comorant with bicycle and lampshade and other pictures

 OSTROGOTHICKVOMIT 

TINYTHUNDER 

DOLLISHILLDREAMTIME

DODO MODERN POETS: WINTER LIGHTS

Friday 13 December 2013

WINTER LIGHTS

JENNY RIDLEY

Classic poems set to acoustic music

P.R.MURRY

Obese Advocate of Cannibalising Royalty

LISA HITCHEN

Passionate poetry that doesn´t shrink from the personal

PAUL McGRANE

fine London poet making his Dodo debut

Friday 13 December 2013

8pm

The Poetry Café

22 Betterton Street, WC2H 9BX

£7/6 0207 420 9880, Covent Garden tube

dodo modern poets letting fly with words 0208 687 1930; 07769 777022 http://dodomodpoets.com/dodo.shtml

patric.poet@zen.co.uk

COPD

I think of snails as I move along the pavement

In bursts of about 50 yards at a time.

Then I stop and pant to regain my breath

Then begin again my next 50 yard burst,

Marching to the sound

Of my stick tapping on the stones,

And the jingling of my jacket zip,

As it strikes my stick.

I stop and pant and start to worry.

I could become unstable and fall over,

If I got caught in the slipstream

From an overtaking snail,

Or be buffeted by the back draft

Of a tortoise or a slowworm passing me by.

 Once I climbed the highest mountain in Bulgaria,

I saw the wild chamois running,

Up the flanks of mount Vikren.

Now every trip to the bus stop is

The ascent of Everest without oxygen

Marching to the sound

Of my stick tapping on the stones,

And the jingling of my jacket zip,

As it strikes my stick.

IT’S ALL HOT AIR ISN’T IT?

Language is like steam,

And then it’s like ice,

And then it’s like water

It can name what it changes,

And change what it names.

It is constant over ages,

But it’s never the same.

It can send you to sleep

With a lullaby’s croon.

Send rockets to mars,

And put men on the moon.

Language is bitter,

It’s precise and it’s sweet

It’s an elaborate arrangement

Made from pieces of live meat.

The unknown unknown unknown gnomes

·       As we know, There are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know, there are known unknowns, that is to say, we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we do not know we do not know.

·       Donald Rumsfeld, Department of Defense news briefing, 12 February 2002.

We don’t have to worry about

The known gnomes,

We can survey them from

The windows of our homes,

And, giving our net curtains

A discreet twitch

Check that they continue to

Smile and fish

As they dutifully sit

Adorning corners of our lawns.

And as to those unknown gnomes,

there are those that are within our ken

and we don’t need to worry about them

because all they do, is sit and wait

packed in boxes or contained in crates

they won’t leap into action

but will, when asked,

come out to perform their gnomic tasks.

But it could be that there still remain,

Unknown gnomes who are unknown

Living, perhaps on distant plains

Or residing in places we do not know

Up on windswept high plateaux,

Or sharing lairs

With undiscovered Himalayan bears

It is these little men we fear

Because we are not sure if they are there.

They may lurk away in the dark

Discernable only by strange enigmatic marks

And possible suggestive signs

That it could be that they leave behind,

To cloud the corners of our minds.

With puzzles that we cannot solve

Like why are they? And who are they?

And what could be the strange genome?

Of the unknown unknown unknown gnomes

The Badgerpeople

The superheroes of today

Have all long passed their sell-by date.

Super, Bat, Spider and Wolverine

Were all just marketed,

Like tubs of margarine.

And the truth is that

These yanks in tights

Defend capitalism with all their might.

But those who fight for another cause

Are padding through the dark

On their silent paws

And with faces striped in black and white

The Badgerpeople will join the class fight.

And when the light of a new day dawns,

There’ll goalposts planted in Tories’ lawns,

And from the poles there flies a banner:

“Cull the Bankers, not the Badgers.”

Capitalists may strengthen

Walls and gates,

But, it’s all too little and all too late,

As a different future now starts to take place

And it’s got black and white stripes on its furry face.

