MINED: YOUR LANGUAGE

'Bling’ Crosby was dreaming of a Gold Christmas, just like the bronze he used to know.

While a troupe of method actors coated themselves in luminous paint,

Knowing there’s no business like ‘glow’ business.

Environmentally-friendly grocers aren’t as green as they are cabbage looking,

Particularly if they used to box and have cauliflower ears.

Ears of corn can’t hear, naturally, even if you raised your voice or used force.

But we take certain expressions for granted, as a matter of course.

For example, there are ‘horses for courses’ and blood ‘courses’ through their veins.

Courses can be educational, there can be courses of action, treatment and antibiotics.

Although why anyone should be against ‘biotics’ is a mystery.

Mysteries, by their nature, are mystifying, which sounds like mist-defying,

Which sounds like someone who doesn’t have the foggiest; being completely mystified.

Personally, why Edward Elgar composed his Enigma variations is a mystery to me.

‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood’ was Charles Dickens’ unfinished novel,

But lots of people have never finished any of his books.

These days, many people read with Kindles, others listen to audiobooks,

I always think if someone has a library of audiobooks it speaks volumes about them.

Language is a funny thing for sure, English in particular,

Where we find ‘deed polls’ do not refer to the actions of Polish people.

Similarly, we discover that a pole vault is not an eastern-European prison,

(Nor is it a secure environment for the storage of scaffolding)

Anymore than the economic term: ‘pink pound’ describes a ‘gay’ prison.

UNFATHOMABLE EXPERIENCES 

Fishes below RNLI lifeboats, riptides and strong currents, 

A lighthouse scans the waves, a fisherman saves his sandwiches for later. 

Scratching the psoriasis on his belly’s skin, he imagines himself coated in batter, 

At home safe and dry, his wife will natter with the neighbour’s wife. 

‘Life at sea’s the life for me,’ says the impressionable Joseph Conrad fan, 

His innocent plan: to board a ship, to join the navy wearing navy blue waterproofs. 

Roofs leaking, kids peeking through net curtains, while nets ensnare fish in water, 

Unfathomable experiences happen at sea, kids are in the sea. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s a drop in the ocean, oceans apart, 

The fisherman’s heart yearns for his estranged wife, 

As he reaches for a knife…

'VALERIE'S GLASS BEADS' My most recent colour drawing:gel pens on cartridge paper. Framed, for sale on my Etsy store: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/JULIANCLORANART4ALL

NUN EATEN IN NUNEATON

WARWICKSHIRE POST AND GAZETTE: Letting people in WARWICKSHIRE KNOW

EST. 2015.

Ed. RICH SEAMFINDEr

NUN EATEN IN NUNEATON

By our Warwick Affairs correspondent, Delia Probes.

Shocking reports have reached us here at the Warwickshire Gazette and Post of a sick cannibal preying on the praying community in the area neighbouring Nuneaton. Nuneaton itself has long been stigmatised for the attraction it holds for both bankrupt restauranteurs (and others from the catering industry who failed miserably) and, no less ironically, anorexic support groups. Now, it has proved itself the controversial capital of Warwickshire again with the discovery of the half-eaten remains of a nun outside a church on the outskirts of the town.

The gruesome discovery was made in the early hours of yesterday morning by Alan Snoopins, a retired traffic warden from Coventry, who was on holiday at the time.

‘I woke at the crack of dawn, yesterday,’ Mr Snoopins, 70, said. ‘The toilet in the B&B was blocked, so I decided to go for a walk. I was about ten minutes away from the B&B when I saw a church that looked pretty. Only, on closer inspection, I discovered it was anything but…’

To his horror, on the pathway leading to the church of St Botolph’s, in Credence Lane, Mr Snoopins saw a pack of Alsatian dogs fighting over the remains of a nun.

‘To my horror, I saw a pack of dogs, Alsatians they were, all fighting over this poor nun’s dead body.’

Nauseated, Mr Snoopins immediately alerted the police.

