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Horace Thespider

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Last blog entry: Thu, 2 Oct 2008 07:29:13 pm

Profile updated: Sat, 27 Sep 2008 02:51:54 pm

 

Biography

My real name is mark, but I prefer to be called Horace Thespider because I am a bit of a recluse.
I have travelled widely (around Lancashire) and have made homes in Preston, UpHolland, Skelmersdale and finally Ormskirk where the breeze blew me two years ago. I have a life-long mate, Lindsay, and four incey-winceys, though they are not so incey anymore.
I have had many jobs over the years: Bank Clerk, Transport manager, Drama teacher, pizza delivery, taxi driver, driving instructor, postman and web designer.
When I am not climbing walls, I write children's fiction (unpublished) and play the Ukulele. I also play washboard and cajon in a blues band who were called Coaltrain but are currently undergoing metamorphosis.
Hope you like my stuff.

Samples

Hanging Loose

I’m gonna make myself a lazy matrix
And catch myself some flies
Hang upside down from rhubarb leaves
And watch the world go by
I’m gonna weave myself a silky hammock
Hang loose all afternoon
Luxuriate in motionless ness
Feel the whole world swoon

I wanna gorge myself on giant greenfly
Drink sticky sweet green tea
Anaesthetise an aphid
It sounds quite nice to me
I’ll spin myself a lacy mattress
Let my bloated guts unswell
If you’ve got nothing worse to do
You can hang around as well


I’m gonna read the news on oak leaves
Watch the tall grass sway
Converse with passing strangers
And agree with everything they say
I’ll let the sunshine warm my fibres
Let the rain wash me clean
I’ll make myself a lazy matrix
And dream a spider’s dream

Lies, damned lies and light bulbs

O!
The impossibility of hippopotami
The less-than-likelihood of lychees
The questionable nature of kumquats
And the ambiguity of bees

O!
The misleading myth of manchester
The misinformation on mould
The improbablility of a parabola
The dishonesty of holes

O!
The lies and damned lies about light bulbs
The propaganda pertaining to paint
The legerdemain of a lumberjack
The subterfuge of a saint

O!
The confusion complicit in cardboard
The confidence trick called the comma
The treachery of treasury tags
The machiavellian madonna

O!
The paradox of botox
The dichotomy of the cartoon
The sham of shag-pile carpet
The disingenuousness of goons

O!
The falsetto fanfare
To everything you hear
The schism in all that you see
Might twist your thoughts out of tune

It all makes perfect sense to me.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Last blog entry

UXB

Posted on Thursday 2nd October 2008 8:29 pm

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I was prospecting on the beach

Just hanging out and doing my thing

You look a nerd with a metal detector

So I've a magnet on a string

The sun was high and the waves were breaking

Sighing as they relaxed on the sand

And I felt real good, and lucky

With my lode-stone swinging in my hand

I'd found a couple of cans

And a handful of discoloured money

But then I felt the pull much stronger

I was drawn like a bee towards honey.

Could it be jewellery, a tiara?

Or a chest of Spanish doubloons

Perhaps an unexploded bomb

Hidden deep beneath the dunes

I tiptoed very carefully to the nearest row of deckchairs

And pinched a plastic spade

While they ate sandwiches, unawares.

I pinched a bucket too

And filled it from the sea

Well you can't be too careful

With a potential UXB

And then with a delicate sweeping motion

I brushed away the sand

But I screamed with fright

And ran with all my might

When I uncovered a human hand.

A thousand dark thoughts flashed through my mind

As behind an ice-cream van I cowered

Images of gangland killings

And corruption amongst the high-powered

Crimes of passion, jealous murder

Or a desperate suicide

And a body, battered and buried

To be exposed by the tide.

Nervously I returned

And my heart nearly popped out of my mouth

When I saw that the hand was moving

And frantically clawing to get out.

I hit it with the spade

But that had an adverse effect

Cos I heard a deep-throated growling

A subterranean voice sounding vexed.

The sand beneath my feet began to chum

A hole opened up in the ground

And slowly a figure emerged

In padlocks and chains it was bound

In fury it thrashed and roared

As it shook the grains from its hair

A cloud of dust spewed forth

From its dark and abysmal lair

I thought I'd awakened a monster

By generations of old banished below

And sank to my knees in dread

Awaiting the fatal blow.

In its anger the beast roared "Who are you?

And why have you disturbed me?"

I don't know what words I prayed

Or if God really heard me

But when I looked up to see my fate

I immediately felt much bolder

He was a skinny little runt

And only came up to my shoulder.

He could hardly stand up with the weight of his bonds

My fears were completely allayed

So I pushed him back into his hole

And hit him again with the spade.

He said "I didn't mean to scare you

Please accept my apologies

The name's Iron –man Mitchell

I'm a trainee escapologist."

He looked so pathetic I helped him back out

And he struggled to get himself free

He was desperately trying to pick his nose

Cos that's where he'd hidden the key

"So why are you called Iron man ?”

I said with a certain disdain

He said "Hit me, right there, and you'll see why"

So I did and he collapsed in pain

It turns out he'd been practising

For his first professional escape

Being chained up in quick-setting concrete

Wearing only y-fronts and cape.

I said "I'm not impressed by your posing

Your galvanised links and chubb locks

If you don't show some rapid improvement

You’ll end up a  concrete block."

He took the hump, walked off and left me

No thanks, no reward, but I didn't mind

Because in his rush to get away

He left his watch behind.

 

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Comments

Janet Ramsden

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Thu 16th Oct 2008 13:22

Hiya, thanks for your comment on 'the frog and the prince.'
Me thinks you saw deep into the meaning of it.

It was nice to meet you in Wigan at the Tudor.
Hope you enjoyed it and we'll see you again soon.
Love Janet.xx

 

Pete Crompton

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Sat 27th Sep 2008 18:49

superb poetry.
very clever.
neatly crafted
most enjoyable.
My kind of poet.

 

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