Postcards from Havant

seahorse hiding in kelp to escape from 2 car poet who wants to paint it gold

Today I was emailed a questionnaire,

From a hotel that is called The Bear

Which was an inn that I had been in

And white was the colour of its clean linen.

And hot and cold water from the taps there spouts

But traveller beware if you go out

At midnight The Bear’s gate is locked up tight

And so it remains for the rest of the night

So if a guest stays out too late

He or she may wander round in a state,

Unless they have the knowledge and the knack

To go through the carpark, which is round the back.

Then the facts must be told, truth can’t be massaged

You have to enter through The Bear’s back passage.

OF SEAGULLS AND TOFFEE HAMMERS

whack a cliff

with a toffee hammer

for long enough

and a tiny fragment

might fall off

and whack it again

and again and again

until your hands

go numb with pain

but all you’ll get

in return for your aches

is just enough rock

to make a rock cake

and the cliff will

still stand still 

while you nurse

your crippled hand

which you’ve worked

down to the bone

but that is if 

you do it alone

but if every worker in the world

got off their arse

and they realised that

they belong to one class

and wielded toffee hammers

all at once

the cliff would crumble

into dust

and the seagulls

would wheel and scream

and make a fuss

saying “ you thoughtless proles

have evicted us

from our cliff top homes”

the moral of this ode then clearly is

that seagulls are class enemies.

Lament for a library: WILLESDEN 20/8/2013

Got off the bus

Bad dust all around

And a tearing, cracking, crunching noise,

The sound of library being destroyed.

A pack of mechanical dinosaurs

Relentlessly rip it up

With their great iron jaws

And drill it down to dust

Like gigantic metal demented dentists

Until only rubble remains

Where learning was done

It’s been flattened and smashed

Down to a desolate plain

And so it can been be built on again

Which might apparently seem insane

If profits didn’t seep out

At every stage

To the demolition firm,

And the architects

Whose coffers will swell

To the builders of the new build

And the estate agents as well

Everyone will benefit the Council assures

And soon we won’t remember

What we liked the old library for

But extinction is forever

Rivers never run back

And sheep  always bleat

And predators eat

BIG show, small works! 6-27 August Willesden

P.Murry artworks in this show
BIG show, small works! PRIVATE VIEW  Tuesday 6 August 6-9PM 

BAR Gallery, Unit 5, Queens Parade, London, NW2 5HT (near Willesden Green tube)

Pierre Petitpied and the Big Foot

Pierre Petitpied (P.Pp) developed an obsession as he entered his sixth decade; and, luckily for him, this obsession was facilitated and enabled by the fact that he lived in an industrialised nation in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

Inspite of the surname that he had inherited from his Gallic ancestors, P.Pp’s pedal appendages had recently swollen. Why, only ten years ago, P.Pp had worn size 9 shoes, but now he was onto or into 13/14 footwear and xxxx wide at that. His footwear was now hard to find and ugly. Also his swollen feet were either a cause and/or side effect of the several maladies that he now endured. Often, nowadays, he was as good as immobile. He stared at his computer, farted and pursued his obsession across the Internet.

The object of his obsession had many different names in many different places, but, one American one was, appropriately enough, Bigfoot. Pierre was fascinated by this, then cryptid, which like some other latecomers to the ‘reality’ of scientific recognition hovered on the edge of fossil, myth and folktale; as Bonobos, Mountain Gorillas and Coelacanths had done. Pierre expected Bigfoot to be confirmed as an officially extant being soon.

