Lest We Forget

http://laurenceaux.blogspot.co.uk/2010/11/oh-what-lovely-war.html

LIFE?

Life is but a period of grace and best at a leisurely pace.

Hull City Of Culture

Hull was recognised as the UK city of culture from 2017 until the next city succeeds in 2021. Hull is a great place to visit and walk around and to hear music and local contemporary poets. It also has a history unrivalled by many other major British cities and centred for many years around maritime trades and "Hessle Road" ('esl road): the West Hull centre of employment, commerce and social life of families involved with the fishing industry; very rich to very poor, many suffered greatly in the  Icelandic Cod War of the 70's and for centuries whenever boats were lost, the Gaul being the most famous and enigmatic. The works of Hull born photographer Alec Gill recorded much of this from the sixties to the present day, but his work is copyrighted and I may not show it. (Search Alec Gill Hull photographer)

Hull is weird place, always rated poorly in the national press but loved by people and visitors alike (many of whom stay to work) and has many questions asked of it by "outsiders".

Since 1299 the title of this city is actually Kingston Upon Hull (the King's town upon the river Hull) and though it has been blighted by poor politics and lousy national press over the years, it is actually a great friendly place to live, with an interesting history, especially the rejection of King Charles 1st's entry into the city; an act by Sir John Hotham that precipitated the English Civil War (and the later death of Hotham). To this day fools are not suffered lightly as there is still a bit of small town clannishness.

N.B. Some words (in the poems below) have mostly local use only:
Larkin = Larking around or Phillip Larkin, the ex poet laureate.
Tigers = Hull City football club. (Whole city)
Robins = Hull Kingston Rovers rugby league team (East Hull)
Airlie Birds = Hull FC rugby league team (West Hull) after street address (Airlie St.) of old stadium.
Quakers = As in the Quakers of quasi religious and benevolent fame (see pictures below).
Whitefriars / Blackfriars = Religious orders whose locations gave Hull street names.
Land Of Green Ginger = A small street in Hull (See web details)
Reckitts / Ferens / Needlers / Rosedowns = A few of many famous families / companies from Hull.
Frys = A famous Bristol based chocolatier Quaker family who inspired the Reckitts of Hull.
Mucky Buckies = Children of Buckingham Street.
Montrose's = The gang in Montrose street.
Farreey = Vast and semi-derelict railway land storing timber, gangs and girls.
Johnny Greensides = His mum was my first crush.
Mitchell Brothers = Of the Mitchell family, the hardest we knew, into bikes and removals.

Anyway, here are poems I wrote specifically about Hull, along with some pictures.

HULL

Hull is not a rat-race.
Hull is a nice place.

Hull is not chav-town
Hull has thrice a crown:
a king’s town.

Kingston Upon Hull;
Larkin land,
full or Tigers, Robins and Airlie birds,
and parks and memories of Quakers as great as the Frys,
not the Whitefriars
nor the rare Blackfriars
nor those of the Land Of Green Ginger,
but Reckitts and Ferens,
Needlers and Sizers
bobbers and jobbers
dockers and packers
trawlermen and lightermen,
independent spirits one and all.
Hull is a king's town.
Let no-one put us down!

THIS IS 'ULL

The firm leatherette feel of well rolled tarmac
and it’s once warmed smell,
and the blackened knees and hands
of interaction
are familiar prints in my galleried mind.
A grey playmate;
a giver of second-hand chewy
and ciggie ends,
uniquely flavoured
but eagerly sought for secondary use
or swops.

Our street,
our Hull street
was our street,
not for Courtney street's gang,
not Mucky Buckies
nor Montrose's
it was our Upton Street,
a dead end street
of clean houses
of clean people
in clean beds
and mucky, happy kids.

Hull was a small place
till I was 11 but I never knew it,
our world was our street,
our wood yard at the dead end
our "farreey" across the drain
where trains and girls could be explored
in equal measure,
ducking down in the long grass
if anyone came.

I didn't know that I lived in a city called Hull,
but I knew my friends,
their parents and Johnny Greensides
who owned the only car.
and the original Mitchell brothers
on their rocker bikes,
hero’s in leather and white scarves.

