Cogito ergo sum
Even when I feel
v ulnerable & delicate
– I am
Imagine …
There’s a new discovery
– an imagination machine
you carry round with you.
It generates
daydreams & fairytales
at the flick of a switch.
Will you use it today?
Note: I found this (via Google) published on Every Writer (1 November 2010)
_____________________
THE PLACE GRATITUDE FILLS IN A FINE CHARACTER
by Walt Whitman
From the Philadelphia Press, Nov. 27, 1884, (Thanksgiving number)
Scene.—A large family supper party, a night or two ago, with voices and laughter of the young, mellow faces of the old, and a by-and-by pause in the general joviality. “Now, Mr. Whitman,” spoke up one of the girls, “what have you to say about Thanksgiving? Won’t you give us a sermon in advance, to sober us down?” The sage nodded smilingly, look’d a moment at the blaze of the great wood fire, ran his forefinger right and left through the heavy white mustache that might have otherwise impeded his voice, and began: “Thanksgiving goes probably far deeper than you folks suppose. I am not sure but it is the source of the highest poetry—as in parts of the Bible. Ruskin, indeed, makes the central source of all great art to be praise (gratitude) to the Almighty for life, and the universe with its objects and play of action.
“We Americans devote an official day to it every year; yet I sometimes fear the real article is almost dead or dying in our self-sufficient, independent Republic. Gratitude, anyhow, has never been made half enough of by the moralists; it is indispensable to a complete character, man’s or woman’s—the disposition to be appreciative, thankful. That is the main matter, the element, inclination—what geologists call the trend. Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what it infers, as essentially the best item. I should say the quality of gratitude rounds the whole emotional nature; I should say love and faith would quite lack vitality without it. There are people— shall I call them even religious people, as things go?— who have no such trend to their disposition.”
sometimes our thank you is said so casually
or quickly that it is nearly meaningless.
(Martin Seligman)
______________
I was never thankful
to my father
or my mother
I wasn’t even thankful
to the Universe
for what I had.
the house, clothes, water, food, shoes, shirts, bath,
garden, roses, grass, apples, hens, cabbage, loganberries,
hedgehog, lizard, bushes, even the bees
tortoise, trees, dogs, cats, fire, pocket-money, prayers,
holy water, statues, carpets, paintings, music, jelly, eggcups,
fireplaces,books, radiogram, even the plums
school, transport, brothers, sisters, God, cod-liver oil, mass,
chickens, eggs, lamb, salmon, ox-tongue, bread and butter pudding,
golf clubs, cut glass, even the gooseberries
ice cream, pancakes, rice pudding, red currants, peaches, pears,
record player, transistor radio, Luxembourg, milk, football, rashers,
cards, chess, rugby, even the blackberries
dobbers, conkers, tiddlywinks, compendium of games, holidays,
stories, photographs, confession, friends, short trousers, novenas,
nuns, thermometers, even the wagtails
pillows, pencils, bicycles, blazers, socks, sweets, pepper, porridge,
underpants, sandals, gospels, rules, knives, teaspoons, commandments,
gongs, conversations, birthdays, even the earthworms
If you asked me then whether I was grateful
I’d have said ‘yes’
If you ask me now whether I was thankful
I shall stay silent.
If you’re curious to know whether I am thankful today
I am more full of thanks than ever
– for all that and more.
If I was a creative
I’d put three syllables after my name
If I was a muse
I’d go amusing
If I was inspired
You’d find me high on a church.
I made the poem ‘one day’ after a period of not being able to write anything I thought was good enough.
No matter what, it ended up with me being frustrated or disappointed.
It left me with two choices.
I could give up trying to write because I wasn’t the new Whitman – just an average guy that actually needed to practice and make mistakes to learn and improve.
To actually believe that two months of writing would place me anywhere near what others have taken years to master is ridiculous…. I know.
Nevertheless, it was exactly what I hoped for. Being good at something without doing any kind of effort to achieve it.
But maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what stops us from giving up before we even begin.
My second choice was to face the facts and just carry on practicing. To keep writing no matter how lousy the outcome would be.
I choose the last.
Now give me 10 years and I will write you a masterpiece. In the meantime, here’s a hell of a try😉
Thank you for taking your time to read this.
_______________
I used to love hating poetry.
Written by those who failed
living the expected life themselves.
Now wrapping-up words
in riddles and fancy glitter.
To attain the unattainable.
Narcissistic socialists
breathing the universe
while reminding the masses
to be satisfied just looking at the sun.
I did.
I looked at the sun.
Astonishing…
Perhaps I was wrong.
Perhaps I was the failure.
I started writing.
It felt refreshing.
Pats on the back,
Polite comments and praises.
I was seduced,
intoxicated by appreciation.
Soon I would be the lump of coal
transforming into a diamond
The winning ticket
The one in a million.
Flawless.
Unique.
Without practice.
Without effort.
A unicum.
This “new” me..
A thinker..
A writer..
A word wrapper..
A poet..
What I loved to hate,
I now hated to love.
Thinking like a child,
naive like a child,
I believed the sun turned around me.
One day I might grow up.
One day I might loose this spirit.
Hopefully it won’t be soon.
________________________
Note:
A big thank you to Lars Blichfeldt
The Walt Whitman Show is live streamed on Periscope.
The show is a gathering of people who
the old man said
fingers interlocked
behind a hairy neck
as he rocked in a kitchen stool.
Arrogant son of a bitch
nowadays referred to more kindly
as “self reverential omnipotent”.
Paul loved his style
even more than the secondhand suit
he had from Armani.
His journeys to charity shops
were retail adventures
in the stories he expounded to strangers
on anthropological field trips
to pubs
in search of the community
where he’d be appreciated.
Because he was sick to himself
he made a difference
to the universe.