P.Pp had spent too much sleepless time recently viewing on-line video clips of or about this possible hairy thing. He neglected other obligations and commitments to do this. The minutes of obscure left-wing political sect meetings went unwritten and their tortuous agendas were circulated late. When Pierre’s washing machine meeped, because it had just completed a wash cycle,  and eradicated shit and sweat stains from his tatty old clothes; Pierre became immensely irritated by this interruption, he would have smashed the expensive domestic device with a sledgehammer, had he been able to do so. The machine always meeped when a video operator was zooming in on something, and commentator, (usually the same male person), was saying, of some chunk of American forestry: “…I’ve got it, I’ve seen motion, just in here,… something’s moving in the bushes! It must be watching me!”. Often the tensions of such possible sightings were increased by audible panting and the crunching of leaves underfoot as the Bigfoot hunter moved in on his pseudo-prey. The commentator might often then add that he was experiencing a “weird” or “creepy” feeling or state the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. The commentaries would sometimes be interspersed with frequent obscenity and blasphemy.

This, “The Encounter”, (or “Near Encounter” or “Alleged Encounter”), video seemed to have common features across Anglo-saxon/Celtic cultures. Video clips showing hunts for the Australian Bigfoot, the Yowie, were basically very similar to American ones, except that the Australian commentators used the word “bloody” more.

“The Encounter” was probably Bigfoot video in its wildest state: there were other sub-genres. Lectures and presentations from crypto-zoological conferences, radio interviews and discussion panels, documentaries involving expensive looking technological and human geegaws.

P.Pp liked all of these types of Bigfoot video, for him they all provided access to many co-existing, contradictory and compelling parts of the human condition and in doing so they far surpassed the narcissists and poseurs who held mainstream TV in a nausea-inducing pseudo strangleholds. Pierre preferred even mythical monsters to the monstrous egos of televised “personalities” and ham actors.

Pierre could not recall how he formed a connection to Bigfoot video. He had always liked crypto-zoological topics and in his boyhood had conducted public library researches about the Loch Ness monster, gigantic squids, sea serpents, salt water crocodiles and other such exotic entities. He sometimes claimed that he had seen an “Alien Black Cat”, whilst cycling near the Malvern Hills of Worcestershire.

But now the Sasquatch had got its smelly claws deeply but metaphorically embedded in Pierre’s fat flesh. He loved to watch videos from all the Bigfoot video sub-genres. He liked debates between talking heads, and he liked the expositions of lone experts and academies about ‘internal’ Bigfoot controversies such that over whether Bigfoot had human DNA, and whether or not it could therefore be classified as an ape. Another hot topic was whether it would be ethical to shoot a Sasquatch, to prove its existence, which echoed the Vietnam War notion of Bombing Huė in order to save it. The latter also sparked sub-controversies as to the veracity of a couple of alleged terminations and the non-production of a frozen cryptid stiff.

P.Pp was an aficionado of those vids which seemed just to display foliage. Often the makers of such conceptual pieces would repeat a shot or sequence slowed down or zoomed in or out and assert that the change in a single pixel denoted the presence of an eight foot tall giant bipedal apeman. Sometimes Sasquatch cineastes would actually draw the outlines of creatures onto the film to show that they had actually filmed a Bigfoot.

Then there the stick structures and the language. No one seemed to have ever videoed a Bigfoot making a stick structure, (or what the cognoscenti sometimes called a ‘formation’). In essence stick structures were piles of sticks, sometimes leaning against tree trunks and sometimes near broken trees. At first glance, these things could be the result of storm damage and, no doubt, this is what some stick structures were: but some structures seemed as though they could only have been placed as they were by actions driven by some sort of intention, or at least that was the verbal picture that the commentators made. The stick structures were often found, on close inspection, to consist of branches, logs, or even small trees that all been broken off, (not sawn or cut), to the same length. Sometimes different types of tree from different places had been collected together to make the structure. Some structures were as basic as two or three sticks crossed, or a sapling bent over to make an arch or sticks leant against a tree or together making a sort of skeletal wigwam, so that the sides could be filled out and made more solid if more branches and foliage were piled on. A few solidly constructed shelters were filmed, but mostly the builders, (whoever they were), seemed interested in the skeletal shelters as a symbol  to denote the presence of a being capable of building such a thing.  They were displays of strength and intention, which most clearly shown in the biggest “stick” structures, which had entailed uprooting and rearranging entire trees. Usually the latter featured a tree wrenched out of the soil, picked and jammed up off the ground in fork of other trees. P.Pp had seen a photo of one instance of a large tree that been reversed and rammed into the ground so that it roots were sticking up into the air; maybe it was the angle of the image taken, but that had looked like the boundary marker for a Bigfoot Emperor to Pierre, wordlessly stating; “Look on my works, mortals, and despair for I AM strong enough to rip this out of the ground and put it back the wrong way up; so don’t piss with me, or I WILL  do the same to you!”