I was happy in Hull.
I am again happy in Hull.
Even the immigrants are happy in Hull
’cos we are Hull,
we are Kingston Upon Hull
and proud,
proud to know most people;
southerners and media,
even Yorkshire folk
don't really know us well,
'cos 'ull is our secret,
a hoard of decent friends.

Brief history of the Quakers (From Reckitt's magazine)

Sir James Reckitt was an industrialist and Quaker in Hull

#PIZZAGATE Is A Hoax - Voodoo Is Not

https://laurenceaux.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/blackest-of-hearts.html

Truism (for social survival)

Lying greases the wheels of society but you don't want to smell of it. 

(Seemingly now the Russian political mantra)

Personal thought - To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth is not necessarily conducive to social survival. Ask any whistleblower, unsatisfied sexual partner, politician, news reporter ....

Read full article via this link

ANOTHER PROPHECY

My last post skirted a work related prophecy, which reminded me of a heartfelt prophecy within a poem I wrote in the early 80's. Written at the start of a relationship, as a predictive "warning" to us both, it proved me to be clairvoyant....

PROPHECY

(The Meet .....)
The warm of expression
you share with me
is the fear of loneliness
forever to be.

The tenderness we show
is our dream of compassion,
escape from our lives
automaton fashioned.

Fragile, desiring,
needing to touch,
be careful my friend
lest we desire too much.

(The Middle.....)
We give too much,
too much of everything
to hide our sorrow,
to keep us together
we give to the exclusion of others,
giving what little we have
to deny inadequacy,
to delay our loneliness for one more day;
but caressing the hallow relationship
we cry with fear.

(The End.....)
Frustration is the enemy,
the lack of conversation
the lack of substance
in the indolent marriage,
two strangers
cross-talking help,
unable to take or receive
so hard do they try to give;
until there is no-one.

(The Epitaph.....)
Give but take
loving or annoyed,
talk but listen
and discover yourselves!LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

A Swansong For Jeremy

I have had only 3 employers in my whole life, for which I am grateful and proud; I have been lucky.

There has been a formative 2 year introduction to the world in a paint factory, 23 years in I.T. with the second largest FMHG manufacturer in the world and, latterly, 12 years in I.T. with an English local government organisation: the miserable side of employment, the enlightening side of employment, then the stultifying.

An occasional “fact” of my working history endures, for whenever a “need” for major change commences, whether it be the literal decimation of staff to introduce automation, or to boost profits through standardised globalisation (several times), or to slash costs by merging 2 (or more?) local government organisations, there has always been a catalyst for change: a hate figure, a chop-man, a lying parasitic bastard akin to a Judas sheep (“follow me; for if we go forward together this will not hurt”); you know - the person who changes job every couple of years.

One such we called “PB” (psycho-bitch). One bloke “speedboat”, for he went through departments leaving a bow wave that capsized morale and undermined the banks of operational support within that organisation; then there was Jeremy, a real name and a real shit-sucker who rightly acquired the mockingly accurate moniker of “Jerenemy”, for he truly was yer enemy.

Now, once again, I am passing through a “need” for change, but this time to save money, to pay off government debt. I will not name our current chop-man, but for those who may follow this blog, here’s an old poem of mine that once circulated via numerous notice boards….

A SWANSONG FOR JEREMY

Dear Jeremy,

what can be said?

you got a department

to shoot in the head,

but the ropes of support

that held "I.T." in place,

soon dropped their load

to splash back in your face.

Like a 10 second surgeon

with blood on your hands,

you've cut off the legs

upon which you stand,

for the droves of staff

that raced past your door,

were a team of professionals

that kept you off the floor.

Not for much longer

will this go on,

we'll continue to leave,

one by one,

and a time will come

when we are no more:

a time not far off,

when you'll see your door.

LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

The Pen Of A Woman

I was trawling through eBay and came across this on a "ME" page of an obviously exasperated seller, who seems to have vented her feelings about a sale gone bad. Poor Ian .......

From: Linda

To: ianrosswalker@*************.com

Sent: Friday, April 08, 2011 1:05 AM

Subject: Re: AS REQUESTED .....

