Archive for November, 2007

Good Men do Nothing

Posted in Art, Books, Life, Music, Poems, Politics, Religion, Teaching, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , on November 30, 2007 by kevmoore

Mohammed the Teddy Bear

I have read, with increasing disbelief, the current news story about the British Teacher incarcerated in the Islamic state of Sudan for allowing her class to name a Teddy Bear Mohammed. The reactions of religious zealots demanding her public flogging, death, or both, is only surpassed by the deafening silence from the supposedly peace-loving majority of muslims.

My anger is swiftly overtaking my despair. I tried to release some of it in the following verse.

Good Men do Nothing

Such anger boils within me

What right have they to hijack faith

And use it as a stick to beat the innocent?

Projecting their warped hatred of faith

On that icon of love, a child’s teddy bear

Where the condemnation for those

That murder in their prophet’s name?

Poisoning Islam blood-lust to kill and maim

The so-called moderates standing piously by

Oblivious to horror, pain and suffering

This evil will take wings and fly

If all good men do nothing.

Words: Kev Moore Copyright 2007

Art by Miki and Kev Moore

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The Winged Messenger

Posted in Art, Books, Life, Music, Poems, Short Stories, Thoughts, Writing with tags , , , , , , on November 29, 2007 by kevmoore

The winged messenger

I thought I´d share another of my poems inspired by Miki´s paintings with you today. It´s a rare thing, to have a Muse that fires your creativity. In almost every case, when I look into one of Mikis´paintings, I am transported to another world, and feel the need to write about it. Here is one of the results.

The Winged Messenger

Solitary, the winged messenger precedes
The fateful gathering of the seas
As water does the planet´s will
An ancient prophecy fulfilled

The town, oblivious, sleeps till dawn
The cry of warning, now forlorn,
is lost upon the boiling foam
that threatens every house and home

Scant moments of tranquility remained
Now stolen by the sea
And soon that lovely bird will soar
O´er cities that exist no more

Words by Kev Moore

Art by Miki

Copyright 2007

He Paints the Stars

Posted in Art, Books, Family, Life, Music, Poems, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , on November 27, 2007 by kevmoore

He paints the stars

 

We reach the city at world´s end
Its yellowed granite walls enclose
This wondrous time-worn edifice
That kept out ancient foes

And if you look you´ll see
The lofty ladders from afar
Where young and old are trained for years
To climb and paint the stars

The great and good, with firm intent
Proceed to paint the firmament
And comets, moons and planets all
Will fall beneath their brushes thrall

For this city is no normal place
Existing in both time and space
Across the heavens it will race
To paint its twinkling splendour

The love, exceeded only by
The magic that is in their eyes
When painting sights that make men cry
This heavenly endeavour

And so, the young boy, keen to learn
Will patiently await his turn
A goodness in him brightly burns
And fires the brush in hand

He paints with preternatural speed
Swiftly accomplishing his deed
The starlight in the heavens freed
To light a distant land

Kevin Moore, copyright 2007

Art by Miki

Ponders End

Posted in Art, Books, Family, Life, Music, Poems, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , , , on November 21, 2007 by kevmoore

So while Miki and I were coming up with some words and images for a meme from The Coffee Cup Club I got inspired by one of the illustrations I did as a “stand in” for Shelley, one of our authors. It kind of made me want to write a story, so let me say right now that the girl in the story bears no resemblance to Shelley!! (as far as I know…..)

Meditating about coffe cups

Ponders End 

A great many years ago, in a land of ice and snow and strange moons, and houses and stuff, there lived a young, inquisitive girl.She was a bit of a show-off, to be honest, and got on everyone’s nerves, and twice on Sundays.

She used to turn up at school five minutes early every day, so that she could show the other poor children her Fortnum and Mason’s mini food hamper and sneer at their home-made curled up egg and cress sandwiches.

Once the lessons were underway, she delighted in jumping the gun, and answering all the teacher’s questions before anyone else even had the chance to yell “comprehensive”. Basically, she was the most annoying brainy git that had ever lived, and the class were heartily sick of her. 

One small boy, who always hid at the back of the class, however, had been working on a plan, which he called “The Plan” for several weeks. 