Det. Chief Inspector Alan Mason praised Mr Snoopins for his public-spirited response to what he described as ‘an atrocious end to a nun.’ DCI Mason, who heads what, is now a murder case, has issued the following statement:

‘Thanks to the public-spirited actions of a retired holidaymaker, police are now investigating the suspicious death of a nun, found by the holidaymaker being eaten by a pack of dogs. The dogs themselves were quickly ruled out as the prime suspects in the case as forensics revealed the time of death as some hours previous to their unsightly feast. Further clues point to the perpetrator possibly being male, with a fixation about nuns specifically, or uniformed women in general. Most disturbingly, the number of bite marks on what remained of her body that could not be blamed on the dogs could suggest she was cannibalised.’

The nun has been identified as Sister Veronica Barnacle, from Coventry’s Convent for the Piety and Purification of Our Lady’s Humble Servants. She was aged 55, and believed to have been visiting Father Brawny McGuigan at St. Botolph’s to discuss an inter-diocese funding of a local charities event.

Father McGuigan’s reaction to the police statement was one of ‘complete shock and the deepest revulsion.’ He simply ‘could not imagine,’ he said, ‘what type of monstrous being would do such an appalling thing to a sweet little nun like Sister Veronica. Despite his vocation, Father Brawny spoke of his incredulity over the news. ‘It’s hard to believe, I pray to God for help in understanding the depravity of such a person’s warped psyche. Killing a nun’s bad enough, but then eating her? I pray to God this sick man doesn’t make a habit out of it.’

 

DRUSILLAS PARK

The artist who was obsessed with Cilla Black
Took up residence in Drusillas Park where, night and day,
He produced images of the late Scouse singer—even in the dark!
Like many artists, commercial success eluded him,
But he found recognition of a sort becoming widely known as the man
Who drew Cillas in Drusillas, for sport.

Cilla Black enjoyed a long career,
Singing less often as time passed,
But always grinning from ear to ear.
The red-headed warbler who ended up presenting the TV show ‘Blind Date’
Was typical of the mediocrity the critics love to hate.
No bad reviews diminished her popularity even the slightest bit,
One can always rely on the British public to cherish the tritest shit.

For the fixated artist of Drusillas, Cilla was an idol second to none.
Although, ironically, the park was visited one day, by Billy Idol, after a nun.
The artist’s adulation, pouring his heart into his work
Indicates how channelling his obsession saved him from going completely berserk.
Until, one day, he took his own life with precision and a palette knife,
Which he used to carve the initials: C. B into both of his carotid arteries!

Rich Seamfinder.

DOCTORS AGAINST DIESEL ROCKS HOLLYWOOD

The British Medical Association has issued a statement clarifying the position of ‘Doctors Against Diesel’ in an attempt to appease Hollywood star, Vin Diesel.

The BMA says in the statement that: ‘No one in the medical profession wishes to offend the famous actor. Their issue is an environmental one,’ it emphasises.

The statement follows rumours fuelled by unidentified mischievous elements seeking to capitalise on the macho actor’s potentially hurt feelings.

A spokesperson for a group who are currently speculating on the amount of concern Riddick star, Diesel may have as a result of a possible misunderstanding about medically qualified anti-pollution groups said: ‘Vin Diesel looks tough, but if he felt there is a group of British doctors who are against him, he might take it personally and suffer from lowered self-esteem.’

Sources close to Hollywood have indicated that the bizarre situation has cinematic possibilities. Perhaps the public will see a release in which ‘VD’ visits UK hospitals on a systematic killing and mutilation spree involving large numbers of doctors.

WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

A psychometric test to help you find out by Prof. Ess.

1) Your pet giraffe’s eating disorder is embarrassing your wife. Do you:

a) Take up domestic violence.
b) Move to Sweden with your giraffe.
c) Feign ignorance.
d) Wear clogs as noisily as you can.
e) Realise you’re not married!

