Hawker's Pot

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 24 May 2012 12:11:00 +0000

One Knight Stand

The Hawker’s Pot Show

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 22:03:00 +0000

We can only apologise for the lack of posts in the last month. All has been busy in the halls of Hawker’s Pot, getting reading for this, the first Hawker’s Pot Show:

The show includes two new poems featuring the mysterious hawker, a lot of new jokes and some rather distressed angels.

The show is open on Saturday 10th and Sunday 11th March, and Friday 16th and Saturday 17th March from 11am – 4pm. There will also be short readings thrice daily.

If you’re anywhere near Stroud, Gloucestershire, drop by for some hawking and potting!

Sisyphus

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 11:07:00 +0000

Welcome to the Dark Ages

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 12:07:00 +0000

Meanwhile, in other news: Explorers discover the exact middle of the Middle Ages ...

Panto Time

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 20:16:00 +0000

Jack and the beans talk.

Horse-drawn Vehicle

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 19:21:00 +0000

“That bridle is an infringement of thy liberty, o horse!”

“It is a bit.”
________________

In the meantime, here is a horse-drawn carriage:

(The horse couldn’t get the crayon between his hooves.)

By way of contrast, here is a picture of a carriage drawn by a man:

(from www.t-enami.org)

All of which goes to show that there is a clear difference between a draughtsperson and a drafthorse.

(And that's not even to mention Warhorse, the moving story of a horse conscripted into the Army.)

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 12:28:00 +0000

The Twilight of the Dogs.

Awash with Rhetoric

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 22:52:00 +0000

Algernon Swift visits a political meeting and listens to a soapbox Demosthenes warn of the dangers and trials to come. The orator proclaims:

“Only the most steadfast will hold their ground!

“Only the most die-hard will not surrender!”

Algernon Swift cannot contain himself and shouts out:

“Only the most dye-fast will not change their colours!”

and is surprised to find himself hoisted on shoulders and surrounded by applause.

The Hawker's Pot Song

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 21:40:00 +0000

It is the wintry time of year.
The hawker’s pot is cold and bare.
The hawker walks his doleful walk.
He hawks his wares, but where’s his hawk?

Things as they are, stay as they are
It is the wintry time of year.
The wind blows through the wintry ranges
Trees just stand there. Nothing changes.

The hawker walks the midnight track.
From out his mouth he makes a crack!
The crack of light lights up the dark,
It brightly burns and twists and sparks!

The path is lit, the ash trees twig,
The oak trees bark, the badgers dig,
The barn owls hoot, the green wood talks
As gay as larks, as wild as hawks.

Up on the downs the hawker walks;
The sheep look up, as gay as hawks.
He swiftly treads the upland down,
The downland up, the downland down.

Then to the church he takes his way.
The dead sit up to have their say.
The dead feel quick: till rosy morn
They tell their jokes: the graves all yawn.

The graves all yawn, the coffins cough,
The trees up sticks, the bats take off,
Leant on his grave, each dead man talks,
As wild as larks, as gay as hawks.

The hawker’s pot is filling up,
That ancient vase, that broken cup.
That cut-price grail, the hawker’s pot,
It is half-full, as full as not!

It is the moonlight’s steady drip
That dripping down is filling it!

Deep in the woods, the wild rose brakes,
The badger runs, the blossom shakes,
The petals cling to tender stalks
As gay as larks, as wild as hawks.

The hawker’s work is nearly done.
For in the east rises the sun.
His steps he hastens to the town
And there he sets his backpack down.

The market stalls, the market starts,
The buyers come, as gay as larks,
The buyers leave, with knives and forks
Clutched to their chests, as wild as hawks.

About the sky, in a great arc
There flies the hawk, gay as a lark.
The heavy bird, so full of charm,
Swoops down upon the hawker’s arm.

Upon his wrist, the dear bird parks
The two walk on, as gay as larks.

As gay as larks, as wild as hawks,
Our work is done, the thunder talks,
The pot is full, the heron flaps.
To you, good sirs, we raise our caps.

Let none speak on unless he talks
As wild as larks, as gay as hawks.

John Martin

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 20:57:00 +0000

Last week Hawker’s Pot took the train to London to see an exhibition of paintings by Mr John Martin.

We particularly enjoyed his many representations of the Deity vs. the Laity.

The Deluge (after J.M.)

The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (after J.M.)

The Great Day of His Wrath (after J.M.)

We also enjoyed his illustrations to Paradise Lost, especially the scene where Satan decides to build a city in Hell, and Pandemonium ensues ...

