimes meeting fellow seekers,
I must have found the way.
The road is getting crowded now,
Perhaps today’s the day!
Many people push and shove,
The queues are getting longer,
Arguing and fighting
Where enlightened ones have strode.
No more signs of ‘brother-love’,
Just survival of the stronger.
I never thought that EVERYONE
Was looking for the road.
Competition’s getting keener
Than it was back home,
It seems the grass is never greener
However far you roam.
There’s no escape from human-nature, -
(The message of my ode),
You must just accept your fate, you’ll
NEVER find the road.
Barrie Cannon. November 1984
01:05 - 16 September 2009 - {1} -
In mid-July I went to 'Rally of the Giants', a big show for old, pre-1960 American cars. I took my 1933 Hupmobile 'K-321' cabriolet roadster. It was the only Hupmobile there as there are few in the UK, and this model is rare as only 4 or 5 are known world-wide, by the Hupp owners club. Hupmobile were on their last legs by then, only making 7,300 cars that year and going bankrupt in 1940.
After a recent engine re-build the car goes well & the 100mile round trip went finel. My car actually won the 2nd place in the 'prohibition-period' class and here is a picture of me with the trophy. Lucky me, eh?
I have posted two more photos of old cars there.
The event was held at Knebworth House in Hertfordshire, which has lovely gardens to explore including a section with dinosaurs in; see below.
Me, Hupp & trophy
Model 'T' Ford 'barn-find' for sale (C) 1920
Model 'A' Ford truck (C) 1930
Knebworth House
the gardens could be dangerous
04:42 - 2 September 2009 - {3} -
I've wrote this poem, below at the beginning of the year along with three others, which have proved to be my last to date. I have posted the other three since then ( 'Flight 66?', ' A Strange Thing' and 'Ship of Lost Souls' but not this one. I mentioned it to someone at a local poetry group who was interested in seeing it, so here it is.
Will I write any more?-- who knows? I've done 82 so far and think it would be good to get up to 100, but only time will tell. I'm busy tinkering on my vintage cars at present. Maybe inspiration will come in the quieter Winter months.
I hope you folks out there like the poem. I'll re-post some old ones again later.
.
EMBERS
In this cold desert night
I sit huddled, and I stare
Into my fire; I look for answers
In the fiery patterns there.
I pull my clothing round me – tight.
A chill breeze pulls at my back,
Curling and twisting the smoke
As it thins and rises in the black.
Watching by their million-year-old light,
The panoply of stars are my roof;
Some long since gone, -- their light shines on.
The moon sails past so bright,
Seeming so wise and aloof:
Silently revealing the sand’s distant dunes,
And nearby temples, half submerged,
With their forgotten glyphs and runes.
They watch our endless ‘come and go’,
While we still look in the embers
Of our little fires, in many lands,
Still seeking the same answers
We can never really understand; ---
That we also sought back then, when
Curiosity began to flow.
So, there is also fire in heaven,
And heat, out there in the dark!
My fire now reaches out to it
With each and every spark.
Those desert-night-stars twinkling
With light they sent as we lit our first fires;
For hundreds and thousands of years they have shone.
Watching our empires, as they rise, then are gone;
Our meandering, our philandering, all our desires.
I stare into the embers
Of that fire we started, -- Oh, SO long ago;
That has ever since, consumed us
With a burning need to know.
Mine, just the latest eyes now dimming,
That have blazed and dimmed through time-------
With tears of hope and sadness brimming,
Watching lives just come and go.
Lives at first that burned like fire
But ended up without intent.
In our frustration and our ire,
We note the years just came and went.
Pondering and wondering -----
We stare into OUR embers
And wonder what it meant.
The embers hold the secrets
And the essence of their source,
But when the fuel is all burned up
They give us no recourse.
Stars, -- sparks from that creation-fire
That burst so long ago.
They inspire our search in little fires
For what we need to know.
While wandering, --- life squandering,
We are learning slowly, as we go.
Our fires burning and we, yearning
For the secret - of the seeds we sow.
We forever search the embers, before we succumb;
Look deep into the embers, but the answers never come.
© Barrie Cannon Tues. 27th – Fri. 30th Jan 2009.
12:55 - 13 August 2009 - {3} -
Here are a few more interesting pix from this years Glastonbury Festival from a month ago. Hope you find them amusing. A great time was had!!
 
12:50 - 30 July 2009 - {1} -
Here are another five photos from this year's Glastonbury Festival, where the line-up and weather were the best for some time. I will put a final five pix up in a few days. I hope they give an idea of what a great colourful event this festival is; -- reputed to be the biggest in the world, and certainly the coolest and least commercial.
12:58 - 22 July 2009 - {0} -
Well, lucky old me!-- I managed yet again to get a ticket, making it only one missed in the last 19 years. Glastonbury Festival is the biggest in the world and definately the best show on Earth. In a beautiful Somerset valley with too many stages to count showing all styles of music --rock, indie, folk, jazz, world, electro-dance-- you name it, and of course all the mega stars of the old days. Plus every kind of food you could want, comedy, circus, general weirdness & mayhem, and partying all night
This year was the best line-up for years AND we had good weather for once; (apart from heavy rain Thurs. eve which luckily dried out quick due to hot days after.) This year it was even more colourful than ever with loads of flags , sculptures & other arty stuff. For me Neil Young & Bat for Lashes were the highlights and Lady Gaga was good fun, but saw so many other good acts too.
Here are the 1st batch of pics. and I'll put some more up in a few days.