2) At the cinema, the people seated behind you persistently lick the back of your head. Do you:

a) Ignore them.
b) Threaten them.
c) Pay them.
d) Masturbate.
e) Engage in an epic coughing fit and move to another seat.

3) A weird byelaw comes into effect forcing you to spend three days and nights in a corrugated iron shed on a strict diet of ginger nut biscuits and water. Afterwards, do you:

a) Assume an air of martyrdom and snap at ginger people.
b) Buy shares in Swarfega.
c) Launch campaigns to raise awareness of currently fashionable diseases.
d) Form or join a discussion group for people like you.
e) Feed your giraffe ginger nut biscuit crumbs.

4) When bizarre legislation compels countries to ‘share’ their most famous landmarks (for example: Cairo swaps its pyramids with New York’s Statue of Liberty) you one day find the Arc d’Triomphe outside your house. Do you:

a) Foam at the mouth in a fit of xenophobic pique.
b) Organise local street urchins to deface it with anti-Gallic graffiti.
c) Park underneath it.
d) Let your giraffe defecate by it.
e) Dress like Napoleon and wear a mad grin.

5) ‘Role reversal’ opportunities, which are broadcast nationally, are legally enforceable possibilities randomly allocated to individuals by a government computer. Every other minute, two people are chosen to ‘swap lives, circumstances, etc’ for a minimum of two hours and a maximum of two days. You are picked to swap with a cross-dressing traffic warden with a candy floss addiction. Do you:

a) Try and refuse on religious grounds.
b) Fake your own death.
c) Set up a series of murderous traps for the traffic warden and vandalise parking meters.
d) Make the best of it and attempt to learn and grow from the experience.
e) Research giraffe’s food allergies… Just in case.

6) Corrugated iron makes a surprise comeback becoming one of the bestselling, most fashionable materials in recent decades. In mint condition, a 6’ x 4’ sheet of corrugated iron can fetch as much as £300 on the black-market. When a dyslexic cretin leaves you a corrugated iron warehouse worth £500K in their will, do you:

a) Make materialist plans, your eyes glistening with greedy anticipation.
b) Design a series of corrugated iron giraffe shelters.
c) Surround the premises with powerful magnets to see what happens.
d) Recruit thousands of panel beaters to flatten your stock to see what it looks like.
e) Seek advice from an independent Unexpected Inheritance Advice Service run by recovering candy floss addicts.

7) If you had to spend 24 hours naked with a small lump of candy floss partiallycovering your private parts, where would you prefer to be:

a) Trafalgar Square.
b) In an irrigation canal.
c) Behind a veterinary surgeon’s practice.
d) In a field of irate bulls.
e) In a north-facing greenhouse.

8) If your teeth became luminous in the dark, would you:

a) Smile all the way home.
b) Paint yourself black all over and mime to popular songs every night.
c) Get into advertising… Toothpastes, etc.
d) Leave your teeth to science.
e) Hurl bricks at lampposts and grin maniacally beneath them.

9) After hearing that selotape is illegal where you live, you see your next-door neighbour using it. Do you:

a) Assume a non-judgemental air while secretly pitying them.
b) Report them to the appropriate authorities, after checking to see if there’s a reward.
c) Knock on their door and offer them alternative, legal forms of adhesive.
d) Knock on their door and run away.
e) Write a hymn that cryptically incriminates them and send 1, 000 copies of it to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

10) Which of the following would you most like to be?

a) The Pope, but incurably afflicted with a terrible stutter and an atrociously painful limp.
b) The best footballer in the world, but with horrific halitosis and microscopic genitalia.
c) The Dalai Lama, only to be perceived by everyone else as a facile candy floss addict.
d) Famous for surviving more accidents with corrugated iron than anyone else in the entire world.
e) Totally average in every way, yet capable of experiencing true and total euphoric bliss all day on every seventeenth Wednesday.

11) Empowered to do so, which one of the following miracles would you choose to perform?

a) Make smoking completely harmless.
b) Become immune to pain.
c) Restore Stevie Wonder’s sight.
d) Cure candy floss addicts through creating roles for them in giraffe shelters (made from corrugated iron).
e) Afflict Stevie Wonder with profound deafness.

