Poem – The fisher and the sun

 

Editor’s note: Dear readers, this poem is away on a top secret mission and is currently unavailable to view. It should return later this year. Apologies for any inconvenience. Ford.

 


Words by the editor.


 

Poem: The Joker, the Snow, and the Beast from the East

Editor’s note: This poem is currently away on a top secret mission and will return later.

Editor’s note: This poem is currently away on a top secret mission and will return later.


Poem and photos by the editor.

Toy images by TVTA. Poster and adverts scanned by TVTA from own collection. Batman and Joker copyright DC.

Valentide

Valentide. Part I.

There is a distance. A gulf. Water, water, everywhere…

Uncharted seas treacherous as tyrants clinging to power,

Or familiar shipping lanes, precious days, favourable winds.

We navigate small islands, atolls, pause to watch ancient, mystical whales.

We dive and weave with playful dolphins, float on our backs and listen

To tales of mer-people and sea-monsters and pirate-fleets

As told to us by wise old turtles.

Once we saw a ghost ship – its crew a band of bleached-boned skeletons,

They blasted us with spectral cannonballs

Launched from the rotting boards of their phantom galleon.

We fled those shrieking ghosts and sailed on by,

Sometimes calling on deserted islands of pure and absolute paradise.

It is here, once, I saw your soul. Did you see mine?

Then one night a storm, unbelting itself and lashing us with its wet black leather.

Plunging us below then tossing us in the air – three, four, maybe five times…

Until we sank,

Became separated.

Our lifeboats were poor yet somehow sustained us. And what happened to our crew?

Some deserted us and jumped overboard. Some died. Some remained faithful.

Ultimately it was just you and me. Alone. Alone we drifted. On two different boats no bigger

Than matchsticks in the grand sea of things. Did you think of me as I thought of you?

Parched, sun burnt, salt in our hair and eyes like apocalyptic dust. We survived.

God. How on earth (or rather, on water) when I am such a poor sailor, and your captaincy

Is sometimes questionable?

But survive we did.

And though there was, sometimes still is, and maybe will be for much a long time

An ocean of distance to separate us,

Tides will always bring us together again.





Valentide. Part II.

On a bench somewhere, sometime, not long ago, someone wrote ‘I love you’. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you, but we borrowed those words and made them our own for just a moment. On dry land we shake off water and tuck in our fins. Retract our tails. Fold up our sails. Moored. Docked. We traipse the city and village and town, lost among others, surrounded by concrete and stone and things made of metal. They say we look small here. Maybe we do. But to me you will always be a giant. Je t’aime. Words borrowed from a wooden bench that looks out to the sea and back again.



Words and photos by the editor.

Adverts scanned by TVTA and Jaltesorensen.

Boatniks. 1970. Denmark; Moby Dick. Pif Gadget. 1982. France; Playmobil. 1979. Denmark; La Mauny. Geo. 1992. France; Sea-Monkeys. Fix Und Foxi. 1984. Germany; Canon Noir. Pif Gadget. 1979. France; Weird War Tales. 1975. US; Lego. 1989. Denmark.


 

Two poems

1.

Among Us

Editor’s note: Dear readers, this poem is away on a top secret mission and is currently unavailable to view. It should return later this year. Apologies for any inconvenience. Ford.


2.

A Deadly Stream

Editor’s note: Dear readers, this poem is away on a top secret mission and is currently unavailable to view. It should return later this year. Apologies for any inconvenience. Ford.


Words and photos by the editor

Nutella, it’s a jungle out there…

Just got back from the supermarket with our ‘three-jar-only’ rations of Nutella, both eyes intact and no bones broken. Was a good trip today. Maybe tomorrow not so lucky.

French supermarkets these days, it’s a jungle out there…

The Nutella French supermarket brawls

Pif Gadget. 1977. France.


Nutella Poem

Nutella, Nigella, your nuts have a nuance enrobed in palm oil

Rush for nuts, aisles smeared in irate blood and nuts that are crushed

Underfoot, tut, tut, zut! Leap over yellow signs that say Sol Glissant

Nuts, Nigella, cook me up your brunch of nuts Nutella

Black dress, black hair, let’s split then call 18 pour les pompiers

Nuts, palm oil nuts, Nigella, Nutella, it’s a 24 hour gastronomic countdown to

cut price markdown meltdown supermarket aisle showdown smackdown

Downtown Intermarché, Lidl, Carrefour, Aldi, Super U, Super you

You got Nutella, 3 packs, and all your limbs intact, nuts, pots and pans

Casserole, nuts Nutella, Nigella palm oil, je suis la, j’ai faim, oui, mais calmez vous!

