Sweet Chemistry

Chemistry Set

A little sidetrack from usual posts , when I was a kid I was given a chemistry set just like the one above and my first thought was can I make something go bang , as any 9 year old would alone in my room I embarked on this quest mixed random compounds , heating some up until finally it happened with a loud phmmmff the cork blew from the test tube leaving a burn like mark on what was a recently painted ceiling , thus I panicked mom and dad would not be pleased, so I went to the bathroom cabinet and there was a jar of Lassars paste , I doubt a combination of zinc and salicylic acid , so with some dexterity of a chemical plasterer placed it on the ceiling smoothing it with good coverage , it worked I avoided punishment until a couple years later when my dad repainted the ceiling and revealed my handiwork.

So a little blast from the past , see you all soon

ACTION: How Britain’s most brutal comic laid the real ’70s bare

Bigmouth.

AGGRO! In the long, hot summer of 1976, ACTION comic’s blood-crazed sharks, spy thugs and football yobs warped young minds across Britain. Creator Pat Mills tells JOHN NAUGHTON about the comic The Sun called the Sevenpenny Nightmare.

In the recent trend for publishing books based around specific years, no-one has yet laid claim to 1976. Like visitors strolling past a boss-eyed mongrel at Battersea Dogs’ Home, prospective authors have failed to see the appeal of a year that began with 15 people murdered in Northern Ireland before the Christmas decorations came down and continued in grindingly grim fashion with front pages dominated by endless tales of industrial aggro or Cod and Cold War stand-offs. Civil war raged in Angola and bombs exploded throughout London. Is this the MPLA, is this the IRA? Yes, on both counts, Johnny.

Action’s most infamous cover, as seen in High-Rise.

Listen closely and you can hear the tectonic plates…

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winters fold

sticky beaked crow

raucous over winter berries,

as i ran on frosted ground

grass unlikely to bend

silvered instead of green,

clouds would shake

their snow soon

blanketing and forming

a soft landscape for me

in snow,

i was protected

the chill and damp

reddened eyes and nose,

sticky beaked crow

a shadow on the ground

lengthening under a low sun,

my shadow would be longer

one day,

for now i was content

to lay upon my back

feeling spread of arms and legs

as i be came an angel

dVersePoets

Kip Kubin – Each Time Again

stiffen the twilight

wanderer rolls in half soliloquy

sick heart and eastern sky

death’s fair strokes to guide,

dull pain brings him alone

heart a charnel cave,

crushing cigarette in thumb twists

till nearly ground to nothing,

love once lit and believe

as it was then

snow now hated

broke about the house

fathers silver face tribute to strength

went from kitchen warmth to boathouse,

breast no longer sleeps

coronal shine through window,

gunshot one pause enough to vow

gunshot two now white marble will tell,

should i be penitent kneeling praying

wrestling with tears,

i saw his return crimson and gold

shotgun on shoulder,

mother has gone away he said

my laughing brow could not find a way,

i wished for nothing but hair golden

to weave light to the day

police came lights kaleidoscopic

around ceiling and stars

with my uncle i grew,

now back in this timbered and brick town

to see what remains

house now fallen into decay

this heart of man

was now my peace,

lay flowers in silence

remember my prayer

shadows have now moved underground

and will stay

 

 

 

burn the other way

stressed cotton gripped,

lithograph shapes move

incoherent blemishes

caught by tired eye,

already a haven

checked by those who love,

yet still cold

comes to linger as an

unwelcome friend,

that closet door moves

with slow intent,

tomorrow a long voyage away

and the captain is

losing the wheel,

wanting to send up flares

light kerosene lamps,

to see

bedroom ocean

hindered by furry forms

that sulk in masses,

stories stringed words

hung across the mind

cranial denial,

cotton scrapes

a loose floorboard resonates

without help

from human form,

as captain he needs a crew,

crew of rag and plastic

to his call they rally

corners become embattled

cotton pushed aside,

sails on pine vessel,

beneath the night

a warrior born

clouds of gods look down,

moon casts a charming glow,

a battle cry

loud inside a voice parents

can never here,

on deck face splashed

by waves of memory,

wheel in his grasp

volley and surge

crackled into the night

with electric interference,

lips once moist

with mothers milk

now bloodied call proud,

monsters fled

lines defiled and beaten

each rushing over the fallen,

he would not be wounded

he would not falter,

time a soft blanket

on which he tiredly fell

sleep devoured

and all this would be

a satisfying memory by morning,

but not the claw embedded

in bedroom wall