It is indeed a pity you do not recognise that some of us have shift-work jobs that occasionally mean we work long hours, meaning we sleep rather then sit and wait for email.

Do you have any friends and do you hate women?

I have never come across such a cheap-skate chiselling person as you before, but I am now pretty sure that though you appear OK "on the surface" you are actually a right skin-flint.

But don't worry! - I have your cheque and I just ripped it in half. Please keep the records for free. I hope that upon playing each of them, all 18 of them, you are reminded of the disgraceful way you are behaving about "saving" £2.10.

I recognise that even though you refused to pay the legally accepted (by your bids) £27 postage, I am obviously in the wrong. That you then chiselled me down to £7 postage which I charged, thereby saving you £20 (and losing me £20), again, makes me in the wrong. I am obviously wrong again about the actual costs of getting the records to you for £7; the fact that the stamps alone cost £4.90 and that the packaging and on-costs account for the rest (£2.10) is not obviously allowed to register in your world. £2.10 has paid for a dedicated (re-usable) plastic box, (not some crappy old ex-crisp box), tape to seal it securely, interleaving to stop the singles rubbing against each other in transit and, most expensively, petrol to get your package to the post office and me home again.

I am selling singles to make much needed money, though you seem to believe, MR IAN WALKER, that I am merely the peasant who should offer my time and services on the basis of being a personal charity worker for the mighty MR IAN WALKER. Shame on you.

You truly seem to be a bit of an arse-hole - the bit where the shit comes out of.

Please enjoy the records but refrain from bidding on any of my future items as my goodwill is obviously not valued there.

He's been told!

LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

PASSOVER, DEATH and PAST FORM

The recent death of a colleague's relative at an early age (in this modern world), prompted a recollection of a period in my life when mortality was at the forefront of my mind. The death of my mother, at 49, when I was 28, knocked me for six and though her death was expected (over several years), her final descent was shocking in its rapidity. I had learned, by that time in my life, that to "dump" emotions onto a page; as a poem or "non-poem", could be both surprising and cathartic, and that a page could be a non judgemental friend, an emotional mirror and a generator of inner calm. At this time, religious themes were present, though I have always regarded myself as agnostic.

The following words are from that period ......

PASSOVER

In all life there is death,
in all death life.
In life the fear of death,
in death the death of fear.
God's speed.


DEATH

The inevitability
of the blind-date with death
is a man's solace in life
a final escape
to a permanent engagement
and marriage in the house of God.

PAST FORM

If I die before I live,
bury me not in vain:
for I've had my chances,
loves and romances.
But passed them all away.
LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

 

A MEMORY

Shimmering blue-green lagoons of tranquillity

stared into space,

and wondered,

am I a good Christian?

Moist and supple lips of sensuality

mouthed to the world

need I do more?

and I answered no,

for I thought that,

and I loved you;

and you kissed me.

There was more to this ...

LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

LETTER TO A FRIEND

We have felt it before;

to others we have opened our being,

souls and hearts,

and it hurts

when it ends,

a duet of hearts

coming to a close

for the entrance of loneliness,

the opening of old memories

and wounds,

giving up the puss of remembrance

and self-pity;

but not for us!

lest we scrutinise this bondage,

picking its meat

'till skeletal, lifeless fact remains;

for mystique and mutual unspoken understanding

still warms our hearts;

to nurture love and truth

as one.

Ups and downs,

backwards and forwards: a child on a swing,

mother waiting anxious for his return to ground;

I may swing with moods

but I must come down

to walk on the ground beside you.

               A temporary break may be best ...

There was more to this ...

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FEELINGS

This poem of mine was recorded by the band Kraftberk101 who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in a trance like monotone it is a hypnotic chiller. If I come across the CD I'll let you hear it.

 

I thought my love was underhand.

But how wrong.

So wrong.

For it welled up and filled my soul.

Fast: 'till I could not hold.

And how it came I cannot explain.

But I am glad.

Glad that it came.

Glad but sad that my love,

my mixed-up feelings could never be.

I tried to show,

without flamboyance.

With discretion.

Without embarrassment,

my feelings for you,

and about you.

I did not know.

I do not know if you knew or saw.

But I longed for you to see me there.

To pluck my line and tow me in.