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 20:40:00 +0000

The Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 18:56:00 +0000

Algernon Swift takes his holiday beside the sea and is moved to write some verse:

The Sea

The ocean heaves and raves and roars.
The waves crash down with spumy white.
The sea is mighty deep, one feels,
but all one sees is surface surf

is surf is surf is surface surf
-- and glittering light
which nothing of its deeps reveals
for all the waves’ just might.

Horde Oeuvre

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 09:55:00 +0000

In the early thirteenth century a new threat arises in the East --
Genghis Khan and his horde of fearful worriers.

(click on image to enlarge)

After a string of conquests, the lightning progress of the Mongols comes to a standstill as the hordes hoard:

Dissension arises among the previously-unified tribes of barbarians:

Some decide they are fed-up with a lifestyle of compulsive pillaging and no longer wish to be barbarians.

(The twelve-steppe programme is introduced.)

Another Joke about Stairs

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 12:40:00 +0000

“The staircase is too large ...

... You must take steps to shorten it.”

In the Running

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 18:31:00 +0000

Algernon Swift organises a race for all the nice guys he has ever known (and treats the winner with some distrust).

Law En-forcers

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 07:59:00 +0000

There were some savvy plainclothes detectives present, as well as the usual uninformed police.

Wisdom of Hawker’s Pot #10

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 10:26:00 +0000

Coming in through a door is entrancing, but leaving through it is equally exiting.

Bad Bots

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 08:01:00 +0000

Leon and Clive try their hands at making a robot, but their creation turns out a terrible botch job, scarred by clumsy soldering and hideous to behold. Spurred on by the revulsion he everywhere encounters, the robotic monster runs amuck, finally demanding that Leon and Clive make him a female companion as the price for leaving humanity alone. Leon and Clive’s soldering has not improved, and the female robot turns out just as much of a mess as the male. Leon doubts that the two of them should ever be united, but then, as Clive says, if the robot wants to go off and live with his awfully welded wife, why shouldn’t he?

What is it with the makers of horror films and bridges?

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 16:38:00 +0000

The Bridge of Frankenstein

....

Not forgetting The Bridges of Dracula, of course.

Nor that terrifying saga of a bridge running amuck:

The Runaway Bridge

(a cantering cantilever! a trussed bridge not be trusted!)

Or that suspense classic:

The Bridge Wore Black
(They crossed the wrong bridge, those guys!)

But how could I forget surely the most terrifying of all?

The Bridges of Madison County ...

Wisdom of Hawker's Pot #9

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 20:39:00 +0000

Necessity is the Mother of Invention (or, if mothers didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent them).

Oh dear.

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 18:22:00 +0000

All that was left of the once-mighty reindeer herd ...

... was a few last remaindeers.

Wisdom of Hawker's Pot #8

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 09:12:00 +0000

Depth is really only shallowness multiplied many, many times.

Too Much for Any Body

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 09:09:00 +0000

Algernon Swift laments the physicality of human life.

“Everywhere I go, it’s the same. People knuckle down and shoulder their responsibilities. They make a fist of it. They toe the line and foot the bill and hand over cash. Some try backing out. Some leg it. They get things off their chests, they make a clean breast of it. What’s worse is when they start necking and head for the bedroom ...”

“But why do you have to go on about it so?” exclaims exasperated Reverend Hawker.

“Because I mind,” says Swift. “I MIND!”

Some Aunts

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 20:34:00 +0000

The Aunt of Michelangelo, The Aunts and Crafts Movement, The Dark Aunts of Aleister Crowley, The Decorative Aunts, The Dramatic Aunts, The Erotic Aunts of the Orient, The Liberal Aunts

Q: Why (you ask) this sudden enthusiasm for Aunts?

A: It’s just something I got into at Aunt College.

Q: Then your enthusiasm is qualified?

A: Certainly. It grew by degrees. First I became a Bachelor of Aunts, then a Master of Aunts. But it all started for me when I read Robert Hughes’ book about Modern Aunt movements The Shock of the N(eph)ew.

... The Martial Aunts, The Plastic Aunts, The Sacred Aunts, “In my Craft and Sullen Aunt”, Zen and the Aunt of Motorcycle Maintenance. And, of course, the Japanese have an Aunt for everything: Flower-Arranging, Tea, Calligraphy, etc.

Q: Your interest in the Aunts is certainly timely. For currently many Aunts bodies are under threat.

A: This government has a complete disregard for the Aunts. (See Why The Aunts Matter, a publication of the Aunts Council.) And yet there are still spots in the country where the Aunts are flourishing:

(for instance, in the many aunted houses that litter our counties).

Nobody's Vault But Mine

noreply@blogger.com (Hawker's Pot) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 17:09:00 +0000

At Castle Rabenstein
there are only two
kinds of inhabitant:

the undead and
the undecided.