Harold Norse 1916-2009 RIP

Harold Norse 1916-2009 RIP
Originally uploaded by pitoucat

I AM NOT A MAN I am not a man.I cant earn a living,buy new things for my family.I have acne and a small peter. I am not a man. I dont like football,boxing and cars.I like to express my feelings.I even like to put my arm around friends shoulder. I am not a man. I wont play the role assigned to me- the role created by Madison Avenue,Playboy,Hollywood and Oliver Cromwell. Television does not dictate my behaviour. I am not a man. Once when i shot a squirrel I swore that I would never kill again.I gave up meat. The sight of blood makes me sick .I like flowers. I am not a man. I went to prison for resisting the draft. I do not fight when real men beat me up and call me queer. I dislike violence. I am not a man. I have never raped a woman . I dont hate blacks. I dont get emotional when the flag is waved. I dont think I should love America or leave it. I think I should laugh at it. I am not a man. I have never had the clap. I am not a man Playboy is not my favourite magazine. I am not a man. I cry when i am unhappy. I am not a man. I do not fell superior to women. I am not a man. I dont wear a jockstrap. I am not a man. I write poetry. I am not a man. I meditate on Peace and Love. I am not a man. I dont want to destroy you. http:/www.poemhunter.com/ More information about the poet Harold Norse and this poem

NICK GRIFFIN AND HIS FASCIST SCUM

Originally uploaded by ross mcross.

His blankness beyond human the hollowness of his thoughts like junkies needles in vein, his soul infected. Are their monsters on your street , take a whak at them , offer them no christian love , offer them no hadith , offer them only stones and bricks. We are living in dangerous times, I am afraid their freedom will go to far, get rid of their diseased houses but love thy neighbour

Often Unobserved

Often unobserved, I smell my own breath.
Still searching for something forgotten,
I bang the door behind me, shouting out.
Sometimes I think 6 pints of lager
Are like signposts pointing backwards,
But I don't care they keep me ambushed..
I look up, theres no smell in the colour blue
As the wind blows through the spaces,
Into the rich source of my longings
Into the worlds between worlds
Into the loneliest place I know.
Under these words are the hidden words
I cant for now  say to you,
Any gaps you can find fill with sighs.
As Leafs shadow the waters shifting,
like an instrument endlessly strummed
Splashing and bubbling under the surface

Captain Confusion and the Chaos theory

Captain Confusion and the Chaos Butterfly
Originally uploaded by Lionel Ash

Here I stand like an old woman to weak to sleep. I sit in the elephant hour, alone with a herd of bananas. And if i could, I would sleep with them, or at least be their nightmare, released in a stampede of surrender

Patti Smith- TRUE MUSIC

Patti Smith
Originally uploaded by Gnabra

"Time is expressed in the heart of an instrument. Something that stops in the heart of a man. Time is the wall and the space around. Time is the tree a life that resounds. Time to adore and time to go. To give to the fisherman the slippers of Rome, the whirling embrace the arms of the fold to gather together the swirl of the leaves turning and falling returning as thee to the clay of creation though your children will hold the wave of your hand the smile of your soul." - Patti Smith

I was fortunate to catch this talent deliver incendiary performance at Roundhouse a couple of years ago her covers album period.Remember her playing white rabbit guessed then that theres many forms of magic .First thought best thought I remember their was something electric in the air that night. In the midst of her war dance George Bush was leading the race into an unmanageable illegal war. And she raged ,for us and our children too

Ouch!

Ouch!
Originally uploaded by KAPRELESS

sometimes the morning arrives with uncertainty, yesterdays enthusiasms just dont arrive. Often i am hungry, i miss the pick and mix and shopping in woolworths.wish the world good luck.read about randomness ,chaos and outsider art. Sometimes in that order.The postman comes calling,with large paper bag.I choose when i will open it. All i Know its a surprise........

O-JAZZ-O- Bob Kaufman (13/7/ 46 - 25/ 7/15)

Where the string
At
some point,
Was umbilical jazz,
Or perhaps,
In memory,
A long lost bloody cross,
Buried in some steel cavalry.
In what time
For whom do we bleed,
Lost notes, from some jazzman's
Broken needle.
Musical tears from lost
Eyes.
Broken drumsticks, why?
Pitter patter, boom dropping
Bombs in the middle
Of my emotions
My father's sound
My mother's sound,
Is love,
Is life.

14

14
Originally uploaded by golicdejan

we are just dust falls from demagnetized patterns

wild ceredigion

GOD - Waldo Williams

he does not stand by,
forming a finished purpose.
From our infirmity.
He comes to us,and offers aid.
His unseen hand a mystery.
 Not to be fathomed.