Adrian Spendlow - New Poems 2007

Together
All of the hearts of our ancestors beat in the hope that we have. The wish that we hold is many-fold and tribal.
Facets of the past shimmer in the fast approach of our futures:
And we
Have no option but to listen and action a peace.
Timeless and spirit and part of this cosmos I hear all the sounds of the suffering; the aches of the hearts and it all is within us with tomorrow and. We all hold the knowledge that all hate will pass. You are the catalyst of it. Glimmering in the memory of all who have travelled into positive. Love in the light tells us we strive. We strive. We strive hard together. They are in us and the now that is better is here in the agelessness of it.
All of the hearts of our ancestors beat in the hope that we have. The wish that we hold is many-fold and tribal.
Facets of the past shimmer in the fast approach of our futures:
And we
Have no option but to listen and action a peace.
It is now.

Gallery 49
These trees
rooted
in the transluscent
gather us
See beneath
reflection's reality
strong enough
to walk among
turns
the glass of life
to other paths

so who was the realist
the man who chose not to step out of his life
or the man who really saw things
like straw piled up, who knew what should be treasured about the world
the typical village bride to be who should have been invited in forever in a village scenario
the environment controller who made meals and love count for everything
the gay man who had married and had children
the sister who thought her brother should do the same
the viewer who decides for themselves out of the many possible ways they could see the reality of this play
Send someone your thoughts.

Crippled Preachers
Driven to poetry, inadequate, insecure victims. Strive towards the day of, "I am a poet" Esoteric. Yes. And outward of society they rave. Long and hard they press upon your tolerance. Months of anguish cover well worn paths, for what? Little harvest, most despised by picking author. One grain. One grain germinates and demonstrates. The moribund and mundane, secretary servile. Rise upon a line and this time, this time only. Appreciates quite fleetingly, the age of hewing. Not enough. The so called poet carries angst. Remorse and avid inner urging beyond madness. Never knowing. The world is better for you. Being here. Transient. Crippled in-turned bastard that you are.

Celtic Ways
Feel me spiritual,
Celtic Ways

come dance with me
Know the times and lines of ley
Be familial and laugh away
Replenish when and only when
Giving bless take nothing away
Always, always in the now
Ever settled into how

Embracing skills and crafts we act
Mundane ways and spiritual leys
Love the land - Oh love the land
As lace is fine and you are wine
Mature at leisure in the workaday
And skip and fly and dance a day
Seasons sing to us
of what they bring
And all your troubles fling fling
Mystical and magical
are harmonised with spiritual
As little folk are travelling past
We laugh we laugh

Perfume me a wayfare
Willow wiles a fashioning
Long vision me a dawning time
Echo evenings by my fire
Crackle sparks you live by dark
Cold bone cup me cooling
Love in eyes of
weather crinkled care
Hearing hammered rhythms
There are faery spirits

Ancestral Spirit
All Before Us
Just think of all the lives that have lived before us
So many souls that have walked this way
What I wouldn't give to see all they're pathways
Yes how I'd hope to inherit their happiness
It is good I suppose to not feel all their sufferings
Let's just hope we don't repeat all they're mistakes
We owe them a debt I reckon to walk somehow taller
Straighter yes and prouder through all that heritage

Oh walk us life, down a path, deep trod with experience
Feel the past's arms supporting us and pointing ways
Our instinctual kindred learnt so much through their struggles
Perhaps some of that knowledge is tied up inside of us
Enough to know not to trample other folk for our gain

Millions have live and died with their eyes on the future
Their hopes cried aloud to all that would listen
Not just for themselves or their own, but us all
We hear you our kindred, our families, our truth
We take what you offer foundations, our roots
So many that have lived and died stand before us
So many souls that once walked are still with us
Let's step through their visions with their will to survive
Then maybe together we might dare say,
'We've arrived'

I fill up with Love...
I fill up with love
Whenever I think of you
When I see you
When I hear your voice
When others talk of you
As you walk up to meet me
I fill up with love
All the time really

8th Sept 2007

Existence of Love
I have met someone
She'll do. She will I suppose. There's someone. I met them and I think now that it will do. It is my experience that this is what happens. A bit of desire turning into a passion that flashes past fast and gives us the longing. I want her. I am committed. I am terrified and unsure that any of it will do. She will do, it says, does this motivation. Not a thought or a drive just an inside thing all vague.

And experience tells me that I will not hack it. That people fall into this and then an expectation tells them to nurture it, work on it and keep it all going . That's what it is with mi mam n dad I suppose: 59 years of it. A commitment. I want one I don't want one I am unsure. There used to be drives to be fitted into something similar to society and love was the thing.

There is no such thing.

Even all of the people I love are an allocation of exception. Correction. They do not count. Or they do. There is no such thing. I know because all of the people I love and you know who you are I have hurt. Hurt and abandoned. Because of reasons. What they are is unsure. And what do I want?

I am very unusual. I doubt the existence of love. I am unique. You are.

Maybe I just need to need bad enough. Be insecure without someone. I have friends and loved ones and someone I still love and always will that I cannot live with. This is just rambling because it will not find answers.

This rambling. This is the only thing. Self indulgence.

I have met someone. And I think I need to warn them. There is a part of me, a significant part of me, that is interested. It will not last. I know from experience. Nothing but the doubts and the moment and the slowly turning.

This one. This one will do.

17 Sep 2007

Product
Turning upside during use ? nonever
Recollections of abuse ? a
CautionContents
MaybeTot
Deliveries are futile ruined
Fifitypercentile victim cringes
Packaged badly
Mad

Always read the eyeline
Recollections reflected back at you
Have eyebrows joined
Yarlp
And excuse me please I think a joke is playing backwards
At you

Observations below the line of access
Limit entry to the ride
Showgrounds highlight final destination
Please be assured

Thispackagedproduct
Not guaranteed
er
God?

of Adrian Spendlow

after Clockwork cherry (my MySpace friend)

Over the years Adrian has had many poems Written about him by admirers and non admirers alike and from time to time he comes across a piece of work that he likes. We have considered dedicating a section to these works but Adrian feels uncomfortable with the idea of having such a section. Because of my constant nagging Adrian has agreed to let me put this one up. It is a recent arrival that has caught Adrian's eye and I'm pleased to be able to share it with you (Webmaster).

Yar-dirty Blonde
Yar-dirty Blonde
Yor poems rampage thro the town
Like damage, like art
Viking dreams pillage our nights
Because of you
Yar-dirty Blonde

By Harriet

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