Personal pride in his sickness
his tombstone he designed.
It would say
“Here lies one sick man
– look up to him“.
This morning – sipping coffee in Cafe Beva – I heard he’d died. News came via text message from my younger son.
It’s about 13 years since I’ve seen Binkie.

I didn’t cry. He’d have taken the piss out of me if I had.
He lived on the edge
all his life – aware he could be dead before he finished his latest project (or so I imagined ever since we knew each other in Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire, UK.)
No one’s a perfect fit to deliver the oration in memory of Binkie – he had so many sides. But I wish, I wish I could be there to stand in honour of his presence. (He never entered a room without making an impact.)
It’s fitting that this is the first prose piece I’ve written on this blog.
Binkie Braithwaite funniest inventor I ever met.
He invented Gut Barging. None of you have ever heard of gut barging – but many have in Japan, UK & North America (many “mad raving fans”).
There was much more to Binkie than Gut Barging. He was an arch conversationalist, centre-wing stand-up comic, beard-grower and a host of other spirits.
No one’s ever met another Binkie – a true snowflake.
Let us celebrate the Life of Binkie (I’m not sure when this movie will go on general release.)
Thank you Binkie
for all the smiles you brought into my life every time I was in your company, and every time you dwelled in my memory & imagination.
____________________
World class media reports
on success of the sport Binkie invented/revived from Sumo.
(1) The Sport of Belly Jousting (2001 by Wertperch)
“…a contest of skill and controlled violence…” – Binkie Braithwaite, The Independent
Honestly, I couldn’t have made this up. This is one of those sports which seem unbelievable, made up for April Fools’ Day. Imagine two ahem large people in a ring, using only their ample middles to oust their opponent – it seems too far-fetched for words. The truth, however is stranger than the fiction would have been.
According to Binkie Braithwaite, founder of the World Gutbargers’ Association, it is “…borrowing from the traditions of Japanese Sumo. Basically it gives fat, drunken people the opportunity to excel…” Some have tried to place the origins in mediæval jousting tournament sideshows, but there can be no doubt that it is growing in popularity in this 21st century.
The rules seem to be quite straightforward. The two combatants, stripped to the waist (male or female – there are no barriers here) face each other across a mat twelve feet by eight, and with bellies well oiled, attempt to force one another off the mat using only their gut. There are a number of moves which attract points. Two of the more colourful are the Full Johnny Turk (a single thrusting blow which propels the victim off the mat) and the Shunt or Full Blubber (a full-strength push over the line), each of which scores 15 Points. No contact is permitted other than the belly – arms are held out at the sides for balance, but no wrestling is involved.
The sport is taken semi-seriously by the athletes, the first championships being held in Trowbridge in 1988. Scotland seems to like the sport, and it has made its way into some Highland Games events, although perhaps viewed as less traditional than tossing the caber. Australia too, has organised events. ‘Binkie’ has even been called on to organise an event at the Royal Albert Hall, as part of the support for The Stranglers 20th anniversary gig.
There are already traditions, borrowed, as might be expected, from sumo wrestling. The combatants hurl Bombay mix (a spicy snack food) into the ‘ring’, face up and shout insults at one another, before being told to prepare for battle, with a cry of ‘Guts Up’ by the Balou (referee). At this point, the contestants adopt a position of readiness, their knees bent, shoulders back and guts out. On the command ‘Meet’ the contest begins, they meet in a cataclysm of blubber, grease and sweat, before one is hurled from the ring in disgrace. At least it is more exciting than darts.
From the pages of `The Independent’ to the stage of the Albert Hall, Binkie Braithwaite – `the Gutfather’ – explains the finer points of Barging to William Hartston in 2011.
“Fourteen months is a long time in Gut Barging. Just over a year ago, few of us had heard of this ancient British recreation, but yesterday night it completed a remarkable return to prominence with its first high- profile international contest, “The Brawl in the Hall”, which formed a weighty part of the 21st anniversary concert of The Stranglers at the Royal Albert Hall… (read a lot more here and gut barging Royal Albert Hall)
(3)
Definition:
As Oscar Wilde wrote
“for all men kill the thing they love”
But
what about the women?
“For all women love the thing they kill”?
Venus & Mars eh
Chalk and Cheese
_______________________
Note:
The Oscar Wilde quote comes from “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”
[of course you knew that already – but not everyone is as well versed as you]
[If you can’t see the player below, click here]
They are dead
my verse is blank
my spirit violated
my heart hurt
my mind
struggling
confused
torn.
What can my verse do?
What can my fingers do?
What can my flesh do?
What can the atoms and molecules of my shape do?
_________
A lot …
a huge amount:
I can stand
in solidarity
I can hold out my hand
in love
I can be compassion.
There is a lot I can do
I am not helpless
in the face of massacre
I am not helpless.
___________
Alongside the dead,
the dying
the injured
the frightened
I am not powerless
I can love
I can be kindly to others
I can be generous
I can be compassionate
___________
Though my verse is blank
and
has no rhyme
though the rhythm be uneven
though the metre be hard to find
I am strong enough
I have the courage to be human
to be mixed-up
to have mixed feelings
to be at sixes and sevens
to be lost.
I have the power to find myself
I’ve done it before.
There have been other massacres
There have been other assassinations
My heart has been injured
my feelings hurt
I have been attacked
I have been close to death.
I have strength enough to be human with the people of Paris, the people of France the people of Europe, the people of the whole world
I have that strength
I have the strength to remember I am a human.
I may not have died in Paris
but my humanity has been disturbed
into life
Enough
Enough
Enough
Rest in peace.
____________________________
Note:
This poem was first composed on the audio you can listen to above.
The photograph is of “Peace for Paris”, an illustration by the French graphic designer Jean Jullien