(love never ends) We’ll always be together, together in Nutella dreams


France. Pif Gadget. 1981.

France. Pif Gadget. 1976.

Italy. Topolino. 1978.

Halloween countdown: 2

Part 4 of 5. I am the Queen of Halloween

Art and poem by the editor

I had a dream, a wondrous dream, that I was the Queen of Halloween

Oh sweet that dream, oh sweet that dream

When I ruled all of Halloween

Went shopping for Converse, tee-hee-shirts and jeans

Got inked, had some drinks and made friends with an owl

Sang songs with the dolphins and tumbled some crystals –

A-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fell down

On Hollywood boulevard, Halloween Town

Jump around, jump around, jump up and get down

And the skellygogs danced and the ravens preened

Jump!

And the cats read Mary Shelley out loud to their fleas

Jump!

And the poltergoosts crooned and the moonsters cheered

Jump!

And the glibgoblins giggled and the phantooms agreed

That I was the best, the best they’d seen –

The bestest Queen of Halloween

Oh sweet that dream, oh sweet that dream

When I ruled all of Halloween!


Thanks for reading and jumping along! Look out for countdown number 1 coming soon…

Spinning. A toy poem. Illustrated.

Love grows in all kinds of places.

They came from love. Bloomed, blossomed, were buds on the trees.

Were butterflies hiking lifts inside bubbles.

Dreaming of skies.

Up in the air they learned the art of conversation.

Learned that communication is chemistry.

Compounds and elements. Dispute. Problem. Discuss. Solve.

They defended rigorously their right to disagree with one another.

And in doing so they discovered accord.

That great union in the sky was lucky.

Not so lucky for some of the creatures down below,

Who are spun, turned.

Spin. It’s your go.

Q1: Does your government have you in a spin?

Where to begin … begin with a word …

A word to the wise from the Masters of Austerity …

“We have your number and your number’s up.”

Spin.

Miss a turn.

Go ahead, go again.

In Britain, the Brexit red bus had them under its wheels.

With smarmy charm it punched their tickets and bid them un mauvais bon voyage.

A one-way ticket to nowheresville.

A carousel spinning in delicious circles.

Taking back control one foul turn at a time.

Hi-jacked flags to march under.

Banners of lies.

What exactly did they vote for?

The safe return of their country,

The migrants to go home,

Hospital wards to close,

Beds emptied of broken souls,

Staff worked to the bone,

Emergency services stretched to the limit of their resources,

And all they can endure both morally and physically? 

And all along European people employed as bargaining chips.

Home and abroad. Pawns.

Spin.

Spin.

Shake the dice.

The Masters of Austerity will have you shaking with rage.

Shake, as will the ground beneath your feet when they finally get round to fracking you.

Won’t matter one bit if you own your land… you’ll be fracked right under your house.

That is, those who can afford to live in houses in austerity Britain.

Then ablaze!

Tower blocks that go up in flames,

Because of savage cuts and the corners cut and the wicked decline in the treatment of

the poor?

Grenfell Tower,

A giant aflame,

Austerity framed by dawn’s breaking sky,

Witnessed from Smartphones, TV screens,

And the windows of neighbouring luxury flats.

A hollow stare aimed at the poor.

Austerity Masters squeal their mantras.

Pigs with snouts red raw from scraping too many troughs for far too long.

Orwell said some animals are more equal than others.

Enough to make you sick.

Put you in a spin.

There are doctors for that but not the doctors you need.

Your turn.

Question number 2:

Does your media have you in a spin?

With their spinning tops that spin,

Whirl and twirl, spin and spin,

Engineered by sinister hands conducting in the shadows.

Spin, spin, spin.

It’s all a game they don’t want you to win.

 

A game.

An illusion.

Start again.

And in the small print of the rules it says:

“The only thing spinning worthy of attention is the globe we call our home.

And you are not the only one to call it such.”

Your go.

Your spin.

Spin again.

And spin, spin, spin.

 


Words by the editor.

Images taken from scans made by TVTA and Jaltesorensen.

Publications: Pif Gadget. Anders And & Co. Pato Donald. Christie’s Catalogue. Hamleys Catalogue. Topolino. Bécassine. Star Wars. Doctor Who. 2000 AD.

Grenfell Tower image by Natalie Oxford – https://twitter.com/Natalie_Oxford/status/874835244989513729/photo/1, CC BY 4.0, Link

Updated Feb 2018 to correct spelling error.