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Populist Poet

I'll write anything for money me!

Friday, 25 October 2019

EVIL IN ERYRI



HALLOWEEN LAUNCH



 A Land Rover begins its steep ascent up Cwm Roblyn. 
The driver in Barbour wax hat and red neckerchief is singing along to a song on Radio Cymru
"Da di'r hen Aled yna. Ein gwlad ni, Ein iaith ni, Ein diwylliant ni"

In Fidlas Avenue, Llanishen Cardiff, Ken Frane is scratching his balls in bed. 
7.44am and he should really be up and about, but he is fatigued. It would be his 59th Birthday before long and the impending reality of this was filling him with dread. He was nearly an OAP. An Oafish Adult Person. He'd been one of those for a while, but a pension would make it official.

That afternoon Ken Frane presents himself at Cardiff Rhoose ‘there's a moose on the loose’ airport. He boards a twelve-seater passenger aircraft. “Destination Môn.”

Flying over Cymru/Wales, well this, indeed to goodness look yew, was a new one on Ken Frane. He just couldn’t stop himself from gawking out of the window. It was a glorious country from up above. He had an eagle’s eye view. The slow-moving cars on the A470, the traffic jams and the hold ups. He could see the Transport for Wales train chuffing its way up North through England. Bit of turbulence over Troed-y-rhiw, and Ken Frane starts to feel a bit queezy. Not the done thing to ask the Pilot to arrest the Plane for a toilet stop in Dinas Mawddwy. Up over the Peaks of Eryri and Frane was so close to the top of the Wyddfa that the tren bach looked like a toy train and he could touch the snow on the top and turn it into a ball to roll back down the mountain killing all the tourists in one fell swoop. “There’s gratitude for you”

 A figure in a black monk's habit stares into the abyss of the aerodrome through the wire meshing and Ken Frane spots him. 
" Who the fuck is that Dai?" 
" One of the Black Monks of Mona Abbey by the look of him" 
" or somebody gone mad in T K Maxx?" 
" Their community is just over the sand dunes there" 
" Shall we call past on the way to the station Dai?" 
" Any particular reason?" 
"Well he spooked me a bit there Dai and they always say face your fears" 
" We can drive by there but we would need a warrant to go in" 
" What, don't they welcome visitors at this community?" 
" It's not that kind of community Ken" 

“We know that he ended up having a boxing match in the beer garden of a pub in Penrhyndeudraeth and he would often take his wife to dine at Portmeirion, he liked the finer things in life and he reveled in his minor celebrity status”
“Who was the man he was fighting in the beer garden?” Dai Williams asked
“I’m afraid we haven’t been able to ascertain that yet Sir”
“It’s pretty important, I would imagine he would be prime suspect”
“None of the villagers are willing to talk, closing ranks”

As Dai Williams's finger hovers by the buzzer, the perimeter fence gate opens and a voice over the intercom, an otherworldly voice says
“Welcome Gentlemen, we have been expecting you”
 Ken Frane is about to shout "we’ve got your dog" but is shushed by Dai Williams.
“Now don’t fuck about here Ken, play this straight. I’m in charge, just shut up and take my lead”
“Whoa fucking hang on Tonto, if it hadn’t been for me, we wouldn’t have come here at all”
“Shut it Frane” something in Dai Williams voice makes Frane ‘shut it’.
Rather than a monk in habit opening the main door, stands a man in dinner suit.
“Croeso gyfeillion, diolch am ddod”
The three detectives are ushered into the main hall and a huge banquet is underway with the diners being all men and all the waitresses being somewhat underdressed.
The soup is the first course and none of the diners acknowledge or appear to recognise the three late comers.
The man who had opened the door stands and taps his glass.


It is foggy and there is a steady drizzle when Garmon, Frane and Williams get out of the squad car. A uniformed police officer turns off the engine and waits patiently for them.
“So, he was driving up here, he was heading home, he must have had a reason to stop the Land Rover. He stops for a piss? There’s a sheep lying in the middle of the road? somebody stops him? A roadblock perhaps? What did forensics come up with?” Frane is keen to solve this one and get home.