For those who weren't there--your lives have been pointless, haha!!
06:04 - 3 July 2009 - {3} -
When in Mexico last December, I took a trip into the interior to visit some impressive mineral encrusted cliffs & pools at a place called Hierve El Agua. Here are a few pictures of the formations, plus one of some Mixtec ruins we visited on the same day.
04:29 - 15 June 2009 - {3} -
To post something while deciding which next batch of photos of Mexico to put up, I thought I'd post this poem, which is the last one I have written to date. Its a bit of a morbid subject but there it is. I still have one more poem called 'Embers' to put up, then I'll have to dredge up some of my older ones as I've stopped writing for now, (ever? -who knows)
. FLIGHT 66-?
There is the twisted, blistered metal,
Matted cloth and shattered glass:
The smell of burning plastic,
Burning fuel-oil burning grass.
There was a leaking fuel-line,
There was a fractured wire,
And when a certain switch was pushed,
The sky lit up with fire.
Burning rubber, burning life-vests
Smoulder underneath the foam,
Wailing sirens, wailing firemen
Search for those not going home.
Burnt and scattered suitcases,
Bags torn apart and strewn around,
Clothes and shoes flung far and wide
Litter several miles of ground.
In the charred and broken remnants
Children’s toys lie in this mess;
Their owners’ little lives much shorter
Than dead parents could have guessed.
Oh, yes! --- and there are bodies.
Some, near perfect, widely thrown;
Nearer, others charred away
And burnt down to the bone.
All were well this morning,
Though their seeds of fate were sown;
Going off on holiday ---
If only they had known.
A torn-off, broken tail-fin
Stands stark against the blue:
Once part of something marvellous
Only hours ago --- it flew!
If you flout the laws of nature
You’d better do it with precision:
It is ‘Russian-roulette’ you play, ---
Don’t make a bad decision.
It seems life lasts forever
As we sparkle in the sun,
But everybody has a time,
And when it ’s done, it ’s DONE!
© Barrie Cannon. ( I hour.) Sun.25th & Mon.26th January 2009.
01:52 - 12 June 2009 - {3} -
Here are a few more pictures from my recent holiday in Mexico. When flying fromMexico City to Oaxaca we flew around Mexico's famous active volcano Mt. Popacatepetl, (great name). I'd never flown so near a volcano before and it was impressive , rising above the clouds with its little plume of smoke.
The other photos are of the (Zapotec, I think) archaeological site of Monte Alban which is perfectly placed on a high central rocky plynth completely surrounded by a lower valley.
03:44 - 27 May 2009 - {3} -
Here's one of my poems from over a year ago, when I went through my most prolific poem-writing period so far. It was an idea I had a year & a half prior to that, when staying with my (then) girlfriend in Bristol. We were playing backgammon while smoking 'something strong', and as has happened on previous occasions when I've smoked 'something strong' I suddenly got a revelation,-- a fleeting but complete insight into something. This time it was the emotion of shame and its variances. I vowed to make a poem on this theme and some time after we had split up I finally wrote this poem. I hasten to add that none of the scenarios in the verses are based on personal experience, but a selection of usual reasons for shame. I, of course am a paragon of virtue, haha!
I am pleased with it and like the twist at the end.
THE NATURE OF SHAME
It was betrayal of the beautiful
By any other name.
Sin behind the back of love;
Excuses just seem lame.
I destroyed the things I valued
With desires I cannot tame.
I stand beside myself,
I don’t like what I’ve done:
I am beside myself,
Don’t like what I’ve become.
Friendship manipulations;
Benefiting from false claim;
Undermining reputations;
Take advantage and defame:
Domination of the weaker
Is my cruel and wicked aim.
I look in the mirror
And I don’t like what I see;
Self-despising is not surprising,
There is no pride in being me.
But I cant miss this opportunity ---
A ‘worm’ inside my brain
Is telling me, compelling me
To do such things again.
Though victory is hollow,
I know further sins will follow.
I chide and I reproach myself ---
I know I lose more than I gain.
Biting at the feeding hand,
Embezzlement and theft:
Robbing those that love you ---
I feel guilty and bereft.
Yet, I feel I have to do it,
Though there will soon be nothing left.
I sit beside myself
With head in hands again.
I am beside myself;
I deserve my own disdain.
In seedy situations
I must play this sordid game;
I can’t help infatuations,
Unhealthy passions are aflame.
My weakness is my bleakness ---
I wallow in my ‘nameless shame’.
I stand before myself,
Self-esteem takes one more blow;
How I abhor myself ---
The lowest of the low.
But I cant miss this opportunity ---
A ‘worm’ inside my brain
Is telling me, compelling me
To do such things again.
Though victory is hollow,
I know further sins will follow.
I chide and I reproach myself ---
I know I lose more than I gain.
I brought about so many downfalls,
I have crushed so many dreams;
But the regime made me do it;
I’m instrument of wicked schemes.
Sometimes we need to kill and torture ---
Higher orders justify the screams.
I look into the mirror,
But it won’t look me in the face.
There ’s no disguising its despising
And it won’t share my disgrace.
Temptation, greed or hatred,
Genetic weakness I can blame,
But the acts are wholly mine,
I only have myself to blame.
Self-torture is it’s own reward,
Integrity I can’t reclaim.
I throw away propriety
But always with regret:
Risk castigation by society
But I can’t stop myself, --- not yet!
© Barrie Cannon. Tues.18th & Weds.19th March 2008.
06:27 - 5 May 2009 - {0} -
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