the female gaze

lenses popping

heads bobbing

bodies moving

one stilled

the female gaze

profile

head shot

criss cross

trailing

shadows

on

the female gaze

eyes

staring

exposed

glaring

reflections

on 

the female gaze

 

dusk

 

 

dusk falls

and

midnight blossoms

light

the gloom

 

 

the rake's progress ... or the sad tale of cedric dearie

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cedric Dearie (1958-2022)

 

The life of Cedric Dearie sends a cautionary warning to profligates the world over. Born into wealth, Cedric is the youngest scion of the mighty Dearie dynasty - the renowned inventors of the self-levelling empire-line trouser. Coming into his inheritance early he proceeds to blow the family fortune in a tawdry saga of repeated entrepreneurial failure.

 

His first business venture is a budget remake of 'Jaws'. Predictably, cut-backs in the props department mean the film tanks on its opening night.

 

 

 

Undeterred, Cedric begins an unexpected but rapid descent into the seedy underbelly of the criminal world. Whilst on holiday in Italy he enters a sordid backstreet cafe´where he's propositioned by a steely-eyed Mafioso searching for an assassin to take out the head of a rival gang.

 

Sadly, poor Cedric mishears the job offer. His subsequent venture into on-line millinery merchandising  fails spectacularly and he's forced to close 'The Hat-Man' barely a month after its launch. 

 

Here's a picture of Cedric with the remnants of the 'fire-sale'.

Things go from bad to worse for the increasingly desperate Cedric. His next move is into the hospitality trade, but sadly his decision to sink the last of his inheritance in 'The Naked Chef's Bistro' proves disastrous.

 

Cedric sustains third-degree burns to a sensitive part of the anatomy during an unfortunate incident with a hot wok. It brings  a sad and painful end to his latest venture.

Fame and fortune having eluded the aging Dearie for so long he has but one last roll of the die. Cedric turns his back on the world of commerce, declaring, "A poet I shall be!"

 

Seated uncomfortably on a stool in his kitchen he begins to write, the words pouring out from his tortured soul...

 

 

It's all downhill from here

I was born to this world incredibly young,

bereft of control over bladder, bowels and tongue,

but as I grow old I'm sorry to say

I'm hurtling downhill with no means to delay.

 

For that which was supple and flexed with great ease

is now fused solid from hips to the knees.

Whilst a thing once rigid, jutting proud, firm and bold

droops limp in reverse, a sad sign that I'm old. 

 

The waist grows thicker, the hair starts to thin.

Spare me the tonic, just bring me the gin.

 

So with stoic resolve it's the final big drop,

a vertiginous fall from life's mountain top.

It'll bring me full circle to where I've begun,

bereft of control over bladder, bowels and tongue!'

As the ink dries on his masterpiece Cedric is overcome with emotion. He falls from his perch to an untimely death, the Rake's Progress now complete.

burlesque time - the performers arrive

 Welcome the dancers, the poets, the comics, the rappers - this is burlesque!

all downhill from here and other poems

I'm delighted to confirm I made a short but eccentric debut as a poet last night. It was an 'open-mike' session at the legendary Pretty Bricks.

The three poems I presented appear below and the accompanying photo was taken during the course of 'gotcha'. The audience really did say 'cheese' rather than pelting me with rotten tomatoes, which is what I rather think I deserved!

 

 all downhill from here

I was born to this world when incredibly young,

bereft of control over bladder, bowels and tongue.

But as I grow old I'm sorry to say,

I'm hurtling downhill

with no means to delay.

For that which was supple and flexed with great ease

is now fused solid from hips to the knees

Whilst a thing once rigid, jutting proud, firm and bold

droops limp in reverse, a sad sign that I'm old.

 The waist grows thicker the hair starts to thin
Spare me the tonic, just bring me the gin.

So with stoic resolve it's the final big drop,

A vertiginous fall from life's mountain top

It'll bring me full circle to where I've begun,

bereft of control over bladder, bowels and tongue!

gotcha

I've selfied on my smartphone

a thousand smiling ways

that say I am so happy

despite this sad malaise

I check my likes each hour

I tweet like I'm the best

but it can't disguise the fact

that I'm totally depressed

those plates of food that look so good

the holiday snaps amazing

I've photo-shopped my wrinkled face

so no more crazy paving

my eyes burn bright my teeth shine white

I'd like to say I'm happy

but scratch beneath the surface

and all I feel is crappy

Yet wait, I have the answer

I'll turn the lens around

you don't look quite so good yourself

I'm sure that's what I've found

I'll count you down I'll count you in

your best grins if you please

and when I reach the number three

I'd like you to say 'cheese'!!!

 READY?

1 - 2- 3

CHEESE!!!

I've gotcha on my camera

it's there for all to see

I'm off to post on instagram ...

you look as bad as me!

               

united in language

Trump; noxious hot wind

emitted by an anus

leaves behind foul smells. 
 

within walking distance - the poetry workshop

Another highlight of the 'Within Walking Distance' project is the Poetry Workshop run by the fabulous Emma Purshouse.

Wolverhampton born Emma is a hugely gifted performance poet, comedienne and author. She's also a highly talented teacher, as I experience first hand during her Workshop. Photos taken, I put down my camera, join in and compose a mawkish haiku about my recent visit to the community centre in Langley Park. 

Here it is in all its perfunctory glory ...

iron gates shutter
the sun lit grey haired smiles
parked memories 

Passing on quickly, I thoroughly recommend a listen to this poem written by Emma to celebrate the WWD project.