Going through Changes

It has been a year of change.

There I was going to my teaching job every day, wishing I had a job where I could work from home…

But it wasn’t teaching.

No human interaction.

No girls crying.

No boys farting.

No managers whinging … oh no that didn’t change.

But I couldn’t go out!

SO I started blogging more.

Then at the end of June I got a chance to move to a house close to the Ocean in Dar Bouazza, which is just to the west of Casablanca, Morocco.

Great – no internet for the first month, by which time I had lost my momentum on daily posts.

It has now taken me two and a half months to get going.

And what got me going was quitting my job and finding a new one in Central Asia.

A few years ago I lived in Almaty, Kazakhstan and had a great time. Great restaurants, bars, Opera, Live Music, Mountain walks, skiing in the winter and some of the most beautiful women in the world.

Soon I will be in Baku, Azerbaijan, a short trip across the Caspian Sea from Kazakhstan.

When this wretched virus abates I will be able to take weekend trips to Almaty to catch up with old friends.

Sometimes life kicks you so you can appreciate the uplifting times.

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Mines a pint cried the fat man.

No need to cry, it’s on its way!

Ready in five came the steadfast reply.

Bitter today?

Idiots causing life to change;rumi


Look at your hairdo, your suit, your beard!

Stupid old man!

Move on to move on,

Lucrative styling, ludicrous style.

Grab the cliché and find an island in the sun.

Is it possible?

Will she come with me?

Or do I leave her with the sausage makers,

Their height of creativity a Cumberland?

Cumbersome travels.

Move on to move on!

She said it again; I listened.

It glistened;

The island in the sun.

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TV Channel 15.

I sit in my square

And often I stare

At the box that lies by the fire.

A man with daft hair

Is talking in there

And it´s obvious he is a liar.


The words pour out

A whisper, a shout

Though all has been said before.

Talk of false love

The Eagle as a dove

Pure white with a crippling claw.

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Gathering Grapes to drink one night.

Oh what can ail thee Lana Scan?

Alone and palely loitering?

Come and sit beside the Lake,

And listen to me sing.


“Heaven knows when I might see,

A Monkey in The Banyan Tree,

Coming down to look at me

Offering a cup of tea.


“In times gone by I used to cry

As Camel boys spat in my eye.

Now I feel with an awesome sigh,

Thank God those days have passed me by.


“Then I think upon this Great Globe,cropped-cropped-the-garden-of-earthly-delights-by-hieronymus-bosch-1

Suspended from my earlobe

Is a painful Periodontal Probe,

And a man dressed in a bloody Thobe.


“It gets me up, it gets me down,

The stairways in this cold Town.

Seventeen Baboons, a horse and a Clown,

It makes Commuters stop and Frown.


“I wonder at the sycophants gall,

Who lied his way into the Ball,

I’ll ask a Gibbon, lean and tall,

To smash his Head against the wall.


“Then came an Ass , an erstwhile Leader,

I said he’s just a fucked up Bleeder,

Duplicitous bastard – Journal Reader,

Definitely a Bottom Feeder.


“Six times a day I’m out of my class,

Gathering paper to shove up my Ass.

Those Work Generators totally Crass;

Dossers have reached a Critical Mass.


“None can touch me, Old and Wary,panda beer

Not even Fat Bum, big and hairy,

We zipped through the trees – very scary,

Some kids and us; Peter and Mary.


“And just this week the World went Moony,

Inflated egos rap till Noony.

But I don’t care because I know soony,

I’ll share some wine with a Fairy loony.”


And so sweet Lady in the Meads,

Full Beautiful – a Fairy Child.

Come buy a beer, any kind;

Lager, Bitter or even Mild.

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We sat together you and I,

Late; last night.

You, in your eternity, Breaking gently, suppurating sea sounds.oil-painting-1716127_1920

Rocks and shells and bricks and mortar,

Cascading through your daily slaughter.

Granules of death to cool my toes.

I sat, inebriated,


You will last a long time, unlike my love;

It ebbs and flows, then crashes in white foam.


You guided death from afar,

When I was a soldier, Or a Jack tar.

Along this coast Templars came,

Still fighting now amongst the hordes,

That would, from Babylon,

Descend to put my soul at rest again.


I come and go between my lives,

You sing soft breeze for me to please.

Cannon, Musket, SLR.

Swords and daggers left no scar

A watery death is the great recycler.


So in these last ephemeral years,

More roots to plant in shallow soil.

Will she still travel across your blue?

If she wants to be with you!

A portrait, in iconic fashion,

Fostering undying passion.

Not now,

Old Sir;

Not now.

Flying fish

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Heading into the weekend with some old ideas

I think this album came out in 1973 and I have loved it ever since.  I have been round the 81ztqBThOML._SL1238_world since then, raised a family, been married twice, work as a teacher, a salesman, a retailer, a farm hand, and a Nuclear Physicist. But still I come back to some of my teenage music.

Then you start thinking – what’s next?

I am currently teaching in a British school in Morocco, running two blogs and a couple of online businesses.


Then I looked ahead and found this –


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Broken Heart too.

Palpitations thrusting love in the limelight;IMG_1180

Made it hard, to sleep last night?

One demands sex; the go-to man she calls me.

One demands a kiss-a temptation easily avoided selfish woman.

One is carrying too much guilt – her crazy bundle of joy.

“I want to go to Dubai!” she cried.

She cries a lot these days,

Consumed in anger and remorse as her man departed.

“Seven years!” she told me.

“Seven years and all the time he cavorted off screen!”

She asked my why?

But I am a mere mortal man

“Because he can!

In Kazakhstan!”

She asked me to wait,

Eight years and counting down towards nuptials

At my graveside.

“Why did I wait?” she implores. “Eight years without love!

Loneliness imposed by my lack of trust!”

Wait not my sweet thing.

Seize the Carp! Every day!

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Love – by Rumi and Otway.

rumiLazy Sunday Afternoon;

Waiting! Waiting for You!

Another girl, Another City, Another delay.

“I fought with my sister – sorry darling.”

Patient man, paying penance perhaps prolonging painful parting.

Yet she comes, walking in glowing delight;

Waking my breaking heart to new –

Old feelings of love and respect and affection and two cats in the yard.

“I turned down three for you! 0329 came the last demand!”

I will come she said; I was asleep.

My broken heart no longer needs the pain, the shallow victories,

The crazies – it was fun while it lasted.

Now I look for a Gallery in the Sun,

Fields of waving corn with dreams of you in Bluey Green.bag-15841_1920

“Turquoise” she said “But I need to lose ten kilos.”

Come on home to me – I will wait for a while.

“Deep and meaningless!”

Be the sunshine of my love.

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Two short poems

On learning to ride; Women.

Sylvia Pike

Had a bike,


Until she met Mike.

Then she bought a trike.


Broken Heart

I will diminish and Go West,

Wearing a string vest,

And have a good long rest

If I don’t pass the test.

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Woman with a Big Beaver

Woman with big beaver

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