12) If you were forced to learn another language taught by retired traffic wardens who were deranged on hallucinogenic mushrooms soaked in battery acid, which of the following would you choose:

a) Sanskrit.
b) Welsh (and then send insulting Celtic diatribes to Bjork).
c) Esperanto, sign language and semaphore: to be certain of ‘flagging’ down deaf taxi drivers’ cabs.
d) Any language, but always employ a broad Glaswegian accent while using it.
e) 18th century Polish to be spoken dressed as Chopin.

RESULTS:

 

MOSTLY A’s:

You’re a borderline selotape-dependant personality with repressed aversions to long-necked animals. If you carefully avoid the excessive consumption of candy floss and regularly focus on the marketing trends of corrugated iron, you may find a modicum of contentment in your life. Or, possibly, experience the feeling of belonging that is readily achieved by joining self-labelling groups (of socially-deficient people) of a comfort-swapping nature.

MOSTLY B’s:

If you dream you are a giraffe a lot, you’ll have answered B mainly. You know your heart, have an unusually long, strong neck and cordially detest traffic wardens. You are a flexible, confident character unless of course you are feeling inflexible and lacking in confidence. You’re not gullible, don’t let anyone tell you that you are (if you are suggestible). You have what it takes to succeed in life, especially life at its most mundane. With the right combination of luck, inspiration and hard work, you could invent sophisticated new methods of torture for inflicting on traffic wardens kidnapped by people who mostly answered A’s.

MOSTLY C’s:

If C’s are all you see as options, you’re a weak-willed, excessively compromising, potential candy floss addict. Your head probably often resembles pink confectionery on a stick. Giraffes sneer at you behind your back, which is invariably hunched like a furtive traffic warden’s. If you’ve made it into your thirties, don’t think your life’s going to get any better—it isn’t! Intensive self-improvement is your only (extremely slim) hope, but it’s entirely up/down to you… Nobody cares!

MOSTLY D’s:

You are an attention-seeking, pervert impelled by self-gratification. You think: me, me, me, which rhymes with D, D, D, which is no coincidence. If you were less vain, you’d need to take a good look at yourself (but self-examination procedures are totally non-productive exercises for complete Narcissists). Naturally, no one is beyond redemption. They just feel universally shunned and derided, like traffic wardens with leprosy. Suggested course of action: Move next-door to a Jehovah’s Witness and look down on them.

MOSTLY E’s:

You oddball, you! You think outside the box. Paradoxically, choosing mostly E’s ticks all of your boxes. Your maverick approach to life outfoxes your rivals. You’re a loner but you’re not lonely. You know your own mind and stick to it (without using selotape). If you were a traffic warden, you’d probably give a giraffe a parking ticket—it’s who you are! You’re used to sticking your neck out. You don’t get overwrought near corrugated iron and you can take or leave your candy floss. You will be happy, popular, able to be promiscuous if you so wish, smart and skilled at completing psychometric assessments with positive results. You do not loathe traffic wardens or pity weak candy floss addicts; live and let live you say, knowing you are better than they are anyway.

 

 

SU CHONG

When Su Chong’s lap sang it came as a big surprise,
Her man, Darin spoke no Chinese
Despite his ‘canto knees’—
His ‘Ezra Pound patellas’, as he calls them
Draped in the late poet’s work.
However, in English, Darin is supportive of Su,
Telling her, ‘Your lap’s singing is a fantastic gift!
The thigh’s the limit,’ he quips, and while she gets his drift,
She feels embarrassed by the strangeness of her singing legs,
And the way they started singing with no warning,
She wondered how they knew the words.
‘Tunes from your lap,’ Darin enthused,
‘That will make people clap!’
‘We’ve heard of lap dancers, they’ll say,’ he continues,
‘Now, here’s Su Chong—the world’s first lap singer!’
Looking down at her thighs, Su sighs,
‘They’re quiet now, my legs. Can’t you see?
Not knowing when they will burst into song makes it wrong—
They’re no good to me.’
‘Steady on, Su. What you have is unique!
It’s too precious to abandon in a fit of pique.’
But Darin’s entreaties came too late,
She’d already decided to amputate,
Both of her legs with help from her Japanese Samurai mate.
Afterwards, ironically, both she and Darin were stumped by her peculiar fate.