He had realised that if he could come up with a question that would cause Dysrythmia Lycanthrope (for that was her name) to ponder without surcease, they would effectively have got her out of their collective hair. They didn’t have collective hair, you know, like one big wig for the whole class, or like, a hair bank where they could go and get their own piece of hair for the day, they weren’t bald or anything, I was just trying to conv…”GET ON WITH IT!! – editor ) 

The boy, named Lolling Banquette, stumbled upon the answer to his prayers that very morning, and leapt in the air crying; “Urethra! I have found it!” (Biology was not his best subject)

The rest of the class stood in silence as he addressed Dysrythmia, who was otherwise occupied with a troublesome smirk that had taken up residence on her face. “Answer me this!” yelled Lolling, theatrically, “What is the difference between a duck?”

He threw his head back triumphantly, and it rolled under the teacher’s desk. He scurried off to retrieve it, having lost the gravitas of the moment somewhat. The smirk left Dysrythmia’s face without so much as a forwarding address.

“I..I..I’ll have to think about it..” she answered in an uncharacteristically small voice. You know how small a nanosecond is? That’s the kind of small we’re talking about here. 

All day long she could be seen pacing the school corridors, willing her brain to come up with the answer, but to no avail. When the school bell went, someone was sent to fetch it back, and then it rang, signalling the end of the day. The children streamed home, all except for Dysrythmia Lycanthrope, who made her way up the conveniently situatedYellow Mountain for some peace and solitude to allow her to better address the problem. 

She sat on a conveniently situated rock on the top and pondered, and pondered.  The moon waxed and waned, and did lots of other moony stuff for many moons. The children went to school day in, day out, until eventually they were all grown up.

Lolling Banquette decided, on his eighteenth birthday that he would climb the not-quite-so-conveniently-situated-now Yellow Mountain (it had been bought by the Americans and relocated in Cleveland) and see what was taking her so long. When he got there he found that she had turned completely to stone, so long had she pondered his question. 

So the moral of this story is, don’t be a clever sod, otherwise you’ll end up as a statue on top of a freezing cold mountain and pigeons will come and crap all over you.  And they all lived happily ever after. (Except the girl of course, she was finished.)

Story by Kev Moore Illustration by Kev Moore/Miki copyright 2007

Departure

Posted in Art, Books, Family, Life, Music, Poems, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , , on November 16, 2007 by kevmoore

Departure

 

Goodbye, old friend, the world awaits

To show me sights first hand

That you have me taught ages past

The wonder of strange lands

And filled my head with dreams

That I was fated to pursue

In short, the path my future takes

Is chiefly down to you

You fired such an ambition

In my soul to see the world

That I really never doubted

How my life would be unfurled

So, as the fuelling lines

Are disconnected from the craft

I´ll miss our cosy fireside chats

Your deep infectious laugh

Filled with such curiosity

I questioned everything

You never failed to answer

And fixed me with a grin

Farewell old man, but I´ll be back

No reason to be sad

I´ll bring you tales to rival yours

Grandpa, I never had

Words: Kev Moore, Copyright 18.07.2006

Art by Miki

The Bird and the Forgotten

Posted in Art, Books, Family, Life, Music, Poems, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , , , on November 14, 2007 by kevmoore

Bird

The great train grumbled into Braunschweig station, almost reluctant to break its journey through the heartland of Eastern Germany. Grey green, grey green, it went, the sprawling farmlands contrasting sharply with the gunmetal urban decay of its forgotten towns. 

I sat in my compartment, contemplating the day. A long day, filled with the miasma of endless travel that would take me from post-communist poverty to the sun-kissed shores of Spain. Eventually. After a cursory glance along the platform, I returned my gaze to the novel I had wisely brought along to forestall the boredom, when suddenly a soft thud and a flurry of feathers in my peripheral vision caused me to look outside.  

A tiny, imperceptible mark on the carriage window was the only clue…..I looked down and saw a still, feathered form on the platform. Then, slowly, very slowly, it began to regain its wits, and sat, stunned, alone and abandoned on  the platform, a sparrow of sorts, I think, though ornithology is not one of my strong points. 

It looked like a confused traveller that had alighted at the wrong stop. More than a little frightened, it glanced around worriedly.  The train made ready for departure, and I found myself urging it to wait, that I could longer observe and witness the outcome for this poor unfortunate. 

