Her voice, singing,
Baked in a land of brown, black and purple.
Light, milk coffee clouds;
Dark, cook chocolate shadows;
Sparkle Stabs of Sugared Violet.

Ohne Zucker Bitte.
Kein Kandis.

Here’s a poem I posted to the Antiweb mailing list a few weeks ago, made up entirely of search engine terms people have used to reach this site (I culled them from my logfiles):

index of sex

girls in chains
dancing naked
spanish girl
destricted sex
pseudo hdr

disco photos
spider park
air lore
swamp thing

black naked slaves
white slave girls
naked little girls
building websites for kids

naked girl dancing
melt launch sumption
girls naked together
druidstone wales

naked spanish girls
spanish girls naked

grind crusher
angels
slave girls of rome
army.mod.co.uk
naked chained

carol ann duffy
destricted
naked and submissive
teaching photography

sumption legendary stardust
my celebrity look alike
screaming squirters
grease photos
belly buttons
naked life

giant japanese spider crab
lady lucks burlesque beauties
arabic insult generator
muslim, girls naked

off camera flash technique
fluorescent safety jackets
girls undress
girls on boats
“it is corrupt, absent, or not writeable”

impaled destricted
fire tornado
today i am going to kill carol ann duffy

sheffield fun park
wedding day buttonholes
very dark skinned naked girls
devil’s toenails

slave girl bed warming
untidy workplace
parrots in teddington
watch girls undress

benefits of taking fernet branca
girls and chains
diesel irony
flash technique

girls naked alone in house
reading books in our life
downwards trajectory level
join groups to get nude girl photos

spanisch girls naked
islamic patterns
valentino rossi
ox stones
bass sax
whipped cream
whipped my arse

zen wine
francis thumm
1950s clothing archives
park fence
girls with boats
globe shaped hoover vacuum cleaners

wath is life
lola needs
recipes for fesant
je taime john wayne
first photo shoot
what happened to horlicks in the us?

i look for nude girls in rome

“russian cocaine” lemon
girls in the girls room naked
four naked slaves
literary clothing
“girls in masks”

find slave girl
turbostar toilets
ileum full faeces
my marriage is going down the sony

coco pops target audience
girls completely naked in bed together
small naked girls
girls stripped naked by friends

how to see a ghost
joke about denim jacket
submissive women naked
literary syllogism

physical memory dump no administrator password

everytime i start up my computer i get a blue screen that says dumping physical memory to disk

The Clock’s Loneliness’ poem for the day today, Education for Leisure by Carol Ann Duffy, a corker:

Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
I have had enough of being ignored and today
I am going to play God. It is an ordinary day,
a sort of grey with boredom stirring in the streets.

I squash a fly against the window with my thumb.
We did that at school. Shakespeare. It was in
another language and now the fly is in another language.
I breathe out talent on the glass to write my name.

I am a genius. I could be anything at all, with half
the chance. But today I am going to change the world.
Something’s world. The cat avoids me. The cat
knows I am a genius, and has hidden itself.

I pour the goldfish down the bog. I pull the chain.
I see that it is good. The budgie is panicking.
Once a fortnight, I walk the two miles into town
for signing on. They don’t appreciate my autograph.

There is nothing left to kill. I dial the radio
and tell the man he’s talking to a superstar.
He cuts me off. I get our bread-knife and go out.
The pavements glitter suddenly. I touch your arm.

I found a great poetry site last night (oops, I’m a poet and I didn’t even… nah, ferget it): The Clock’s Loneliness. A good collection of poems there, but also some very funny comments, mainly centred around the ones which presumably are on the English Literature GCSE syllabus.

Anyway, it being Valentine’s Day (happy Valentine’s, all you gorgous women!) which should probably be renamed National Doggerel Day, and since I haven’t posted any of my drivelling doggerel here for ages, and since I had such a wonderful early (-ish) morning stroll down with Gizmo, here is the rhyming version of today’s walk:

As far down Bole Hill as I dare go
Fly seven magpie encircling a crow;
Pied cawks and skrawks show crow’s fair game
He holds, then folds back whence he came.

Uphill, my lurcher at my feet,
Return to our habitual beat;
When, at the top, I turn and stare,
One thousand white gulls fill the air.

On discovering that Haiku is a place in Hawaii

Haiku is a place
I’m told it’s in Hawaii
I’ll not likely go

Rowan started writing a poem last night:

Head to Head

When the sea is blue and nights are red together weel be head to head.

Unfortunately, she then realised she’d spelt “we’ll” wrong, twice (she originally spelt it “wel”), and threw a massive tantrum. She locked herself in the bathroom for half-an-hour, nothing we could do would coax her out. I told her that most of my friends can’t spell for toffee, in fact one of the worse spellers I know is Gordon, who is a journalist, edits a magazine, and has written three novels. It didn’t help.

I found the poem again this morning, hanging over a coathanger on my office door. Went for an early morning run, and the blue/red imagery dazzled me, as the sound of the sea sussurated. I extended the poem:

Head to Head

When the sea is blue and nights are red
Together we’ll be head to head.

When the sand soaks up things still unsaid
There’ll be you, there’ll be me and we’re head to head

When the red seeping out of the sun has bled
Fettered thoughts all fly free and still we’re head to head

When we both turn to comfort, to home and to bed
Sea and sand make us free, in our heart rolls the sea,
And together we’ll be
Head to
head to
head to
head to
head to
head to
head to head.