Category Archives: Al’s Favourites

Wow. Just wow. Loving this place. A journey of discovery. Enjoy the journey? Thoroughly!

I really cannot convey how much I am enjoying it out here. There is so much that is thrilling me, and it is nuanced by bits that I don’t understand, some bits that make me think, yeah, well maybe, and then those bits that make me just go, this is the best thing since the bread knife (way better than sliced bread in my opinion).

Continue reading Wow. Just wow. Loving this place. A journey of discovery. Enjoy the journey? Thoroughly!

Al Cowie, Comedy CV

Al has opened, compered and headlined at gigs across the country, from Plymouth to Edinburgh, via Newcastle, Belfast and many other places.

Having shared a bill with acts from Mitch Benn, Robin Ince, Trevor Lock, Simon Evans, Terry Alderton and Felix Dexter, and with appearances on both TV and radio (he has his own drivetime broadcast radio show on OnFM), and with feature film and advert credits to his name, he is a rising comedic star and a quality compere.
Continue reading Al Cowie, Comedy CV

Loves

Another poem based on the form of Thomas Hardy’s weathers (don’t worry, I’m not feeling this, I’m perfectly alright!)
 
Loves
 
This is the feeling romantics adore,
And so do I;
When Angels nibble and tickle the core
And hearts fly high;
And thoughts of all else just flutter away,
And the lights of the night brightly sparkle and play,
And the fool takes a ride on a runaway sleigh,
And insatiably craves the sensation all day,
And so do I.
 
This is the feeling discardeds detest,
And so do I;
When Demons take wing and claw at the chest,
And hearts scream “Why?”;
And light has no colour and all is bland,
And the pain of their name sears your brain like a brand,
And all that’s unsaid is just And And And,
And the miserable die in a desolate land,
And so do I.
 
 

Weathers for Leathers

Leathers by Al Cowie
 
This is the leather the biker likes,
And so do I;
When winds that buffet as struggling pikes,
And pummel thigh;
And the roar of the engine vibrates his chest,
And they idle outside ‘The Traveller’s Rest’
And wenches serve them beer with zest,
And riders dream of south and west,
And so do I;
 
This is the leather the German shuns,
And so do I;
When lederhosen chafe the Huns,
And sweat won’t dry;
And salty rivulets trace as snow,
And sticks to flesh like the claws of a crow,
And the rash from the heat that will grow and grow,
And even these Teutons homeward go,
And so do I;
 
I based the above on Weathers (below) by Thomas Hardy (rhymes and meters are the same)
 
Weathers
 
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
 
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
 
 
 
 

This is the Key of Heaven

This is the Key of Heaven                         This is the Key of the Kingdom
 
This is the Key of Heaven:                                       This is the Key of the Kingdom:
In my Heaven there’s a dormitory;                                 In that Kingdom is a city;
In that dormitory there’s a gown;                                          In that city is a town;
Below that gown there is a bed;
On that bed there spreads a sheet;                          In that town there is a street;
On that sheet there spills a stain;                       In that street there winds a lane;
On that stain there sits a card;                                     In that lane there is a yard;
On that card there is a mouse;                                  In that yard there is a house;
By that mouse there is a broom;                      In that house there waits a room;
That brooms background’s coloured red;                In that room an empty bed;
And that red is the colour of passion –                       And on that bed a basket –
Passion for a night of pleasure:                                     A basket of sweet flowers:
               Of Pleasure, of pleasure;                           Of flowers, of flowers;
               Passionate, sweet pleasure.              A basket of sweet flowers.
 
Pleasure in passion;                                                                      Flowers in a Basket;
Passion that is red;                                                                           Basket on the bed;
Red swept by the broom;                                                             Bed in the chamber;
Broom held by the mouse;                                                      Chamber in the house;
Mouse on the merry card;                                                House in the weedy yard;
Card on the grimy stain;                                                    Yard in the winding lane;
Stain on the soiled sheet;                                                    Lane in the broad street;
Sheet on the knackered cot;                                
Cot bearing the strewn robe;                                                Street in the high town;
Robe in the room;                                                                                Town in the city;
Room in Heaven –                                                                       City in the Kingdom –
This is the Key of Heaven.                                        This is the Key of the Kingdom.
              Of Heaven this is the Key             Of the Kingdom this is the Key.
 

by Al Cowie                                                               by Anon

 

For if you hate your job!

I Hate My Job

Red nectar from a bottle that’s from France
France, where Englishmen will holiday;
Will holiday, enjoy the sun and dance,
Dance as wild abandoned men away;
A way through dreary days at a desk;
Desk of hate, back in London grotesque.
 
Grotesque that we must earn a pound to eat,
Eating, drinking, life comes at a cost,
A cost to dignity and balance sheet,
Balance sheet of life at work that’s lost:
Lost’s the time that we work and not live;
And not live; and not live; and not live.
 

Based on the same rules as the previous post, but done in a poetic form called Clonachlonn (which repeats the last word (or two) of each line as the beginning of the next line)