But the smaller stick structures, made from twigs, perhaps by juvenile Sasquatch were more impressive to Pierre than great displays of strength and power. They seemed like sketches by someone trying out an artform, where the medium was wood and the canvas was woodlands.  Making art might or might not be a defining human characteristic, but calling a pile of sticks art was a major industry where Pierre came from.

P.Pp thought that language, in terms of the systematic organisation of sound into meaning-associated phonemes was a basic human characteristic, but he also recognised that it could be mimicked as it was by mynahs, starlings and some sorts of parrots. Some, who had recorded and analysed the utterances of Sasquatch said that parts of them sounded like Spanish, others detected Japanese and Native American like tones.

So, on a couple of counts, art and language, Sasquatch hovered on the brink of humanity, whilst official recognition of its existence, (whatever that might be, (was debatable). In 2011 the US Army Corps of Engineers published an illustrated description of Sasquatch in its “Washington Environmental Atlas", (see http://www.bigfootencounters.com/articles/fbi.htm), as  one of the species of wild animal that lived in the American North West. 

In 2013, one of several ongoing Sasquatch controversies was over whether Bigfoot had human DNA and whether or not this meant that it was a decendant of the giant prehistoric ape, Gigantopithecus.

Looking at the video clips of beautiful American forests, P.Pp was able to join in several of the controversies, and do a bit of tourism, vicariously. Art, DNA and language were not the half of it as video aficionados and strange crypto-zoological pundits (some of whom could have been quasi-mythical, themselves), engaged in heated dispute about what one or the other had or had not posted on the web. They interviewed themselves sitting in their cars denouncing each other with venomous diatribes, eg: “…SasquatchWizardX and TexasBigfootPete are totally dumbass hoaxers who film their boyfriends running about in monkey suits in the woods at night hooting when they are all drunk. Muthafuckas like the bring the noble discipline of crypto-zoology into total, but total disrepute. Etc etc…”

P.Pp would have joined in himself, as he liked the occasional on line ruck, but as he had got himself into the position of moderating the slightly less polite disputes of English eco-socialists, who felt moved to send each other pictures of Stalin from time to time: Pierre sat on his hands and sucked his Bigfoot toes and looked a pretty pictures of pine trees as the debates of Sasquatchery unfolded around him; even the blurred image of what  might be another human being, far, far away, made him feel less lonely.

SASQUATCH

We are the Sasquatch,

That lives in America,

Or maybe we don’t,

Maybe we’re a myth.

Some try to catch us,

On videos and cameras

But film men in monkey suits

Who are taking the piss.

Some call us wood apes,

Some call us Bigfoot

Since our pedal appendages

Might tend to be huge.

And footprints are all,

We might leave behind us

When we seem to vanish

Into the woods.

They want to define us,

Dissect us, confine us

Measure us on tables,

Kill us to know us

But science can’t find us

We slip through the treeline

One glimpse and we’re gone.

Are we real great apes?

Giant and hairy,

Red-eyed and scary

Or just an illusion

That howls in the night?

"We am exuded by no Hamsters" and "A Portrait of the Universe as a Young Halibut"

SEE ARTWORKS by P>MURRY "We am exuded by no Hamsters" and "A Portrait of the Universe as a Young Halibut" in...