Saturday, 19 October 2019

Boycott Spain & Turkey as Holiday Destinations

The scenes coming out of Barcelona, Madrid and Catalonia are so disturbing, that I for one cannot watch them. I'm not squeamish usually but you know what the end result is going to be as soon as you see the set up. 
Erdogan has taken the opportunity left by Trump's troop withdrawal to hit the Kurds hard. It is obvious that he has been waiting for such an opportunity. I think Spain and Turkey are cowards. I am talking about the Governments here as Britain talked about Russia after the Salisbury Novichok attacks. If ordinary people of these countries support their government's actions in oppressing Catalans and Kurds then I as a common and garden blogger of little importance condemn them also. 
Thomas Cook have gone tits up! Britain considers that it has bigger fish to fry with Brexit. The EU have been deafeningly silent on the situation in Catalonia. France & Germany have refused to sell arms to Turkey and Britain is considering not selling armaments but Erdogan has got enough stockpiled to obliterate the Kurds should he so wish and we know that he so wishes.
What can we as ordinary Joes do about these blatant human rights abuses that are being beamed into our homes nightly? Well we are constantly being told that 'money talks' well in that case 'Boycott Spain & Turkey as Holiday Destinations'. Most people fly to these places so you will be doing your bit for the collective carbon footprint. If you are British, rediscover Cleethorpes and Skegness as holiday destinations. If you are Welsh, reacquaint yourself with Barry Island and Pwllheli. I am usually quite glib in whatever I write but in this I am deadly serious. Those who remember the 1980s know that the boycott of South African goods did have an effect on pressurizing the apartheid regime to release Nelson Mandela and even if you disagree about that, the feeling that you were doing something however small made you feel better. Most people have been to either Spain or Turkey on their holiday anyway so why would you want to go again? I wont mince my words "If you set foot on their sovereign soil you are condoning what their governments are doing to the Catalan politicians and protesters and condoning the bombing and killing of the Kurds who have been fighting ISIS on your behalf" 


      

Saturday, 12 October 2019

Knicker Elastic & Earex




I shouted to mother
"Do you want owt from town?"
(We were both faux northerners)
I was expecting Turkish Delight or Bonbons
or some scented candles but bugger me, a frown
"Some knicker elastic and earex"
as she pulled up her bloomers from her ankles
"There's no need to shout"
Morrisons had become the Commercial Cilcennin
and Tescos, Siop Dicky Watch
as I navigated the aisles full of Generation Z
I was expecting to be asked for ID
"Sorry Sir you are too old to be shopping in here
I think there's still an old Drapers in town"
Musty smells and doorbells
Half an ounce of this and a quarter of that
The language back then between humans was Welsh
now the machine in the corner will tell you
that
 "you've an unidentified item in the packing area" 
in robot Cymraeg.
heads lift and backs stiffen
using a language we can't understand and can't be arsed to learn.
I'd like to pour petrol on history and just let it burn.  
She may be in her nineties but she's got all her faculties
I shouted to mother
"Do you want owt from town?"

Thursday, 10 October 2019

Despair & Longing

A funny(ish) poem about mental health



Well here we are again, October 10th,World International Mental Health Day and
kick that tumbleweed out of the way and mind you don't prick yourself on that cactus.  
You may call me a cynic
but this "talk to somebody" business is bollocks.
What if the somebody you choose to talk to
makes your despair and longing worse
because that is what it is
'Despair & Longing'
Despair at the world (as it is with you in it)
Longing for a better world (so that you can have a better life)
They call Depression the Black Dog
I call mine the Purple Frog.
It is covered in warts and belches and farts
everyone knows when the Puce Amphibian starts.
I grumble and mumble, I stumble and I wail  
My biggest concern, from a young child, is that I fail.
Competing against your fellow (wo)man
has always been the name of the game.
"You got to be in it to win it"
Your head's got to be in the frame.
It's funny, October 10th is the one day I feel OK
because everyone is talking about me
Purple Frog says "that could be your paranoia see!"   
As the world's in uproar I might as well say
that for me, mental health is political, it is not about
chemicals in balance or out of kilter
it's about how we get messed about on the helter skelter.
We have been taught to accept that life is unfair
but what if we all untangled that from our hair.
Instead of getting older and bitter
what if we got younger and fitter
and said
 "No"
 to all the purple frogs crouching in our way
"Easier said than done" I hear you say.
We can swallow the tablets and accept the ECT
we can become hermits and hide up in the tree
making a den of all our regrets and hurts.
We sleep, the greatest escape of all
the sun peeps through the leaves
we stir and say, "maybe I'll try again"
It's too easy to think that this is the end
"Maybe Purple Frog is actually my friend"

Monday, 7 October 2019

How many tweets will it take



How many tweets will it take to stop the Climate Emergency?

How many tweets will it take to topple Trump & Johnson?

How many likes and retweets will it take for you to see I'm a fake?

How many tweets will it take to affect change with your pet project?

How many tweets will it take for you to wake up, you have become object?

Click that mouse within an inch of its life

cos I'm gonnae off to AOUB, the next stop is Fife.

How many tweets will it take for you to acknowledge that Britain 

has been complicit in Palestine AND Hong Kong?

We are the World's 💩 Shysters

BREXIT IS WRONG

How many tweets will it take for us to regain community?