IMP LORE

Imp lore includes a tale of a disabled imp, with a limp and precious ore.
They’re ever attentive listeners, who’ll feign interest when they are bored,
Because they are raised to always be polite,
‘Always be polite,’ they are, by their parents, implored.


Imp lore is obscure, partly for the reason that imps will seldom write.
‘The Bottle Imp’ is a classic story by Robert Louis Stevenson,
But the title imp does not emerge in glory.
They rarely feature in horror films because they are too gory.
I think imps are apolitical, but who knows?
Maybe they vote Tory.


Mischievous imps are commonplace, like sailors with ‘a rolling gait,’
While imps delayed at airports are imps who are made to wait.
It helps them learn to cope with their imp-atience!
Their favourite sweets are mint imperials, which they suck with impish delight.
Imps, generally petite, are hardly heavy, in fact, they’re very light.
They’re not known to be nocturnal, but you can see them at night.


If ‘The Simpsons’ lost an ‘S’, it could easily describe an imp’s male offspring,
I can’t see a person getting animated over this series though, that’s the thing.
I wonder, is the most popular imp-spotting season of the year spring?
Imps sound like pimps, but imps can make prostitutes vanish,
While pimps just make their incomes disappear.


Short-tempered imps, readily taunted, are imps you can easily goad.
A ship’s hold is where I’m told a cruising imp’s stuff is stowed,
To me, imps are awfully precious—they’re worth their weight in gold.
I hope to inspire greater imp awareness in the public with all that I have said.
It is imp-erative that I succeed, or else I will imp-lode,
This explains the urgency of my imp-ulse here to unload.

THE FROG'S LIFE VIEWED OVERHEAD

THE FROG'S LIFE VIEWED OVERHEAD, a photo by Narolc on Flickr.

 

BEASTS, BALLS AND WORLDS

'BEASTS, BALLS AND WORLDS'
Collage/drawing on A5-size paper (although the collage element here is minimal).
Julian Cloran August, 2013.

BENIDORM

Benidorm: a region of Spain?
Or a place where one called Ben can sleep and rest their brain?
‘Big Ben’ is a famous London landmark, a huge clock beside Parliament and the river,
‘Big’ Ben, the cockney giant, wears a large sock and has an enlarged liver.
As a juvenile, Michael Jackson had a big hit with the song ‘Ben,’
With his Afro hairstyle resembling a microphone at the time,
I thought there was something funny about him back then.
Nigel and Tony Benn share the same surname, but are very different men.
Nigel, as a pugilist, made his living with his fists,
Whereas the politician, Tony, was better suited to making lists…
Mr Benn, the animated series aimed at children, about a man in Festive Road,
Who visited a costume shop, tried on different outfits and had adventures each episode.
The shopkeeper—who appeared ‘as if by magic’—was very patient with Mr Benn,
Who never bought anything and seemed jobless, which was a stigma back then.

BELLA

Bella’s ruse to get to Belarus involved her exploiting her good looks.
Bella by name, Bella by nature she wasn’t.
However, she consistently got herself into people’s good books.
Despite poisoning her entire family (with Belladonna) she managed to blame their cooks.
Although considered beautiful in Italy, Bella sought flight to Belarus,
Where she fancied living like a Russian doll.
She stowed away on a plane, thanks to a corrupt airport official called Shane.
His inept pawing of her in exchange didn’t bother Bella until, when the plane landed in Minsk; she noticed on her clothes he’d left a stain.