It became apparent that it was severely injured, for it moved not an inch, and the feet of a thousand impatient travellers, unaware, were perilously close. The train conductor paced backwards, carriage by carriage, purposefully along the platform. I held my breath…he signalled the impending departure, as he walked, backwards, ever backwards, his boots coming down mere millimetres from the bird. 

I realised then….like an epiphany, I was witnessing a metaphor for modern life and the victims that fall beneath the cracks. Powerless to alter their destiny….ignored by the masses…and life, hanging by the slenderest of threads.   

Words by Kev Moore 

Art by Miki Copyright 2007

Airline Etiquette, or; Give me a good seat or I’m hijacking this Mother to Cuba!

Posted in Art, Books, Family, Music, Poems, Politics, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 7, 2007 by kevmoore

Airline Etiquette 

I have just returned from playing a Festival in Lubeck, Germany, which involved 4 flights in 28 hours, having to fly via Palma, Majorca from Mainland Spain. 

Kicking my heels in any number of departure/waiting/transit/boredom lounges gave me time to ruminate on the modern torture that is air travel. I’ve broken it down into four main bones of contention: 

1) Seat Allocation.  Nowadays, not a given, although it doesn’t prevent the mentally challenged myopic woman looking for seat number 236. I have lost count of the number of times the stewardess has to repeat “It’s just your allocation number, you can sit anywhere.”By the time the penny has dropped with these people, “anywhere” is usually in the cargo hold.Like a shining light, some economy airlines still offer you the opportunity to choose your seat, if you’re at the airport early enough. Like before you were born.

I selected an exit seat, needing the extra legroom. “Aisle or window?” I was politely asked. I opted for the aisle. I got the aisle, but not the exit. I attempted to dislocate my knees, so that I might insinuate myself into the miniscule gap between my seat and the one in front. Once wedged, I could observe the tide of humanity coming down the aisle.  Which brings me to the next point;

2) Passengers from Hell.  There are a number of types you wish to avoid, but basically we can narrow it down to two. 

1) Mother with screaming kids

2) Extremely large person 

You definitely don’t want screaming kids near you. They don’t shut up. Ever. And the small ones don’t know how to compensate for the air pressure thing with the ears. It hurts. They don’t know what to do. They cry. You try and put them out of the emergency exit. It’s all very embarrassing.

A word to families with noisy and/or badly behaved kids; If you’re going on holiday- TAKE THE CAR. 

Extremely large people can be a problem in several ways. If they sit next to you, your armrest becomes enveloped in the folds of their body. I once sat with such a person and they could only open their dinner tray to their chin. Still, I guess it was easier to sweep the food in…

The second hazard from extremely large people is the one I suffered at the weekend. They sit in front of you. They like to test the “springiness” of the seat, and, even before take-off, see how far it will recline.

NEWSFLASH: This seat is reclining nowhere buddy, my knees are nearly coming out of your face, and I might never walk again but you’re getting NO extra degrees on this angle! 

3) The Terrorist Inspired Mini-Industry manufacturing little bottles and transparent bags.

Who said Al Qaeda doesn’t believe in Free Enterprise? Why, singlehandedly they have created a new market for stupidly tiny receptacles for a pointlessly infintessimal amount of hair gel/toothpaste/pile cream etc. Retailers have been quick to jump on the band wagon “catering to our needs” and lining their pockets. There’s even a vending machine at some airports selling empty plastic bags. Now that’s cutting edge commercialism…Oh, sorry, no it isn’t, It’s a bloody great rip-off, I was confused.

So, there we have it. If Mr and Mrs Grey Haired Anglo-Saxon retirement couple from Dorking want to blow up a plane they’ll only be able to take a hundred millilitres of each dangerous substance in a clear plastic bag, that virtually no-one looks at, so that’s all right then,. We’re all safe.  

4) In Flight Food 

So called because it’s quickly thrown back at the stewardesses.Most economy (i.e.crap) airlines now fail to provide any food unless you provide them with the deeds to your house, so I suppose I should be grateful that I got “food” at the weekend.

On the first flight, a bottle of water and some cheese “snacks”. On the second, a slice of reconstituted Turkey in a J cloth…no, sorry, it was bread. An easy mistake to make. And the Turkey looked like the nearest it had ever been to a bird was the woman who was serving it.

Of course, this freebie food is designed to make you clamour for their executive menu, where you can pay 10 euros for…well, pretty much the same thing, but with some sauce. 

So there you have it. If you really need to fly, buy your own plane.