You'll have to leave your house for that, not claim diplomatic immunity.

You wonder why you are depressed, anxious, fractious

but don't acknowledge that there is even such a thing as mental health?

How many tweets will it take for us all to energize and empathize 

and see that the way we are existing is not a song 

that Larry bluebird would want us to sing?

How many tweets will it take? 


Saturday, 28 September 2019

Writing as Vanity Project


Now before you all shout 'Humbug' in a Johnsonian fashion I will put before this court the proposal that writing is like politics. We are only in it for the ego and the vanity. 

Granted writers will never be paid as much as politicians but we have the same motivational factors in our make-up. We want to be seen and heard and we want our name up there in lights. They say that writing is showbiz for introverts. 

Your writing and its furtherance and success can be controlled by yourself to a large extent. You can go the conventional publishing house route, submit your manuscript, receive a little advance, work with editors and Stanley's your father. Nice cover, nice blurb, nice price bish bash bosh but unless thousands upon thousands walk into Waterstones or go clickety click on Amazon then you are never going to make as much money as the politicians but you will make more than the Indy Writer & Self Publisher who goes out there with nowt more than self belief.

Many of us keyboard warriors want to get the work out there but how much time do we ascribe to the reader for they are our bread and butter? Do we care what they think? Yes we certainly do. Many a writer has had to invest in new underwear after reading Amazon Reviews of their work. Think Trip Advisor but with more malice. 

To be as successful as the politicos that we wish to emulate we have to do what they do and go out and press the flesh. Instead of kissing babies we have to kiss the arse of publishers and literary agents with a glass of shiraz in one hand and a mouldy vol au vent in the other. It's a good thing that I don't drink because I do not kiss arse (there was that one time in Amsterdam though..) Very rarely do I smile now and this can be quite off putting when you are at a writers' convention with a slim self published novella in your hand. People don't know whether I am going to hit them over the head with it or hand it to them.

When I came out of prison a friend that I had known for 18 years said "I can't read you anymore" and I thought that was a very telling remark because it was obvious that prior to my incarceration that my facial expressions were being read but that now days and nights in a cell had turned me into 'Dai Inscrutable'. I mention this because the story of my incarceration became a blog and then became a book with a  self proclaimed 'mental health publisher'. 
Another more recent friend, post incarceration read the book and said "It sure could have done with editing" and you would have thought that that onerous task would be the publishers.

I like writing but I don't like editing. We edit because we are thinking more about the reader and less about ourselves. Less of our vanity is invested in editing. 

It's choc full when writing though. We are like the new MP in the House of Commons when we are writing, we are running up to the Speaker like a week old puppy and twirling Black Rod's rod like a cheer leader's baton when we are actually writing, when we have sat down and have stopped the prevaricating, the procrastinating and the social media. Although an endomorph like Johnson I like to sprint in my writing, I like to get it all out there like vomit on a porcelain toilet and then editing is like pulling out the sheets of 'Juan Sheet Plenty' and wiping up around the basin carefully. Novel Writing suits those with staying power, those with patience, those who enjoyed the cross country run at school and who didn't cheat and mitch off half way. The short story and the novella are for the sprinters, for those who can lash it over a 100 metres.    

The phrase we love to hate "At the end of the day" we want somebody to take a punt on us and say "Eeeh lad you've got summat ere, tha's got a tasty turn of phrase there. I think we can turn you into a politician, I mean writer. Do you have a hide like a rhino? Are you willing to do the book signings and the writers' conventions? Could you possibly try and smile?"    


Wednesday, 25 September 2019

Friends on the Slide

Friends on the Slide

(a poem of sorts)




It’s funny
I used to make friends out of desperation
moulded like clay in order to support my inferiority.
Oh, they got paid in beer and bad jokes
And I was fiercely loyal to them when younger
which is more than can be said about them to me,
but I must have been very trying.
Loyalty to Yourself
is the noblest cause,
that some interpret as selfish.
You might be correct but look at you in the gutter
“Can I have the shirt off your back?”
Big hearts lead to Bad hearts.
A cynic is a frustrated idealist
I wish it were different
We need more Jesus Christs
females would be good,
living lives of austerity and penance
a critical mass
they need to be organised
just not outside Job Centres
where security guards hold
skipping ropes
for you to jump over.

Frome Flea Market

 

Blog Archive

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Hitler navigates the A487 from Aberaeron to Aberystwyth

Goodreads

David's books

How To Be Idle
Second Sight
Freud: The Key Ideas
The Yellow World
Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other
Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
Ham on Rye
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Mavericks
Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
Hovel in the Hills: An Account of the Simple Life
Ring of Bright Water
The Thirty-Nine Steps
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul


David Williams's favorite books »

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