tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-203018142024-03-19T19:58:59.302+00:00Wrandom Writing"Spiritual enligtenment is all very well," said the Buddha, "but what I really need is the bread."
with respectPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-49591028097969682262017-08-19T09:42:00.002+00:002017-10-15T08:57:14.400+00:00My Name is War
MY
NAME IS WAR
Always
wakeful, never sleeping
My
dogs slip through the smoke that's reeking
From
the havoc I have wrought.
Sergeants
to their charges urging
Bravery
through hellfire burning.
This
mayhem's mine, this holocaust
On
which I'll gorge and then make more.
Pleased
to meet you,
My
name is War.
Although
secure you think you slumber
Hear
my gunfire's distant rumble.
Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-10194559482021136422017-08-13T10:27:00.001+00:002017-10-15T08:57:47.728+00:00Doggerrel
DOGGEREL
Alone
he came through swirling mist
In
coat of gold with heart so sore.
Who
knows what drove his single quest
He,
clear of eye and firm of jaw.
Who
trod his path at dark of night,
To
the house where burned the welcome light.
The
weary traveller to the open door,
To
the comfort of that threadbare floor,
They
knew him by his mystic paw
Twas
Ben the psychic labrador.
Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-85388623868479680032017-08-10T18:10:00.005+00:002017-08-13T10:21:36.103+00:00Busking Festival in Ferrara
Twenty years ago this month saw the
first world tour of the folk/roots duo Absolutely No Dogs. Actually
it was not so much a world tour as it only included one country ...
ltaly ... and it couldn't really be described as stadium rock.
Absolutely No Dogs, (which shall from now on be referred to by their
acronym AND) was 50% John Howes who played bazouki and guitar and 50%
my good self, who Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-43042526892374133252013-12-12T13:03:00.002+00:002013-12-12T13:03:35.318+00:00sorry, gentle readers, for what must look like my continual posting of the same songs on farcebook. this is one of the big advantages of linking up social websites. ie once you set free the hounds of cyberspace its the devil's own job to reign them back in.
peace n lovePatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-17893820114691621502013-04-09T12:05:00.001+00:002013-08-01T21:09:15.018+00:00one thing that saddens me about all this internet stuff is that in 100 years time, nuclear energy policy and asian dictators notwithstanding, the likelihood of finding a bundle of letters tied in pink ribbon and smelling faintly of violets detailing the fond yearnings of a man for a maid (or any of the variations we are compelled to honour nowadays - a cardinal for a canary* for example) turning Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-7604468898443289982013-04-01T21:08:00.000+00:002013-08-01T21:10:53.781+00:00Share your musicShare your music with the dust in the street
Give your songs to the sky and her stars
Feel the air on the wings of your heels
When the ears of the wind hear your playingPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-55461392633421709132013-02-23T21:33:00.001+00:002017-08-10T18:22:14.878+00:00brief encountersshe was so pretty. her dark hair was much too young to show the slightest fleck of grey. it rested on her shoulders with that total glamour that only a woman who never has to try can achieve. her skin carried just a very faint bloom of warmth. as i saw her i noticed that she noticed me too. she shyly looked away.
i was only too glad to get my foot onto the step. it was freezing. that the wind Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-12459848913139142772013-02-17T20:07:00.000+00:002013-02-19T10:47:51.103+00:00when i write
When I write I connect to the stars,
To the universe that no-one else can
see.
To the dreams and the darkness
That appear in my head from nowhere.
Maybe I write people.
Maybe I write feelings.
Maybe I write primroses and hazel
catkins.
And spring sunshine to the smell of
oranges.
Maybe I write funny.
Maybe I write the celebration of men and women.
Or women and men.
I write my Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-62270857482128643112013-02-16T23:47:00.004+00:002013-02-19T10:48:10.700+00:00Where Am I Coming From?Its the energy of the words really. The current that fires them into light like individual bulbs in an illuminated sign spelling out something bigger.
Its the rhythm of the words really. Its the pulse that makes the meaning dance, that lights up the romance, that gets things done.
Stressed and unstressed syllables - positive and negative poles charging language with electricity in the way that Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-68340345808202424822011-10-21T14:15:00.016+00:002013-03-03T21:16:19.596+00:00a better ibiza october 2011
Like paella needs rice, a musician needs an audience. Sunshine is good too. No surprise then when, with the prospect of British autumn already glowering below the horizon, I accepted a last minute invitation to explore the gig potential of Pleasure Island.
Within a week the librarian was releasing my print job. Showing her the boarding passes I explained my plan. Her eyes Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-65390585665301308232011-10-19T11:10:00.000+00:002013-03-03T12:29:31.509+00:00so dragons you would fight?
It was cool resting against the rock. A good vantage point from which to oversee the unsurfaced road along which trouble was bound to come.
Snarkleibe turned to Friedlebrund, “So forty years old they are and dragons they want to fight. Why they are not content with their sciatica, their rheumatism, but dragons, dragons, they Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-37563851922585337792011-03-18T15:58:00.003+00:002013-02-19T10:50:23.260+00:00dragonfly heartout in the ether
shimmering, darting
i felt your fragile, dragonfly heart
begin to beat more calmly.
© Patrick EllisPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-78490044463180402092011-03-17T14:22:00.000+00:002013-02-19T10:52:39.589+00:00The Sea Nymph and the WalrusThe walrus opened his eye. She was still there. But now she was lying on him. Actually on him as though he were some sort of rock. God, did she have no respect for such an important character as himself?
Obviously she didn’t. There she lay sunning herself and probably, although the walrus couldn’t turn his head round far enough to tell, smiling.