BAR GOES  ELECTRIC BAR has been through many changes,  with a  change in gallery co-ordinator,  location and new board members. Our aim  bring Brent artists of  all levels together.  We can finally tell  you that  ELECTRIC HOUSE  is our new home! Until the end of June, at least. Our FIRST SHOW  ‘Explorations’  IS A MEMBER'S WORK ONLY SHOW  and a response to the new space... We are planning to be open on Saturday 11th May  between 5-8PM, We want as many of you to come along and be part of BAR's future at  ELECTRIC HOUSE Making work that will RE-INVENT the space. This is YOUR Gallery. PRIVATE VIEW ‘Explorations’  14TH MAY 6-8  JUNE SHOW A showcase for all organisations and  individuals that are in transition. More details to follow soon... BAR – Brent Artist’s Resource is an artist led voluntary  organization founded in 1984.  We aim to: serve the cultural needs of the people of Brent  and North West London, provide a supportive  environment for artists in their professional development  create opportunities to participate in the  Visual Arts through exhibitions, workshops,  mentoring schemes and information. If you have more QUESTIONS? Just email  info@brentartistsresource.org.uk  or find more info here:  www.brentartistsresource.org.uk

Creating Ghosts

Creating Ghosts: Artists and members of the local communities creating silhouette paintings in The Brent Artists Resource Gallery at the Willesden Library Centre in north west London. This was the final show in the current gallery before its demolition scheduled for April 2013.The Project was devised and supervised by Kevin Vincenzo Keating.

CLOSING PARTY: GHOSTS

WE LIKE A GOOD PARTY AT BAR GALLERY!     You are invited to celebrate the past and future of BAR, through light and shadow, with Kevin Vincenzo Keating who will be curating: CLOSING PARTY: GHOSTS Thursday April 18th 6-8PM BAR gallery Willesden, 95 High Road, LONDON, NW10 2SF TO MAKE THE SHOW, WE NEED YOUR HELP! COME ALONG ON 16TH AND 17TH APRIL BETWEEN 2-7PM  WHEN WE WILL PAINT YOUR SILHOUETTE IN THE SPACE! OPEN TO ALL TO TAKE PART!   The Gallery has been home to both local and international artists, who've contributed to the creative scene in Brent, through its social impact and strong community. This event will be a recognition of the invaluable achievements of Bar and; the memories that have been created and the bright future yet to come! This unique conceptual show, curated by Kevin, will involve the results of projecting and painting the Ghosts of resident artists onto the gallery walls. The event will offer an opportunity to interact in a new way with the gallery space, and make a mark on what has long been the home of many local artists'.  Kevin says "Ghosts is an expression of what I, and other artists feel is an abrupt end to an exciting gallery.  A feeling of not wanting to leave and leaving something of ourselves attached onto the walls of our past.  But this closure will enable us to look forward, face new challenges, using the uncertainty of space and funding to our advantage by making work that is reactive and pushing new boundaries.  And as we work under this new light, we ask our selves is it possible that our best work is yet to be created?' BAR are looking for a new space which will become the new home for the now Nomadic Artists' of BAR gallery. The non-profit organisation is presently in negotiations with Brent council who've supported the organisation for the last several years.  Ghosts will also be hosting poetry and music. Everyone is welcome!  For more info contact info@brentartistsresource.org.uk

THIS SATURDAY! 15TH DECEMBER. AS PART OF DON'T FORGET// OUR CURRENT SHOW AT BAR IS STILL RUNNING UNTIL:  12 / 4 / 13

The sun does burn the map of this land

"The sun does burn the map of this land"

 OIL PAINTING BY P.R.MURRY 

in

Colour and Light: Expressions of the Palette

SHOW RUNS:  ^12th March to ^9th April 2013

Private View: Thursday 12^th March 6.00pm-8.00pm

At the BAR Gallery at Willesden Green, Willesden Green Library Centre, 95 High Road, London NW10 2SF

Email: info@brentartistsresource.org.uk

Tel: 0208 459 1421

SEX CLAIMS! SEX CLAIMS!

