I had a phase of painting and enjoyed it greatly. Here are a few!!
Poetry – All the Ers
All the Ers.
Phosphate miners,
Café diners,
Water diviners,
Language signers,
Oil refiners,
Tagine liners,
Cool piners,
Excess whiners,
Orange shiners.
It’s Marrakesh.
Opher 20.3.2019
Travelling around in the sweaty heat, through the countryside of Morrocco, looking at how it all hangs together – the mining and irrigation, the oil and crops and the people caught up in the centre of it.
Poetry – Welcome to the New Slavery
Welcome to the New Slavery
Welcome to the new slavery!
We work so that others might get paid!
The world is run for the few!
My – how they scream and shout
If you dare to suggest
That any other way will do!
‘It may not be perfect
But ‘the system’ is better than the rest!’
Bellow the media crew.
Shady people press the buttons
To nudge us towards what to believe.
They who own the media own us too.
Unseen fingers control the markets –
Buy and sell us for a song;
Laughing as they tighten the screw.
Dreams, like candy, are passed around
For us to suck in our sleep –
Telling us the lie that we can join them too.
But it’s an exclusive club
And they always guarded it well
So that their fortunes grew.
Trickle down is the new mantra
As they deceive with their lies
And keep us caged within this human zoo.
Opher 18.1.2016
Welcome to the New Slavery
I have arrived at the conclusion that everything we do is for the benefit of a few. We work and they cream off the profits. That is a form of slavery. We prostitute ourselves. We sell our time and bodies.
There are tiers. There are tears.
We are paid well in the west. Our unions have wrestled our wages and conditions out of the hands of the employers. They are not so lucky in the third world. Their labour is cheap, jobs few and numbers many. That is the ideal combination for the capitalist money makers. Those on the bottom tier live in poverty and are grateful for the crumbs.
The capitalists made the system that way.
We live in an age where we can vote on game shows but not on political issues. Democracy via representation is not democracy – not when our representatives can be lobbied, bribed and bought by the corporations.
Democracy is when the voice of the people is making the decisions. I might not like the decisions made by the majority. They might not be arrived at through intelligence or knowledge. They might be spurious, self-centred, ignorant and prejudiced. But I would prefer that to the way it is done right now – controlled by wealthy minds that put up the money for candidates and pull the strings for self-interest.
If I had a choice I’d prefer government through the people that via a small group of the wealthy. The problem then would merely be – who controls the media?
Poetry – OVER THE WEEKEND
OVER THE WEEKEND
Over the weekend and under the day
Buried in work with nothing to say
I’m not over the weekend but I’m under the day
Busy selling my time for a dollop of pay
When I’m over the weekend
I’m bought down to ground
Stuck under the day
Subject to the pound
We’re all living tomorrow
Stuck in today
Running low energy
Hard into decay
Life could be a weekend
Lived in a sigh
Where under the day
Means beneath the sky
OPHER 12.2.97
I’m beneath the sky now. I no longer have to sell my time. My day is my own to do with as I please. I was bought not brought.
I choose to spend it writing, reading and travelling, seeing my family and laughing with my friends.
That sounds like freedom to me.
I loved my job but I begrudged the time. There was so much to do and not enough time and energy to fit it all in. It seemed that you spend your life wishing for weekends, holidays and time off to recover. it was intense.
Work is a Four-Letter Word

That was superb. It was both amusing and made a number of thought provoking points.
I remember work well. It’s a type of prostitution (even if you enjoy it).
Anecdote – On my arse in the sewage – one of the best jobs I’ve ever had