He had no doubt that it was her. Although he Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-1724925090139635452011-03-14T16:22:00.001+00:002013-02-19T10:52:16.682+00:00there'll be a welcome in the hillsideswansea, neath, port talbot, bridgend, cardiff - were these concentrations of people ever attractive. industrial dormer dumps smeared over the bleak hills of the south wales coastline, the whole abortion leavened by gagging remnants of its ugly industrial past.
especially true of port talbot.
10 minutes out of town by train the harsh spell is broken. morning sun on orange willow shoots. Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-61849486399146753502011-01-26T16:02:00.008+00:002011-02-06T15:02:32.895+00:00My Big Fat Gypsy WeddingThe clothes were definitely the thing in last night's episode. Unhindered by gorgia taste phantasmagorical, ultra wedding dresses with their battery pack powered lights and tremulous artificial butterflies were a complete delight. After all if you are going to get married you might as well make your statement. And those young women defintely did that.What I found so enjoyable about the whole Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-34254526825449863882010-01-17T13:16:00.010+00:002013-02-22T14:36:10.459+00:00Lethargy Counselling - An Investment Opportunity
Positive thinking, motivational speaking, goal orientation and general go-getting are finally falling out of favour it seems. And about time too. For far too long wilfully papering over the cracks with rainbow illusions has insulated us from cold reality’s stimulating bite. In the continuing fallout from the sub-prime debacle it has become clear that the world can no longer remain airborne on Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-41354498865298160792009-10-13T13:52:00.007+00:002011-03-14T16:31:33.702+00:00tango mangoDance addict that I am Tango Mango at the Rudolph Steiner School in Dartington sounded just my sort of adventure. There was no way I could get away for the full ten days so I went for the compromise - the five day half Mango. ‘Bring your harmonica,’ the organiser said.Despite assurances of adequate showers I didn’t tick the boxes for the £5 per night camping or dormitory options. A sticky night’sPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-47778053248351408032009-04-08T11:25:00.003+00:002013-02-19T10:53:29.458+00:00not todayalarmingly elegant ms anna-lise,
i'd so like to meet.
i don't mean to tease
but you'll have to forgive
if just now i can't come.
today i'm in hay
and i've taken my mum.
© Patrick EllisPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-2376986999099407772008-11-20T16:23:00.029+00:002013-11-01T19:38:25.093+00:00now you're nearly fifty‘It’s the age thing,’
You said.
My heart missed a beat
And, in the same breath, went out to you.
Which is quite a feat,
Especially in someone of advancing years.
‘Don’t worry doll,’
I said patting your hand.'
You’re not fifty yet.’
‘Not me,'
You said, easing down the Doobie Brothers’ polished doper spirals.
'You.
I am but a slip of a girl.
I don’t mean to be unkind,’
‘This age stuff is all inPatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-44041587623834828922008-10-27T11:38:00.006+00:002013-02-19T10:54:08.796+00:00drowning in your salty tearsYour tautened teenage tee-shirt told of
Womanhood too big to handle
That cast you free from your sweet childhood
To a new blue desolation.
This quiet love and sad companion
Holds you cold on nights so lonely
Crying to your silent pillow.
Hard to bare the pain of living
In your gently aching body.
Dark and deep that rolling ocean,
Sea where men shipwrecked and flailing
Will your blood to pull Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-15746083535519886172008-06-07T14:53:00.010+00:002013-02-19T10:55:08.567+00:00the fig treethe short burst of warmth in late april succeeded in seducing the fruits into life. green swellings fattened as they sucked their life from the parent branches and, as merciless fledglings, elbowed their scrawny siblings to the ground.
this year a crop seemed likely. previous autumns' progeny had clung on, teasing with the promise of bounty to come, only to abort as the year progressed to be Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-79321834440351251842008-05-12T09:59:00.007+00:002013-02-19T10:55:51.015+00:00i miss you?
I miss you
Your twatness
Your wetness
Your fatness
Your firey red haired ness
Your always prepared ness
To take me on in a scrap.
Till you threatened to kill me
To death
With a knife
So no more trouble
No more strife
In fact no more life.
Your tendency to obsession
And mine to depression
Meant I had to dump you
No longer to hump you
Or cuddle you up on a dark cold Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-40571685897523885182008-01-01T15:18:00.009+00:002008-01-01T16:33:02.205+00:00my father - william joseph ellis - 2nd may 1918 - 22nd december 2007Whether he was enjoying my mother’s Sunday lunch, taking the dog for a walk with his stout thumb stick, landing a plump salmon or going for a drink with his friends my father was a man with a serious appetite for life.Private about his innermost feelings and his early years in Ireland, Dad was passionately committed to the hear and now. Beyond my mother his first love was music and it is my Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-90939078262830995342007-11-24T17:31:00.001+00:002007-12-29T14:33:07.168+00:00first base no1i guess i must have been the first bloke to get into her knickers. i'd be shocked if i was told different. i mean she was only ten at the time after all.until last month in the supermarket i'd mostly forgotten about her. then, while gazing at the seventy five different toothpaste products competing for my economic vote, her face resurfaced in the pool of my consciousness.she completely blanked mePatrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20301814.post-86610120971834479992007-11-24T17:28:00.000+00:002008-01-03T18:07:41.372+00:00first base no2i reckon that sometimes dreams come completely formed. you know like with a past already built in so the struggling with the gunman or combing the lady's hair scene already holds its own backstory. if this is true then, in the same way that the depths and distance of the brecon beacons can be delivered in the single flat plane of a photograph, you can get quite a lot of eternity into no time at Patrick Ellishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17564956171311301817noreply@blogger.com0