I have not frequented these pages for some time now and hope I find you all well.

As many of you know that me and Mr Parkinson have a life to share for the rest of our days so to speak. Drugs are in the mix to keep me going and the odd duracel battery.

One of my drugs.Ropinerole has a creative side effect. Apart from tackling Mr P it stymulates the creative part of the brain and in my case writing. I wish it was one of these recreational drugs so I could close this paragraph on a high note. boom! boom!

It got me thinking, first time this year mind, about what gets everybodies juices going? Whether is was drink, drugs, or Grannies special cake it would be interesting to find out.

I am off to snort some ropinerol

See you guys soon and carry on blogging.

.Phil

Poetry, Mr Golding, is what stirs my juices. A well-turned phrase. Stunning lines that take my breath away, or a catchy rhythm. Stuff like Blake's Auguries of Innocence:

To see a world in a grain of sand
and a heaven in a wild flower
hold infinty in the palm of your hand
and eternity in an hour

Or Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard where he contemplates the fact that we are all capable of so much, were it not for circumstance:

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest
some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

I think that those lines help to impel me in the work we do in Write Out Loud, helping people find their voice.

Or Mcgough's lines describing the miscommunication (as we are to call it these days) between partners (as we are to call us these days):

I give you an olive branch
you feel the thorns

I am placatory
you reel from the shock.

or th elovley rhythm in the poem used as a code for the brave secret agent Violette Szabo in WW2:
The Life That I Have

The life that I have is all that I have,
And the life that I have is yours.

The love that I have of the life that I have,
Is yours and yours and yours.

The sleep I shall have, a rest I shall have,
Yet death will be but a pause.

For the peace of my years in the long green grass,
Will be yours and yours and yours.

There, juices now flowing

Great to hear from you Phil.

A Jordan oozing Juices
is the muse that just seduces
a bard to bring, bright bounty
to the world.

We Wolers reeling rhymes
reflective of our times,
thus snaring those which
were averse to verse.

My creative juices have started to flow at some very intimate and perhaps even, unwelcome moments. So, I cannot say with any conviction what it is that sets them on their flow to causing me a complete personal embarrassment. I was on the train last week and was inspired by a Styrofoam cup. It wasn’t a fare paying passenger (like most of the mature people on there!) it was on one of the table tops and was rolling to the sway of the train. There were teeth impressions around the rim and I wondered what it would say if it could talk? Strange really, but you did ask. Ooh, and motorways have, over last few days, got my creativity jangling. So much so that I’ve written a poem about them. Well, the M6 to be precise. And that Styrofoam cup too...

One of my recent romantic efforts ' I dream of you....' came to me last Sunday. I was in the middle of Piccadilly Gardens bus station freezing my brazils off at 1 o'clock in the morning.

The light from oversized plazma tv, on the City Tower, was shining onto the concrete looking like a cheap versison of the Blackpool Lights. The last bus had gone and I then started thinking about the misses.

Great to hear from you all

Phil

Well, go on! what happened next, Phil? How did you get home? Next instalment?

Thank you Malcolm, and I thought you risk-averse.

The word 'styrofoam' appears at first sight to one with little poetic potential, though clearly someone managed to get their teeth into it. We need to hear more of Darren in his cups. Perhaps the biter found the cup more nutritious than its contents?

Yeah, I'll risk a verse.

Julian its all your fault ! In your last posting you wanted to know what happened next in my 'story'

Julian you have help spawn

FREEZING MY BRAZIL BLUES

Its was one in the morning
Sunday morning too
Piccadilly Bus Station
Wrote a poem to you
Eating my Fruit and Nut Bar
Where the ducks the twenty-two?
I need my woman
W.O.M.A.N. I’ll say it again
I need my woman
W.O.M.A.N.



See my Blogs for the rest

yeah, yeah, always my fault. since being a kid I have always got the blame for everything. Yes, EVERYTHING. No matter what went wrong they always manged to trace it back to me: Julian left the top off, the door open, summat untied...
I once did some research and discovered that I was responsible for WWI. No, it's true! Too long a story for here, obviously, but I can quote my sources.
My Polish grandfather was in the Austro-Hungarian army (honest). Anyhow... TBC

Those great works that sound to good to be true, come while in the shower or in the yard or at a time and place where I have no paper and pen and just cant stop what is going on. Its enough to make anyone crazy. I will get them while driving and now can drive and write at the same time. I however have not been able to get past the shower time poems, that never make it to paper. Its to bad I cant find a way to write poetry in the shower.LOL

Sometimes a poem is a spontanious beast bursting forth over screen or page.
Sometimes your look at it and perhaps it were best left locked in a cage
Sometimes my creative juices leave their humbled host ever so slightly agog
Sometimes I think my head will explode crash a gear whilst flooding the blog

I off the US of A on Friday hence the creative overdive.

See Yall

Phil

I find that some of my best stuff comes from dreams - bit new-agey, I know, but true.

Some of the best ideas happen when I'm just about to wake up. I keep a pad and pen by the bed for those four in the morning epiphanies.

I also find that I write well under pressure - which is why I'm secretly an astronaut, and enjoy deep sea diving in my spare time.

In all seriousness, I think I've written some of my best work when I've been writing to a deadline. I think it has something to do with ignoring the overbearing voice of the inner critic out of necessity.

An overheard conversation ! A piece of music, say System Of A Down. All aspects of life contribute towards what goes down on paper, including the subliminal.