Something about bikes.

Someone on twitter was pondering why the cycling group 'Critical Mass' might be included on a list of terror groups. They speculated that maybe Priti Patel had been frightened by a bike in the past, possibly when she had the stabilisers taken off. This reminded me of when my sister & me were kids, before we got the bikes we wanted, we used to do a pretend, late(ish) night 'radio' show called 'Bikes'. The theme tune went 'Bikes, Bikes, Bikes, Bikes...' etc. and we'd just lie in our beds blethering on about why bikes were dangerous and should be banned. We listed lots of ways you could be killed on a bike, including getting hit by a train because we lived near a railway. Sometime round Christmas 1975, we got our bikes and the show was cancelled.
Here's a poem about my first bike.

BIG BEN BONG

From Rosemary Dun: A poem from me and my mate Helên Tingle. I love collaborating with Helên - we have such fun. Anyway, I started this poem after turning on the telly a few days ago and seeing Boris Johnson saying,' "Bung a bong for the Big Ben bong" - and decided one of us had gone mad. Turns out it's true. (He meant to say bung a bob). Still nuts.

BIG BEN BONG

Bung a bob for the Big Ben bong
crowd funding Brexit's midnight strike
Sing a rousing song for the Swan Song Gong
ring out the bells like it’s Bonfire Night

Ben first bonged in the time of Charles Dickens
But lately Ben's been silent as a dodo
Celebrate your right to eat chlorinated chickens
With Mark Francois as Quasimodo

Send remoaner wrong 'uns to Kim Jong
Un. We can't wait any longer
A shame the Great British Pound's not so strong
Coz those bongs cost a stonkin' load of wonga

Let’s twang a thong all day long
join the queue for passports blue
Bang the bongo bongs as we sing, "Ding Dong!"
bing bang bongs and nikky nakky noo

Make like King Kong as Big Ben bongs
Join the merry leavers’ buoyant conga
When the Big Ben bongs join the jubilant throng
morris dancing with the King of Tonga

ning-tong-ning-tong and piddle-aye-poh
heave-ho to the land of Spike Milligan
high five and bing bong bo to the Big Ben bro
fall drunk as skunks playing Spillikins

Then the next day when you’re sober
and had the chance to think it over
when you’ve got a thumping head,
meat sweats, hangover dread,
a faint suspicion you’ve been had --
that the future could be bad.
For deals and wealth you'll have to wait
an inkling Britain’s not all that great
Too fuckin late mate.
Those bongs have sealed your fate...

Oh well, C'est la vie!

Rosemary Dun and Helên Thomas

the culinary puffer fish as metaphor for my cutting words

The Japanese word
‘sushi’ means ‘it is sour’
sometimes it’s lethal

blowfish or puffer
by another name fugu
often is fatal

prepare for repast
take out prandial peril
tetrodotoxin

deadly delicious
clean cuts render edible
go gall bladder, guts

bile free and spineless
sound bites edited; souped up
vitriol punctured

unsayable truths
filleted for consumption
in palatable portions

raw cyanide, sliced,
diced, redesigned, redefined
‘that’s nice’, served with rice



released November 29, 2019
Word by Helên Thomas
Sounds manipulated by Helên Thomas using samples donated by Owen J.
license
all rights reserved.
Buy from Bandcamp.

That's How Bees See

Ultra violet
livid vivid
on a purple pollen flight path
blues are pinks
and pinks are yellow
ink blot blooms
in
busy body zoomz
traffic warden clad
flywayman bad
swag bag laden
violet raiding
“Pardon me madam!”
into snap dragons
and swooping
on lupins
taking their fill
of daffodil
gold
then back to the fold
dancing with glee
for queen and country
grid refs on honeycombed hexagon hoedown
then over
and out
in a sugar slurping swarm
all humbug like
humming bugs
sweet syringe tongued
sexing the flowers
lunch is not free
whose back is scratched
how is it to be?

Meanwhile in roses
on amber hued afternoons
free bees
cut leaves
taking life
with ease
not nine to five
hive jive
without care or comb
communal home
daily drone
mobile phone
just zzzz
and fat
happy
alone.
 
Both tracks are available to buy on Bandcamp