To give to me what I would give.

To recognise me, as I did thee.

This I thought before we met,

really met I mean,

when I told, or try to tell,

of all that I did feel.

You listened.

You stayed.

You heard what I tried to say.

And thought;

not laughed or brushed words aside.

Thought and answered.

And listening to you I understood,

that subject matter it should not bloom.

That regard should remain.

That friendship live.

And for this I do thank you.

Love is a fearsome master

LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

UNFINISHED (Gonna Get To You)

This poem inspired the track "Gonna Get To You" by the band Kraftberk101, who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in an industrial-techno sort of way, the track lyrics differ from this poem and are darkly ambivalent, unlike the poem which I think is forthright and easy to interpret. If I come across the CD I'll let you have the track and its lyrics. Hear it here...

(An actor)

Your sickness is inside of you

trapped within your head,
distraught with insecurities,
irrational instabilities
are signs I always dread.

With childish eyes - implicit faith
to me you'd run in pain,
I'd never know our meeting place
you called - I always came.
Your breath it smelled of medication
your hair of almond oil,
clothes dishevelled,
yellowing teeth,
the outside world was seen through me.

I do not hate you.
I did not let them see you die.
I never left you Chessy.
My love it could not lie.

I stood by you Largactil bound
tried to prove you wrong,
bought you a hat so you wouldn't burn
walking in the sun.
Through slurring speech,
fantastic thoughts,
I loved you then so strong,
determination every day;
"let nothing more go wrong".

Time has passed and you've struggled back
but here we stand again,
the crossroads from which this time;
we'll follow different lanes.

Personal comment - the poem above is from my real life. It covers a frightening and traumatic time for both of us; for myself, the helpless and useless and emotionally attached boyfriend riddled by guilt and years of nightmares.

For 30years we had this common secret, but a chance meeting gave up forgiveness and resolution by a recovered patient, happily married with two children.

On our medically dictated route there were good times and very bad and along the way numerous notes (poems) were written by me. I now feel free to let you see some.

LOVE HURTS (TROUBLED TIMES)

If you think of dying

don't leave me alone,

tell me in the morning,

or warn me on the phone.

If you want to leave this world,

just want to get away,

I think I'd like to come along,

but maybe not today.

If you want to leave me

try to tell me why,

so I can understand you,

as I begin to die.

Though you have your troubles

and suffering we are,

call me anyway,

we'll chat in the car.

Above all else,

and this is paramount,

know you are my Chessy

and loved without a doubt.

There was a short period of rationality but soon enough a relapse that was as unexpected as it was rapid. I was quickly and abruptly appraised of an uncertain prognosis. 

FALLEN ANGEL

A broken angel,

down on one wing,

first lost resilience

then entered a spin.

Crashing to earth,

dazed and confused,

she patched up the crack

alighted and flew.

But seeming quite healed,

the crack reappeared,

and she crashed to the ground

worse than was feared.

The angel is down,

the angel is down,

someone please help me;

my angel is down.

We tried; continuing to have ups and downs and even spoke of splitting up, but loyalty to each other over-rode what we both (I think) knew was happening.

LETTER TO A FRIEND

We have felt it before;

to others we have opened our being,

souls and hearts,

and it hurts

when it ends,

a duet of hearts

coming to a close

for the entrance of loneliness,

the opening of old memories

and wounds,

giving up the puss of remembrance

and self-pity;

but not for us!

lest we scrutinise this bondage,

picking its meat

'till skeletal, lifeless fact remains;

for mystique and mutual unspoken understanding

still warms our hearts;

to nurture love and truth

as one.

Ups and downs,

backwards and forwards: a child on a swing,

mother waiting anxious for his return to ground;

I may swing with moods

but I must come down

to walk on the ground beside you.

Our difficulties continued for a year and I began to go down with our ship. I knew I wanted to jump but thought I would be judged a bad person for what self-preservation wanted me to do; I saw no improvement however and decided it all had to stop. I needed to walk and I felt a right bastard afterwards.  AFTERMATH came to me when I needed to concentrate on a new (life long) career.

AFTERMATH

I can see us drifting apart,

I can see a fond farewell,

a bitter-sweet

on a screen in the back of my mind.