 

I’d like to say that all is well with Bella.
That she’s happy and being pursued by a nice Belarusian fella.
But, alas, a lass like Bella…
Well, you just can’t tell her.
Miserable from the off, she’s seriously depressed, freezing cold and poor.
Her looks are of little use to her now, unless she should want to work as a whore.
She’s so lonely she misses her family, though before she killed them she found them a bore.
Poor Bella, what can I say?
Nothing good—so I’ll say no more.

 

THE ENTITY THAT ATE HULL

The vast entity, in its entirety, ate an entire city.

It wasn’t pretty or anything like Godzilla.
Nor did it target Tokyo, or Seoul, or Manila.

Instead, it gobbled up Hull,
Astounding the world with its Yorkshire based cull.

People screamed, there was blood and rubble everywhere…
And that was before the entity even got there.

When it had finished eating, none of Hull was left,
The entity promptly disappeared in a vanishing act most deft.

Humber Bridge, Hull... Before it got eaten!

'ANIMALS POINT THE WAY'

'ANIMALS POINT THE WAY'
Collage/drawing. JULIAN CLORAN, July 2013.

THE NEIGHBOURS

The asthmatic saw little of his astigmatic neighbour.
It should be the other way round, he thought, fond of observing irony.
Behind closed doors, the asthmatic snores thunderously each night.
His short-sighted neighbour, with unimpaired hearing, dreads this noise; the sound he abhors.
Unable to sleep through the appalling racket at night, he catches up the next day.
He wonders who’ll notice he’s not around in the mornings; people might think he’s away.

Nobody cares, but everyone stares as the astigmatic, carrying a placard, comes downstairs.
The placard reads:
I’M ALL RIGHT. I JUST CAN’T GET ANY SLEEP AT NIGHT!
The asthmatic aggravator passed him on the stairs and read the sign.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he wheezes. ‘I hope you are fine.’
The man with poor vision nodded his thanks.
He hoped his neighbour would take the hint.
Then, they both went back to their rooms.
It was time for their daily wanks.

STATIONER, STATIONARY

Recently retired, the former stationer took up a reclusive existence on a peninsula with an old biro.
With a pen, insular on the peninsula, the solitary stationer that was is virtually stationary.
Still, he manages to reflect on his successful career, knocking out pens and paper and similar gear.

Now, with failing eyesight, he spends his days looking back.
Subsequently, it all becomes clear.
When his biro runs out, he runs out into the sea,
And wonders why Virginia Woolf did the same thing,
As, drowning, he takes a last pee.

CAVEMEN OF THE FUTURE

CAVEMEN OF THE FUTURE
Collage/drawing on A4 paper
Julian Cloran April 2013.

THE DROWNING PILLAR BOX BOOT
Collage/drawing incorporating elements from copies of my previous works and coloured gel pens. Julian Cloran.

TEN YEARS

A decade is a period of time.

A long time as a deck aid, providing assistance on a ship.

After this time, you feel life had given you the slip—

You feel you have decayed.

Atleast you’ve kept afloat working in this way,

Satisfactorily keeping penury at bay.

But there’s no deck aid parade in addition to your pay.

You drink any port in a storm to keep warm,

Squinting at how the land lay.

At sea or in dock, you watch the clock,

Gazing into the distance for prospects looming on the horizon,

Wondering about your sweetheart back home and who she’s got her eyes on.

At times, with the relentless grind,

You find scenes from Mutiny on the Bounty playing on your mind.

On land, crew cuts are haircuts.

At sea, they are less kind.

Shaking off bits of cut-up crewmembers from your shoe,

You realise no one is more cut off than you.

A deck aid’s neck’s laid out on deck,

It tans to leather in the sun from its fleshy cardboard.

When you’re not seasick, you’re homesick,

Foam is quick to flow from the mouth if you drink too much saltwater,

Apparently, it drives you mad!

Overall, your life’s not bad; just boring, repetitive, tedious and sad.

You’re better off than most, you tell yourself…

With the conviction of a ghost…