Opher’s World Roll of Rock honours

Opher’s World Roll of Rock honours

Opher’s World Roll of Rock honours

Well it seems that every day another luminary bites the dust.

I thought it about time to do a list of all the great Rockers who are no longer with us. I use the term Rocker in its widest possible context. These are the guys I’ve loved. If I didn’t like them they don’t feature.

They don’t have to be good. They merely have to have impacted on me at some time in my life.

They are not in any order and I’ve probably repeated or missed out lots. Just let me know who and I’ll put them in.

 

Opher’s Roll of Rock Honours

 

Jimi Hendrix

John Lennon

Brian Jones

Elvis Presley

Bo Diddley

Duster Bennett

Jim Morrison

Paul Kantner

Lou Reed

Buddy Holly

George Harrison

Muddy Waters

Son House

Hank Williams

Robert Johnson

Jackson C Frank

Tommy Tucker

Slim Harpo

Eddie Cochran

Gene Vincent

Esquirita

Otis Redding

Bessie Smith

John Cipollina

Junior Kimbrough

Jimmy Reed

Bo Carter

Bert Jansch

John Renbourn

Keith Emmerson

David Bowie

Ian Dury

Syd Barrett

Nick Drake

Phil Ochs

Woody Guthrie

Don Van Vliet

Rick Wright

Jack Bruce

Keith Moon

Paul Kossof

Keith Relf

Ronnie Lane

Joe Strummer

Pete Seeger

John Peel

Johnny Thunders

Joey Ramone

Nico

Albert King

Kokomo Arnold

Alexis Korner

Graham Bond

Elmore James

Ray Manzarek

Willie Dixon

Johnny Kidd

Sonny Burgess

Billy Lee Riley

Etta James

Hound Dog Taylor

Big Mama Thornton

Screaming Jay Hawkins

Sandy Denny

Janis Joplin

John Lee Hooker

Billy Boy Arnold

Memphis Minnie

Carl Perkins

Billy Fury

Jet Harris

Adam Faith

Bill Monroe

Bill Haley

Louis Jordan

Ben E King

BB King

Davy Graham

Sonny Boy Williamson

Sonny Terry

Leadbelly

Lonnie Donnegan

Ken Colyer

RL Burnside

Professor Longhair

Richard Farina

Arthur Lee

Bryan Maclean

Alan Freed

Little Walter

Sid Vicious

John Bonham

Bob Hite

Bob Marley

Roy Brown

Chris Wood

Marvin Gaye

Dennis Wilson

Freddie King

T-Model Ford

Ian Stewart

Big Joe Williams

Steve Marriott

Rick Grech

Kurt Cobain

Nicky Hopkins

Fred ‘Sonic’ Smith

Rory Gallagher

Jerry Garcia

Jeff Buckley

Cozy Powell

Gene Autry

Heinz

Kirsty Macoll

Joey Ramone

Rufus Thomas

John Entwhistle

Noel Redding

Mitch Mitchell

Edwin Starr

Johnny Cash

Ray Charles

Jim Capaldi

Long John Baldry

James Brown

Ruth Brown

Ike Turner

Dewey Msartin

Snooks Eaglin

Andy Fraser

Frankie Ford

Mick Green

Dale Hawkins

Gregory Isaacs

Peter Tosh

Michael Smith

Poly Styrene

Amy Winehouse

Hubert Sumlin

Johnny Otis

Levon Helm

Paul Butterfield

Mike Bloomfield

Percy Sledge

George Martin

John Lord

Kevin Ayers

Alvin Lee

Trevor Bolder

JJ Cale

Bobby Womack

Tommy Ramone

Johnny Winter

Bobby Keys

Cilla Black

Allen Toussaint

Johnny Gustafson

Phil Everly

Doc Watson

Sky Saxon

Lux Interior

Boz Burrell

Alex St Claire

Hank Ballard

Chuck Willis

Skip Spence

Screaming Lord Sutch

Lee Brilleaux

Mick Ronson

Albert Collins

Peter Tosh

Joe Tex

Tim Hardin

Steve Peregrine Took

Marc Bolan

Bon Scott

Ron ‘Pigpen’ McKernan

Clyde McPhatter

Junior Parker

Duane Allman

Al Wilson

Sam Cooke

Cyril Davies

Cliff Gallup

Elmore James

Ray Manzarek

Willie Dixon

Johnny Kidd

Sonny Burgess

Billy Lee Riley

Etta James

Dusty Springfield

Hound Dog Taylor

Big Mama Thornton

Big Maybelle

Sandy Denny

Janis Joplin

John Lee Hooker

Billy Boy Arnold

Memphis Minnie

Carl Perkins

Billy Fury

Adam Faith

Bill Monroe

Bill Haley

Louis Jordan

Ben E King

Davy Graham

Sonny Boy Williamson

Sonny Terry

Leadbelly

Lonnie Donnegan

Ken Colyer

Brownie McGhee

Professor Longhair

Richard Farina

Peter Lafarge

Arthur Lee

Bryan Maclean

Otis Spann

James Cotton

Anecdote – Thrown out of my O Levels

Anecdote – Thrown out of my O Levels

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Thrown out of my O Levels

The O Level exams were the big exams at the end of the Fifth Form (Year 11). They were the important ones, as important as A Levels. Universities used the grades you achieved at sixteen as an indicator of your future potential.

I’m not sure they were any indication of my potential. I was in an extremely difficult class where learning was not anywhere near as important as fighting or as much fun as winding the teacher up. I had made it a religion not to do homework and had not produced a shred for three years. I’d found that as long as I kept my head down I went unnoticed. The teachers had enough on their plate trying to keep order in the classroom. My twin interests were girls and Rock Music. I hadn’t yet discovered Beat poetry or serious literature. My world revolved around discussing Rock and Blues, chatting up the girls and deciding which party to go to at the weekend. Peripheral to that were my hair, beard and clothes. I liked to look right. Unfortunately these preoccupations tended to bring me into conflict with a numbers of teachers and the school hierarchy. They were busy trying to hold back the tide with a flood barrier and I was making waves. The school thought that my carefully nurtured appearance was a scruffy mess. I thought it was a triumph of individuality and expression of my underlying ethos.

My parents were in despair they thought my long hair, anti-establishment attitude and casual attitude towards my studies were going to prove detrimental to my future career. They were right. I seemed to enjoy making it difficult for myself. I despised fitting in. I always have and always will.

Even so I managed to achieve. I always did enough to get by and that infuriated some of the teachers no end. They liked the ones who played the game and worked hard. They thought I did not deserve any success. Once again they were probably right.

On the first day of my O Level exams I thought I’d try it on. Instead of donning the requisite school uniform I put on my black hipsters, and Cuban heeled Chelsea boots. I fluffed up my shoulder length hair and wore my denim shirt with button-down collars. There were a few young ladies I was out to impress. I can’t say my mind was fully focussed on the forthcoming maths exam.

The basis of my mind-set was that the O Levels were too important for them to kick up much of a fuss. I might get bawled at but they’d let it go.

I was not taking Mr Morrell into account. He hated my guts. His ethos and my ethos snarled at each other whenever we met. He hated seeing me hanging around with the prettiest girls. He hated my long hair. He hated the fact that I always came top in his Biology exams despite the fact that he knew that I did no work at all. It was personal. We did not exactly see eye to eye.

It was just my luck that he happened to be on duty that day when I walked in. He was a bit of a coward. Rather than confront me himself he called the Headteacher over and complained, pointing out the rules and regulations. The Head was left with no choice but to send me home to get changed. I missed half an hour of my Maths exam.

I scraped through. I managed seven passes, all grade C with just one B in Biology.

I bet that rankled. I would have loved to have gone back as a Headteacher to meet up with Mr Morrell. I’m sure he would have loved to see that I had turned out successful after all. I’m certain he would.

If you enjoy my anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of them for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

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Poetry – Away on a cruise – a poem about travelling

Poetry – Away on a cruise – a poem about travelling

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Away on a cruise

I am not a cruising person. I find the idea quite repugnant. There is something pretentious about it – the dressing up for the Captain’s table – the pretending to be part of the elite and experiencing the five course restaurant meals. Then there is the jolly, jolly games to join in with – the deck quoits, quizzes, craft, gameshows and the evening shows and cabaret.

Not my scene at all.

But then I saw the cheap fifty five day tour to South America and looked at the ports of call; an opportunity to visit lands I would probably not ever get to, to see the wild-life and get a flavour. All for a ridiculously cheap price.

Then there was the factor of spending the whole of January and February in the warmth, under the sun, with a pool.

There was plenty of time to read and write.

It was too good an offer to refuse; two months away from the cold and mundane jobs; two months to relax and think.

So here I am – sitting in a cabin typing, writing poems and looking forward to disembarking for a look around Buenos Aires and Montevideo the day after. Rio was great and I’m looking forward to Cape Horn and the Falklands. Whales, dolphins, seals, boobies, frigate birds and flying fish pass by.

I haven’t made any new friends but I’m rubbing along and being prolific in the bargain. I have a deep tan and a good fitness level from walking round deck, cities and parks.

I’m enjoying this cruising lark.

               Away on a cruise

 

They made me an offer I could not refuse

Away on a cruise.

An opportunity to read and write

In sunshine divine.

Enough vitamin D to lift the spirits.

To visit far off lands

In the wake of the great poets.

To breathe the air

To gaze on mountains, seas, trees, creatures and birds

My eyes have never seen.

To savour the difference,

Taste the fruits

And open the mind anew.

Nothing is more exhilarating than change,

It reawakens palates,

Opens the senses to delight

And replenishes the soul.

Refreshed

The words tumble over each other

In a desperate attempt

To etch the impossible

Into empty spaces.

But who can tell of colours?

Sounds? Tastes?

That adequately describe

The nuance of a single moment.

Siting in a café in Rio

With the sun and a beer

Unredeemed by the redeemer

But enjoying the sugar loaf of life.

 

23.1.2016

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anecdotes-Weird-Science-Writing-Ramblings/dp/1519675631/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-3&keywords=opher+goodwin

Or a book of poetry and comment:

Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle

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My other books are here:

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Photography – Gentoo penguins from the Falklands

Photography – Gentoo penguins from the Falklands

It’s a hard lifeP1040703 P1040705 P1040717Babies – a tantrum?

P1040782 The loner

P1040731 P1040629 In a flap

P1040637 Feeding time

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anecdotes-Weird-Science-Writing-Ramblings/dp/1519675631/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-3&keywords=opher+goodwin

Or a book of poetry and comment:

Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-4&keywords=opher+goodwin

My other books are here:

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Poetry – Reviewing the past – a poem about life, memory and waking.

Poetry – Reviewing the past – a poem about life, memory and waking.

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Reviewing the past

There is a strange state of being that exists hovering between wakefulness and sleep in which the mind has not fully kicked in. It is a reverie. The mind hangs suspended. There is a lazy hand at the wheel. It drifts back and forth. Your life, thoughts, memories and dreams are intermingled.

It is a very pleasant state and one that I regularly enjoy.

Sometimes it appears to me that my life is nothing more than a series of anecdotes held together by some overriding phenomenon that is me. Memories are like the beads on a string. Moments and scenes played out in vivid colour. Around them everything else recedes into a impenetrable fog. The scenes are performed repeatedly and the intervening days, weeks, months and years have been blotted out. They are gone.

Yet even the memories are really vague snatches of what has been. They are not real. They have been redrafted, rearranged, embellished and augmented. Only a hint of the feelings and emotions remain as fleeting, tantalising glimpses.

How I would like to re-inhabit the various people I used to be; to revisit a handful of the forgotten days and become reacquainted with my former selves; to taste that idealism and certainty again.

Perhaps one day soon they will invent a drug that will enable you to do just that; to resurrect the entire experience of a day from the past. I know if that ever happened that I would be first in line. I also know that any drug like that would be instantly banned.

Until then I am quite happy to lie back and reacquaint myself with the scenes from my life, spread out before me like fields seen from a mountain top.

That will have to do.

 

 

Reviewing the past

 

As I awake and lie in limbo,

Not fully connected,

Reviewing the collage of my life –

The could have-beens,

Was and did;

The happenstance,

Chance and wonder,

Spread out

Like a huge quilt of parts

In colour.

All the sadness, ecstasy

And inspiration,

Flashes of understanding;

The loves, losses

And friendships,

The beauty, poetry

And argument –

Like fields seen from afar,

Isolated oasis

Of moments,

Each preserved

As a unique tableau.

As I lay back

To relive those moments –

The yearning,

The unusual,

The fondly remembered

And pathos –

Separated by deserts

Of forgotten days,

Forgotten nothing.

Yet all

Reinvented,

Rearranged

And altered to fit.

Nothing more than a false representation

Of what has been –

Only a life –

Nothing real –

A hazy, reimagined past –

As reality kicks in.

 

Opher 23.1.2016

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anecdotes-Weird-Science-Writing-Ramblings/dp/1519675631/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-3&keywords=opher+goodwin

Or a book of poetry and comment:

Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-4&keywords=opher+goodwin

My other books are here:

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A Blue Moon for Boris

A Blue Moon for Boris

‘Hhhhrrrmmmph, by gad, gadzzoooks. We’re gonna bash that Marxist Corbyn back into his commie politburo.’ Johnson spluttered, piggy eyes screwed up, shoulders hunched in his characteristic Churchillian slouch.

‘Yes, but that might prove harder than you think,’ Dominic Cummings deliberated, easing himself back into his armchair and sipping his single malt. ‘What Corbyn is putting forward makes sense and what we are pushing is a bunch of lies, fake news and promises that we have no intention of keeping.’

‘Hmmm, gosh, since when has truth got anything to do with it?’ Johnson blustered. ‘All they care about is Brexit. Brexit. We can do anything we want.’

‘Just as long as we keep it focussed on Brexit,’ Cummings murmured. ‘That’s where we’ll win.’

‘Yes, by gad, hmmmppphh, snort, snort, get the job done. It’s all sealed – like an oven ready chicken, what. Prick it, slap it in the microwave on gas mark 4 and baaamo. There’s your baby. Die in a ditch and over my dead body.’

‘Yes,’ Cummings muttered. He was studying Johnson with a critical eye. The man was a loose cannon. Could he be trusted to deliver and not go off on one? Unsure. But he was all they had – an Eton toff, bumbling Billy Bunter on amphetamine. For some reason the public seemed to love him. ‘Just keep it on Brexit.’

‘Wilco, hrrmmpphhh’ Johnson said with a flourish. ‘te potest numerare in me!’ (You can count on me)

Cummings raised his eyebrows, took a sip of his whisky and sighed deeply. At least they stood a good chance of getting Brexit done, crashing out and sending the whole country flying. That might just make it worth it.’

‘Cripes, I mean blimey, I’m putting blooming billions into the NHS, police and, and, and bally education! Won’t that bally well please the blighters!’

Cummings shook his head. ‘No, no, no.’ He sighed again. ‘You keep off of that. Brexit is it. Stick to Brexit’

Johnson nodded like a dopey-eyed hound eager to please his master.

Cummings fixed him with his sternest look. ‘Brexit. Brexit. Brexit. Alright?’

‘Yes, by Jove, I know, but well, well cripes, it’s like wasting all that loot,’ Johnson protested.

‘We’re not wasting any loot,’ Cummings reminded him. ‘We’ll never spend it. They are just election promises. After the election nobody will remember. Once you’re in, they can’t do anything about it can they? They expect it. Nobody keeps election promises, do they? Not even Labour.’

‘But, but, but bloody hell, blithering bilgehooks, bloody Corbyn might,’ Johnson blustered. ‘He means it! The man’s a, a, a, a blinking real socialist. He’d give all the bloody loot to the oiks, to every Tom, Dick and Harry! He’s a bloody commie through and through.’

‘Yes he might,’ Cummings agreed, sipping the single malt, which now seemed to have lost its appeal. ‘That’s precisely why we’ve set the media running at full steam painting him as a dangerous extremist who would break the country. But we don’t want him deflecting us onto the NHS, Education or the crime wave do we? That would be a mistake, wouldn’t it? You’ve been shafting them for the past ten years, haven’t you?’ He rolled his eyes. It was like training cats to chase and fetch.

‘Well, well, cripes,’ Johnson spluttered. ‘What have they contributed to the bally country? Bunch of parasites.’

‘Yes,’ Cummings sighed with more than a hint of exasperation. ‘Precisely. But if you want to get elected you have to pander to the common people. One Nation Toryism and all that. Make them feel you are on their side and they’re getting something out of it. You don’t remind them that you’ve spent ten years screwing them to give more to your chums, do you?’ He peered hopefully at Johnson but remained unconvinced by what he saw. ‘Brexit. Brexit. Brexit. Alright?’ He continued to pound the message home more in hope than expectation. ‘And while you’re at it don’t ever say anything that leads into plugging tax loopholes, food banks, homelessness, more doctors, knife crime, Windrush, hostile environment, climate change, Trump and the NHS, fiddling expenses, Russian donors, May’s husband making a killing from bombing Syria, Tax cuts for the wealthy, tax cuts for corporations, doctoring Kier Starmer, housing, letter boxes, bank robbers, battle bus promises, Hunt’s backhanders, fake news, chlorinated chicken, social benefits, universal credit, student fees, potholes, councils, nurses, firms fleeing abroad or anything other than Brexit, Brexit, Brexit! Those are all things we’ve lied about, failed to deliver, messed up, or stink of corruption. Got it??’

‘Cor blimey Dom, er, er, I mean, cripes. That’s quite a list, quite a list I tell you. How the bloody hell am I meant to remember all that?’

‘Just remember Brexit, Brexit, Brexit,’ Dominic Cummings said wearily, ‘And be glad the elections only come around once in a blue moon.’

George Martin – a tribute from Opher’s World

George Martin – a tribute from Opher’s World

Rock Routes

So what would the Beatles have been without him? Probably not even discovered.

Back in 1962 the general consensus of opinion was that Rock Music and guitar based bands had had their day. All the jolly Rockers (Like Cliff, Marty and Billy) were moving into soft crooning ballads. Nobody wanted a raw, rough, scruffy Rock Band.

The Beatles had been touted round the record labels, been rejected by Decca after a mediocre audition, and EMI were their last chance.

It was iffy. But George Martin must have seen something. He took a chance on them.

That first album was really their stage act. A virtual live studio recording of the R&B and Rock ‘n’ Roll (plus Paul’s odd standard) that made up their live performances. It had the odd one of their own compositions. It was George who gave them their head in the studio. It was George who recognised the worth of their rudimentary songwriting abilities and allowed them to put out first Love Me Do and then Please, Please Me.

It’s easy, looking back, to see how good they were and what potential they had. But I bet it wasn’t easy back then. They were not a polished unit. Those early compositions were great but did they stand out? They needed a touch of faith.

It was George who had that faith. He stuck his neck out.

George was quite a staid, conservative character, and not at all like the wild scousers. He was cultured and from a different region of society. Yet he was a brilliant producer and struck up a rapport with them that was special and unique for the time.

It was George who allowed them access to the production side. He worked with them to assist in the development of their music so that they progressed from simple R&B to the more progress, psychedelic songs of the later sixties. He didn’t have to. The Beatles were probably pressing for it but he could have kept them out. That relationship was crucial. He was one of the ingredients that kept the Beatles at the forefront of what was going on. He helped them move to a new level of Rock that was a million miles away from those early songs.

George probably had to put up with a lot. There was the notorious pot and LSD, the politics and social stuff. It was probably quite foreign to his world, nd yet he did not allow it to intrude into his relationship. They accepted each other for what they were. He did not even fall out with them when they brought in Spector for Let It Be. That’s the measure of the man.

They called him the fifth Beatle. Well another one has gone and be sadly missed. But we have the music and the legacy.

Thanks George – you faith and vision gave us the Beatles and a whole new world!

If you enjoy my writing on Rock Music you might like to have a look at my books on Rock Music:

In Search of Captain Beefheart

537 Essential Rock Albums pt. 1

Rock Routes

Opher’s World Tributes to Rock Geniuses

Or have a look at all my other books:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1457528209&sr=1-2-ent

Anecdote – Rebena’s little ploy – a true story about bullying and embezzlement

Anecdote – Rebena’s little ploy – a true story about bullying and embezzlement

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Rebena’s little ploy

Rebena was not a nice lady. In fact I’m not sure that Rebena was a lady at all. She looked like an extra from Prisoner – Cell Block H and I’m sure she would never have made the Olympics, at least not in the female category. She probably had more testosterone that the rest of the boys in school.

Rebena must only have been fourteen but she looked like a grizzly bear with short brown hair. She ran a little gang of girls who, despite lacking the necessary musculature, all aspired to be like her. They had the swagger down and weren’t short of attitude.

For my first weeks in school it seemed like a game. Rebena’s ‘girls’ would chase us around all over the school. Every break-time was a game of chase. I enjoyed it.

Then it ceased to be a game. A bunch of them cornered me and frogmarched me off for a private conference with Rebena. There were a lot of arm twisting and tight grips with some pinching and punches. It was apparent that the young ladies had not found the enterprise as much fun as me. To them it was business. They did not like being given the run-around. It had certainly ceased to be quite so much fun for me.

They escorted me to Rebena’s ‘office’. She held court behind the bike sheds where it was nice and quiet.

Rebena had quite a persuasive way with her. She was very quiet and softly spoken, with a husky voice well beyond her years.

Rebena had a comb. It was quite an unnecessary implement for any practical use. Her hair was so short it hardly needed combing. It was one of those girls combs; an aluminium job with a handle. Rebena had modified it by sharpening that handle to a sharp point.

The Hench-ladies delivered me and two took the job of holding me still by forcing my arms behind my back and jamming me back against the wall. Rebena regarded me with a cool stare. She pushed my head up against the wall and put the point of her comb under my chine. I was soon standing on tip-toes as she raised the comb up to dig into my flesh.

When she had got me pinned, much to the amusement of the girls all gathered round, she began to make me that offer that was hard to refuse.

It seemed that Rebena had my best interests at heart. She knew that some of the older boys could turn nasty. She knew that some of my classmates could be trying. She had the answer to all my problems.

I tried to explain to Rebena that I really didn’t have any problems in school with anyone. That was hard to do with a sharp point jabbing into your throat. Rebena assured me that I did have problems. I was definitely in need of protection… I didn’t need telling twice. I could not only see the point but I could feel it too.

Rebena’s solution was quite simple. All I had to do was to make a reasonable contribution. Every morning I would pass half my dinner money to one of her girls. I could report anyone who was giving me a hard time and my problems would all melt away.

It certainly seemed a reasonable offer to me. I was getting fed up with arms being twisted and having pointed objects poked into my flesh. I readily agreed to this very sensible request.

I was expecting an instant release. That was not quite what happened. The arms were twisted a bit more and the comb raised a half inch.

Then Rebena explained very slowly just what would happen should I miss a payment. I was entering into a contract. If I failed to keep my side of the bargain there would be repercussions. There would be no nice, kindly interviews like this. As I was not finding this an either nice or kind interview I think I was beginning to catch on – if I did not give Rebena half my dinner money then she would beat the shit out of me.

There did not seem a lot of options. For the next couple of weeks I paid up and went hungry. I was one of many. Rebena was raking it in.

Fortunately this came to an end. I still do not know what happened but the last I saw of Rebena she was in the back of a police car being driven out of school. She never came back. I assumed that Rebena’s nefarious activities were not restricted to school playgrounds.

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anecdotes-Weird-Science-Writing-Ramblings/dp/1519675631/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-3&keywords=opher+goodwin

Or a book of poetry and comment:

Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-4&keywords=opher+goodwin

My other books are here:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1457515636&sr=1-2-ent

Thank you and please leave a review.

King Penguins – pictures from the Falklands

King Penguins – pictures from the Falklands

Here’s a few photos of the King Penguins from the Falklands.

P1040693 P1040696 P1040699 P1040702

You can see the baby under its father’s feet on the left. It is burrowing under him for safety.

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

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Poetry – I am an accident – a ode to the wonder of life

Poetry – I am an accident – a ode to the wonder of life

I am an accident

My never ending fascination with reality continues. I love everything to do with the universe, life and infinity. It is amazing.

I have found no answers. I do not think there are answers in any of the holy books. They seem to me to be men (very few women) trying to find answers to the perennial questions of life and death. I suspect there are no answers. I see verses of poetry, moral instruction and political rhetoric from millennia gone by. Teachings that are meant to illustrate life and answer our questions and fears concerning the after-life. I do not find them convincing. What I do see is the way they are used by politicians and religious leaders to gain power and influence, accumulate wealth, live in luxury and control others. Religion is not about providing answers so much as creating prestige and raising people up. It is a weapon of the establishment to control the masses.

The reality of space, time and life is far stranger than anything written in holy books from semi-civilised times. We are only now piercing the world of quantum mechanics, subatomic particles and the mysteries of the Big Bang. There is an underlying chaos within the order. There is a conundrum.

Humans love mystery. I am human. Rather than create creeds to indoctrinate children with and foster hatred I would prefer to appreciate the wonder of a sunrise, the splendour of a creature or the beauty of a landscape. If there is such a thing as spirituality then I believe it is within those things, plus a little love and friendship – not any book of words.

I believe the universe, and life, is the result of random chaos, chance and a few basic physical laws. Nothing more. We are all accidents worth celebrating. The fact that we are here and able to appreciate it is as near to a miracle as I’m ever likely to get. If that isn’t worthy of celebration what is?

I am an accident

 

I am a single accident

In a universe of accidents.

Each moment is a complete new universe

To experience and explore,

Loose within the fabric of organised chaos.

No one thing is left to chance;

Everything is left to chance.

My mind churns through the possibilities

Seeking answers

All I see from humanity

Are lies, deception and disease.

We taint the purity

With the halitosis of our words.

Even the holiest words

Become profane abuse

To facilitate power

Rancour and hatred.

The mystery of chance is encapsulated

Between the lines.

That is where the truth of eternity lies –

Between the lies

Between the lines

Between the signs………

 

Opher 23.1.2016

If you enjoy my poems or anecdotes why not purchase a paperback of anecdotes for £7.25 or a kindle version for free.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anecdotes-Weird-Science-Writing-Ramblings/dp/1519675631/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-3&keywords=opher+goodwin

Or a book of poetry and comment:

Rhyme and Reason – just £3.98 for the paperback or free on Kindle

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457515636&sr=1-4&keywords=opher+goodwin

My other books are here:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1457515636&sr=1-2-ent

Thank you and please leave a review.