On my arse in the sewage – one of the best jobs I’ve ever had
Strangely the two best jobs I’ve ever had, apart from teaching, are road sweeping and sewage.
Road sweeping was great because I had plenty of time and the company was great. I could get in late and leave early, scoot round at triple speed and get the job done and the other council workers were a hotbed of revolution and dissent. We spent extended breaks arguing about the world, politics and the social order. It was fab.
But working with sewage was my kind of job (once you got used to the smell).
This bit is worth persevering with. You may find it amusing.
To start with we did not begin operations until ten o’ clock. I could come in late, grab a brew, sit and read, natter and kick back. The work came in bursts.
My first task was to check the grills coming in from the sewers. I had a big grappling hook and I had to clear anything caught up in the grill. All the toilets, sinks and drains emptied into the sewer and came out as a huge pipe with a grill over the opening. It was usually rags that were caught up. The boss told me that they had once removed an armchair and a dead horse. I don’t think he was kidding. You wonder how they ever got into the sewer system.
After that it was reading time.
Then it was clearing the apertures on the revolving arms of the clinker beds. The raw sewage was sprayed over the clinker. Inside the beds lived millions of larvae which fed on the organic material thus removing it from the sewage. The holes in the revolving arms blocked up (usually with condoms) and had to be cleared. I had a little hooked instrument for that job.
The sewage then ran into settling beds that resembled huge swimming pools. All the solids settled to the bottom. Twice a week these had to be emptied.
This was fun.
First all the water was pumped out of the settling beds. This left about six feet of liquid sludge.
Then the sludge was pumped out on to sludge beds.
Then came the interesting bit. Someone had to climb twenty feet down to the bottom of the settling tank with a squeegee board and push the remainder of the sludge into the central channel to be pumped out. This sludge was like smelly liquid mud a good foot deep.
As I was the young kid I was the one to do it. With squeegee in hand I set off down the ladder. I was equipped with waders. It was easy.
However, when I reached six feet from the bottom I encountered the problem. The ladder was coated in a good inch of sludge.
You could not walk down and not get coated.
It left you with two options. You could try to go down the ladder without using your hands and risk falling off or you could jump and risk slipping over.
I tried it both ways. Firstly I tried going down without using hands, nearly fell off and had to grab hold quickly. I didn’t like that. So next time I jumped. Firstly the liquid shit splashed out in a slow motion splash and came back at you and secondly your feet skidded away and you went backwards with a loud plop. The waders were not sufficient.
After that I just went down and held on. I figured I was going to get covered so best to get on with it.
Once there it took an hour shoving the sludge into the channel. It was quite relaxing.
No matter how much I washed and showered I could not seem to eliminate the aroma. I got through a ton of after-shave.
The best thing about the job was that I always seemed to be able to find a seat on the bus going home.
Opher’s Art – I called this one Work!

This was a painting that I did in the early 1970s. I called it work. At the time I was doing so research on day release and working as a laboratory technician. It was very boring.
I saw work as a prostitution. I sold my body and time in exchange for money which paid for the rent, food and clothes.
I’ve always been hard working. I don’t mind work. It is merely that there are so many other creative, social or enjoyable things that I could be doing. I don’t have enough time to fit all my life in!
I imagined myself in a prison, in a cloud looking out at life with all its possibilities.
Poetry – Over the Weekend

I’m beneath the sky now. I no longer have to sell my time. My day is my own to do with as I please.
I choose to spend it writing, reading and travelling, seeing my family and laughing with my friends.
That sounds like freedom to me.
I loved my job but I begrudged the time. There was so much to do and not enough time and energy to fit it all in. It seemed that you spend your life wishing for weekends, holidays and time off to recover. it was intense.
OVER THE WEEKEND
Over the weekend and under the day
Buried in work with nothing to say
I’m not over the weekend but I’m under the day
Busy selling my time for a dollop of pay
When I’m over the weekend
I’m bought down to ground
Stuck under the day
Subject to the pound
We’re all living tomorrow
Stuck in today
Running low energy
Hard into decay
Life could be a weekend
Lived in a sigh
Where under the day
Means beneath the sky
OPHER 12.2.97
My Art – this is a painting I did back in the 1970’s that I called ‘Work’.

I think I was going through a phase when I was frustrated by having to work for a living. Ideally I wanted to spend my time creating, writing, painting, talking, enjoying and experiencing. The trouble was that I had a family and we had to pay the bills. Reality kept getting in the way.
In the end I had to come to terms with it and I had a brilliant (for me) career in education.
Others of my paintings can be found in my book ‘My Art and Musings’. All my books are on Amazon.