Have you heard about the SEX CLAIMS! SEX CLAIMS!

They’re spinning them again,

Sending priests and politicians

Swirling down the drain.

There was a peer who liked peering,

Let’s call him Lord Groper

Often put his hand up

And not just to speak

But liberal ladies weren’t all so liberal

When they were tired of his groping

They all told their tales

And it all got leaked

It was denied, redacted

Admitted and retracted

Then the Party said that it might always have known

So Groper was thrown out,

They withdrew the whip

And his cover was blown

And sadly now Lord Groper has to

Carry on Groping, all on his own.

There was father O’Feely

A priest of deep feelings

Both inside and outside

The priestly robe

He tried to suppress it

But did keep expressing it

So the papacy moved him all over the globe

They sent him to Barbados, then to Mauritius

And when people there got suspicious

They sent him to Stoke

And the papal bureaucracy really believed in miracles

One day when Feely was stroking

He dropped dead of a stroke

We like reading bout the SEX CLAIMS! SEX CLAIMS!

Like to see them on the telly 

Or the internet screen

When some self important ratbag

Gets caught with their pants down

We think it’s a giggle, we think it’s a scream

And when we run out of

Celebs and their SEX CLAIMS!

We sit around making

SEX CLAIMS of our own

He did that to her and she did that to them

We take it in turns

We’re just a load of monkeys

Talking bout our SEX CLAIMS

Whilst the planet we’re on

Is starting to burn.

A KRAKEN WAKES IN WILLESDEN

THE BIG SQUID IS BACK!

as part of the "In print" show at the BAR Gallery, Willesden Library Centre (details below) which also contains another P.R.Murry print entitled "The Prevalence of Breadknifeism"

an ode inspired by a shower gel bottle and my heart

Your limes are so zingy

that they make

my pustules explode

YES

Your limes are so zingy

that they make

my pustules explode

they make my pimples erupt

then this disrupts

the traffic

because of the pus

that is blocking up

all of the roads

the council

gotta hire lorries

gotta hire pus clearing trucks

gotta hire men

with  brooms an shovels

to shovel up

all of the pus

YES

Your limes are so zingy

That when they cleanse my skin

they are the cause of

pus shovelling operations

YES

Your limes are so zingy

that they make

my pustules explode

INTERIOR PUMP VIEW

They took me and laid

My fat, sweaty hairy European body

Out on a cold table,

Because those educated ones,

The trained professionals

Were going to cut me

Whilst I was still alive,

To see the heart inside me.

But, luckily for me,

I was not a would-be conquistador

Carried to the peak of a pyramid

By Aztecs in Teotehuacan,

But another obese patient

Laid out for surgery

In a Harrow hospital

And the cutting edge professionals

Did not remove my pump from me

But they fed a minicam into it

On the end of a thin wire hose

Pushed up along my vein

Via a hole in my leg

And this showed me images of my heart

Pulsating on video screens.

And unlike the eviscerated

would-be conquistador

My heart was not the last thing

That I ever saw

So I can tell you now

That me heart looked like

One of the light shows

That I saw in my misspent youth

Projected on to night club walls

I am a pysychedelic man.

Whose pump still pumps

In spite of years of abuse

Still going

Like a repeatedly crashed car

That shouldn’t really

Still be on the road

But some things in my heart

Remain unseen

Even by the surgeons’ camera

My hate and my deception

My treachery and my depression,

but neither did the minature camera

objectively record

my love
or my compassion

SEE P.R.Murry's "Deep Kitchen"

SEE P.R.Murry's "Deep Kitchen" 

in 

REGENERATION 

at

The BAR Gallery at Willesden Green

Willesden Green Centre

95, High Road

London NW10 2SF

T 0208 459 1421

E info@brentartistsresource.org.uk

W www.brentartistsresource.org.uk

Private view 10th January 2013 6:00-8:30PM

show closes 2/2/2013