I feel sorrow deep inside

apprehensive and tense,

not wanting a conclusion

for fear of an awful truth,

not knowing what will happen,

not knowing what I want to happen.

I feel lonely,

a spectator at my own loss

as the wedge of uncertainly

drives us apart.

With the final split, an anger born out of a depression joined me for months; this anti-woman piece became my mantra and I cared not for anything or anyone.

DEPRESSION TALKS

For the twisting of feelings,

the deceptive ease of use;

for the guilt I've felt

and the switchback affair,

and festering resentment in its throes of death.

For all this

and fears of uncertainty;

womankind I dismiss.

Life was bad at this time, a long time ago, and this poem with others of its ilk were all written around the same time;  I am revealing them now as I look back, with the original emotion(s) neatly and securely "boxed away".

WHAT'S THE POINT?

The point of life seems to be to get by.

To move from day to day,

wandering to a time of longing.

Nothing seems controllable anymore,

I seem to mime other people's wishes,

and wonder where I've gone.

Ambitions, love or happiness and caring,

all blunted, bludgeoned and twisted to coarseness

as dictation moulds my life and bolsters my sadness.

After I walked away, an act of self-defence, the sorrow eased, then this memory of a happier time came to mind; melancholic but somehow comforting.

A MEMORY

Shimmering blue-green lagoons of tranquillity

stared into space,

and wondered,

Am I a good Christian?

Moist and supple lips of sensuality

mouthed to the world

need I do more?

and I answered no,

for I thought that,

and I loved you;

and you kissed me.

LAURENCEAUX England LAURENCEAU Lawrenceaux LAWRENCEAU Laureanceaux LAURANCEAU Lawranceaux LAWRANCEAU Loranceaux LORANCEAU Lorranceaux LORRANCEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments HUMOUR Humerous SMILE Smiling LAUGH Laughing LAFF Laffing CYNICAL Truism TRUISMS Welcome HULL Kingston-Upon-Hull Kingston Upon Hull KINGSTON-ON-HULL Kingston On Hull YORKSHIRE East Yorkshire HUMBERSIDE Yorkshire DEPRESSION ThisISUll FED-UP Pissed-Off LONELY Disgruntled DISSOLUSIONED Blue BLACK Thinking BLOG Blogger LYONEL

OUR LOVE?

This poem was recorded by the band Kraftberk101 who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in a punky-Stones sort of way, it builds nicely into a bit of a rocker, so if I come across the CD I'll let you hear it.

My Love

is a kinda strange love,

for my love hurts me so.

Our love

is a kinda strained love,

for our love is mine alone.

You told me -

you told me that you loved me.

You told me -

please don't go.

But your love

is nothing but my love,

for your love is from my glow;

and our love

is really kinda no love;

for our love - it's so cold.

And Passion?

Where's the passion?

And loving?

well that's all gone!

So go,

go on - go!

And leave me all alone.

Leave me all alone.U POE

 

THE LAST GREAT ADVENTURE?

An "end-game" of addiction, the despair of a life only going one way: some people are predisposed to drug abuse, as others are to alcohol abuse, quite possibly because they are "bored" or were abused themselves, but more probably because they have lost essential feelings of self worth or have become detached from mainstream society; a society with ever increasing demands for total conformity. Is there any future other then your drug of choice and how would you imagine your final fix? ......

It's near me and full

and I must smash it to survive;

but as the liquid slides through the needle

sheathed in my hand,

the hit in my brain takes me.

I am dying;

a living horror of pseudo pleasures,

but entombed in the folds of my mind

the deep silence briefly intoxicates,

before synesthesia of light

becomes a cacophony of sound

and fearing harsh reds,

screaming yellows

and agonising blues,

I close my eyes

to see another me of former beauty

and we stare as if each the reflection of vanity.

She pities me

but I laugh in her face

as she sheds cloned images;

advancing as a distorting hoard

intent upon my self destruction.

Zoom in to see the nightmare

For those lucky enough to escape from their habit, researchers are coming to understand the benefits of taking hallucinogenic drugs for therapeutic reasons, treating a recently described disorder called  HPPD.

CEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments