FOOD AND MEN.
I love a spicy curry and a pint of beer as much as I love my men but curry, beer and men don't seem to love me.
More often than not love turns into hate when curry and beer make me go to the toilet every five minutes.
Men can either give me butterflies in in my stomach or they can turn my stomach over with stress.
Love and hate is a hard habit to break.
You can live with the love but you can't live with the hate.
In my experience love does not come without the hate but that's the same for everyone. November 2009
My great Grandparents.
FAMILY HISTORY.
My great Grandmother Lizzy was a Mother of eight during world war 2, 1939 to 1945. Her and her family lived on the streets of Wolverhampton. She was a tall and slim lady with short blond hair Her husband Tom was a very thin man who worked very long hours. Liz worked long hours on week days as her oldest girl Letty took care of her seven children.
It was a very dark cold foggy winter's Saturday morning when when Liz carried the dust bins to the bin men one by one as the bin were rushing her.Liz walked around with a smile on her face despite the fact that times were hard and money was tight. The family never knew any different, they thought little money and little food.
The family lived in back to back home with not very tight closed windows, drafts blew cold inside the house there was no heating but old gas fires.
My great Gran parents were only around about 4 and a half years of my life, very little I remember other than walking around their back garden in the early 70s. My Grandmother Letty told me my great Grandparents were very fond of me. My great Granddad Tom had his own patch of soil to do what he wanted, which was mainly his patch to grow his veg. I was always wondering around play in Granddad's patch of soil treating it like a sand pit without shoes and socks on.Granddad would pick and tell me very nicely not to play there as I cried my eyes out. The one day I took the tops off the flowers he grew as I had a sting my foot by bee. It turned out to be that Granddad was more worried about the sing in foot by the bee than he was about his flowers. Saturday 20th March 2010.
Me as a small child with my doll and push chair.
WE HAVE STILL BEEN WORKING ON FAMILY HISTORY.
we were asked to bring in family pictures and write a bit about family memories. I emailed Simon two pictures one of my great Grandparents and the other of me outside the family caravan in Wales. Either before or after I started school in 1974 or 1975, my great Grandmother just died so we all had a family holiday. On the day we were traveling over there from Wolverhampton I was either covered in Chicken poxes, Measles or whatever. My Uncle David only drove as far as the Victoria hotel, I said
" Are we nearly there?"
" Are we nearly there?"
The year I was born in 1969, my Grandparents Letty Kendrick and Ramsey Gorman divorced but they married in 1949. My Grandparents met at the old Queen Dance Hall in Wolverhampton in 1947, when my Nan was only sixteen years old. At the time my Nan found my Granddad tall dark, handsome, strong and he had just come back from India. In the end my Nan found out that my Granddad was not as nice as he looked, they had twenty years of marriage.
My Granddad's Mother was Welsh and his Father was Irish. My Nan never got on with her Mother in law but she did her Father in law. Nan always told me that my great Granny Gorman was a dirty old woman. She never kept the house clean and she always bet on the horses but I can't remember if she told me if she loved a drink or not.It makes you wonder how did great Granddad George Gorman put with her? That explains a lot when it came to the unhappiness my Grandmother found herself suffering.
My Grandfather spend the wages after work, as the Irish would say he drank the money. My Mother remembered my Nan sending her to the pub to ask Granddad for house keeping money, he lost the lot on horses and spend the lot on beer. My Nan ended up wasting loads of food because my Granddad never came home when he promised to but when he did come home, talking was with his fist through the drink. It destroyed my Nan so much she divorced him after twenty years, she couldn't take anymore. Nan told me, my great Grandparents used to say to her.
" You should have had a divorced a lot sooner than you did Letty."
Two years 1950 before my Mother was born, my Nan had a son she called him Tony. He never lived to have his own children or to see his little sisters, nieces and nephews. My Nan always remembered feeling bad about poking him by mistake with his nappy pin. She found him choking on him choking with German measles in his throat as he had a fit. Cot death were very common all those years ago but very hard to treat. Tony died week before, after on his 1st birthday about the 9th May. When my Nan died in 2007, our family throw her ashes over Tony, that's was her wish and that's what she got.
SESSION 3 took were writing our Family History stories.
ON SATURDAY 15TH MAY 2010, we have started off writing our own stories from ideas from post cards.
Back in history the creative side of people with disabilities wasn't showed or believed. To a point society is looking at our problems rather than supporting us to get through. Our strong points isn't still looked at enough. ( LOOK AT THE ABILITIES NOT THE DISABILITIES.)
Vincent Van Gogh had Mental Health problems but he was a great painter, mainly with his sunflowers. His painting career lasted ten yrs. In that time he produced 1100 drawings and sold 53.9 million. He still wasn't known or believed for his work in his life time. He was born in Holland but spend a lot of his life in Holland. He stuffer ed from very bad depression, shot himself in the chest, cut off his ear and died at the age of 37.
Work done on Saturday 19th June 2010
Dear Sharon
I have set up in an old hut in the middle of nowhere. This story is very unknown.
There's a pile of stuff on an oak wood table, with a head of a skull.
There are a lot of unknown answers to a lot of unknown questions.
I have a pile of my poems on my wooden oak deck.
I think there has been a murder, whoever has died was a very clever person or pretended to be. Reason why there's a skull on the desk, which has nothing to do with me. I think it's a she she's talking to me. She's told me that someone has chopped her head. She's a famous film star. Marilyn Moeroe. I must get onto the police. There are so many unanswered questions about her death I'm so unsure about.
The way I am not feeling myself at the moment. I am fed and stressed with people looking at what I am bad at rather than what I am good at. People think I copy people's poems, when I don't. I hate been disbelieved, this is driving me to my grave.
Jack never enough ripped my poems up, while he told me I coped people's poems. I told him I couldn't take anymore. I'm putting my poems in a book in hopes of getting them published.
Poetry seems to keep me alive to let the anger out I have had all my life. How I am suppose to feel good about myself if people don't think good of me?
Jack picks on me because of my messy hand writing. I told him that this is because I write fast, I'm clearing my mind. Jack didn't see like I did.
This is making me ill, Sharon I don't think I will be living much longer.
Here's a book of hand written poems. It doesn't sound as if this person wasn't`
happy whoever they were. For all I know these poems could have been copied off another poet. I don't know whether to believe or not. Did these poems come out this person's head? Who knows! No name and no title. I am going to search the libraries to find out if anyone else has done this work. This sounds too good to be true.
Is my name Mic or am I just saying that? I know I am ill and I have always been. Poetry seems hard for a person with such problems to write but it's the way I can get my anger out without people answering me back. I mustn't kid myself. How do I know whether anything is possible or not? I also told Jack if he does believe that my work aren't copy to search in the libraries to see if anyonelses' work is the same as mine. i said Jack.
" I bet you find nothing."
Marlyn sang but she never played music. There is a violin in this hut, Sharon. How do we find out the unknown? I was told she took an over dose but she could have had her head chopped off as well.
What a scary skull, I think someone has chopped off his or her head. May be Marilyn was misunderstood and disbelieved after all for everything they said and did.
Love From
Mic
x
UNKNOWN POEM AND TITLE.
Tell me I am lieing about what's on my mind. My work is my own. It isn't copy of other people's work.
How do you know what's known and unknown?
I have stuff that I have written for yrs not published but sitting at home.
The place is a mess.
There are too many unknown answers to unknown questions.
Now you are trying to tell me I am someone I am not. It's not true I am me.
My poems are written by my mind and hand.
I am not clever ; I am not thick.
I am not happy that you make me feel like the odd one out.
I am so fed up of been disbelieved for what I do, the least you can do is support me to have my work known.
What's the point of having a title and what's the point of saying my name.
Is my name Mic or am I just saying that?
Search the libraries to see if another person's work is the same as mine.
I mustn't put myself down.
I must believe anything is possible.
My home is full of poetry: my home is full of my mind.
I am not trying to be the person I am not.
How do I get disbelieved?
Just because I am a slow learner and have a long term illness.
Find me out when I die but I won't end my life just because the world disbelieves me.
No matter how hard live gets, I am not going anywhere until I am taken away.
You won't get to me.
Misunderstand and disbelieve me as much as you like, I know I have no shame, I am just clearing my mind. 15th May 2010 to 19th June 2010
THE INTERVIEW.
Mic " I want to be famous, how do I go about it, Marilyn?"
Marilyn " What do you want to do?"
Mic " I want to be a writer, I love poetry."
Marilyn " Do you have an office?"
MIC " Yes an office in a hut in the middle of nowhere."
Marilyn " Have you wrote an poetry?"
Mic " Loads since I have been a boy that haven't got published."
Mic " Your a film star, Marlyn, what's this pin up about?"
Marilyn " It's about this Murder movie I'm in called ' WHO IS THE WOMAN?'
Marilyn " May be you can write a film for me in the future."
Mic " May be I can."
Marilyn " I am playing my character now but just myself as the talking skull, talking to you Mic right now."
I knew Marilyn was the skull but I didn't know she was playing her character while I was interviewing. I jumped with a screamed, it scared me to death. 19th June 2010
I love a spicy curry and a pint of beer as much as I love my men but curry, beer and men don't seem to love me.
More often than not love turns into hate when curry and beer make me go to the toilet every five minutes.
Men can either give me butterflies in in my stomach or they can turn my stomach over with stress.
Love and hate is a hard habit to break.
You can live with the love but you can't live with the hate.
In my experience love does not come without the hate but that's the same for everyone. November 2009
My great Grandparents.FAMILY HISTORY.
My great Grandmother Lizzy was a Mother of eight during world war 2, 1939 to 1945. Her and her family lived on the streets of Wolverhampton. She was a tall and slim lady with short blond hair Her husband Tom was a very thin man who worked very long hours. Liz worked long hours on week days as her oldest girl Letty took care of her seven children.
It was a very dark cold foggy winter's Saturday morning when when Liz carried the dust bins to the bin men one by one as the bin were rushing her.Liz walked around with a smile on her face despite the fact that times were hard and money was tight. The family never knew any different, they thought little money and little food.
The family lived in back to back home with not very tight closed windows, drafts blew cold inside the house there was no heating but old gas fires.
My great Gran parents were only around about 4 and a half years of my life, very little I remember other than walking around their back garden in the early 70s. My Grandmother Letty told me my great Grandparents were very fond of me. My great Granddad Tom had his own patch of soil to do what he wanted, which was mainly his patch to grow his veg. I was always wondering around play in Granddad's patch of soil treating it like a sand pit without shoes and socks on.Granddad would pick and tell me very nicely not to play there as I cried my eyes out. The one day I took the tops off the flowers he grew as I had a sting my foot by bee. It turned out to be that Granddad was more worried about the sing in foot by the bee than he was about his flowers. Saturday 20th March 2010.
Me as a small child with my doll and push chair.WE HAVE STILL BEEN WORKING ON FAMILY HISTORY.
we were asked to bring in family pictures and write a bit about family memories. I emailed Simon two pictures one of my great Grandparents and the other of me outside the family caravan in Wales. Either before or after I started school in 1974 or 1975, my great Grandmother just died so we all had a family holiday. On the day we were traveling over there from Wolverhampton I was either covered in Chicken poxes, Measles or whatever. My Uncle David only drove as far as the Victoria hotel, I said
" Are we nearly there?"
" Are we nearly there?"
The year I was born in 1969, my Grandparents Letty Kendrick and Ramsey Gorman divorced but they married in 1949. My Grandparents met at the old Queen Dance Hall in Wolverhampton in 1947, when my Nan was only sixteen years old. At the time my Nan found my Granddad tall dark, handsome, strong and he had just come back from India. In the end my Nan found out that my Granddad was not as nice as he looked, they had twenty years of marriage.
My Granddad's Mother was Welsh and his Father was Irish. My Nan never got on with her Mother in law but she did her Father in law. Nan always told me that my great Granny Gorman was a dirty old woman. She never kept the house clean and she always bet on the horses but I can't remember if she told me if she loved a drink or not.It makes you wonder how did great Granddad George Gorman put with her? That explains a lot when it came to the unhappiness my Grandmother found herself suffering.
My Grandfather spend the wages after work, as the Irish would say he drank the money. My Mother remembered my Nan sending her to the pub to ask Granddad for house keeping money, he lost the lot on horses and spend the lot on beer. My Nan ended up wasting loads of food because my Granddad never came home when he promised to but when he did come home, talking was with his fist through the drink. It destroyed my Nan so much she divorced him after twenty years, she couldn't take anymore. Nan told me, my great Grandparents used to say to her.
" You should have had a divorced a lot sooner than you did Letty."
Two years 1950 before my Mother was born, my Nan had a son she called him Tony. He never lived to have his own children or to see his little sisters, nieces and nephews. My Nan always remembered feeling bad about poking him by mistake with his nappy pin. She found him choking on him choking with German measles in his throat as he had a fit. Cot death were very common all those years ago but very hard to treat. Tony died week before, after on his 1st birthday about the 9th May. When my Nan died in 2007, our family throw her ashes over Tony, that's was her wish and that's what she got.
SESSION 3 took were writing our Family History stories.
ON SATURDAY 15TH MAY 2010, we have started off writing our own stories from ideas from post cards.
Back in history the creative side of people with disabilities wasn't showed or believed. To a point society is looking at our problems rather than supporting us to get through. Our strong points isn't still looked at enough. ( LOOK AT THE ABILITIES NOT THE DISABILITIES.)
Vincent Van Gogh had Mental Health problems but he was a great painter, mainly with his sunflowers. His painting career lasted ten yrs. In that time he produced 1100 drawings and sold 53.9 million. He still wasn't known or believed for his work in his life time. He was born in Holland but spend a lot of his life in Holland. He stuffer ed from very bad depression, shot himself in the chest, cut off his ear and died at the age of 37.
Work done on Saturday 19th June 2010
Dear Sharon
I have set up in an old hut in the middle of nowhere. This story is very unknown.
There's a pile of stuff on an oak wood table, with a head of a skull.
There are a lot of unknown answers to a lot of unknown questions.
I have a pile of my poems on my wooden oak deck.
I think there has been a murder, whoever has died was a very clever person or pretended to be. Reason why there's a skull on the desk, which has nothing to do with me. I think it's a she she's talking to me. She's told me that someone has chopped her head. She's a famous film star. Marilyn Moeroe. I must get onto the police. There are so many unanswered questions about her death I'm so unsure about.
The way I am not feeling myself at the moment. I am fed and stressed with people looking at what I am bad at rather than what I am good at. People think I copy people's poems, when I don't. I hate been disbelieved, this is driving me to my grave.
Jack never enough ripped my poems up, while he told me I coped people's poems. I told him I couldn't take anymore. I'm putting my poems in a book in hopes of getting them published.
Poetry seems to keep me alive to let the anger out I have had all my life. How I am suppose to feel good about myself if people don't think good of me?
Jack picks on me because of my messy hand writing. I told him that this is because I write fast, I'm clearing my mind. Jack didn't see like I did.
This is making me ill, Sharon I don't think I will be living much longer.
Here's a book of hand written poems. It doesn't sound as if this person wasn't`
happy whoever they were. For all I know these poems could have been copied off another poet. I don't know whether to believe or not. Did these poems come out this person's head? Who knows! No name and no title. I am going to search the libraries to find out if anyone else has done this work. This sounds too good to be true.
Is my name Mic or am I just saying that? I know I am ill and I have always been. Poetry seems hard for a person with such problems to write but it's the way I can get my anger out without people answering me back. I mustn't kid myself. How do I know whether anything is possible or not? I also told Jack if he does believe that my work aren't copy to search in the libraries to see if anyonelses' work is the same as mine. i said Jack.
" I bet you find nothing."
Marlyn sang but she never played music. There is a violin in this hut, Sharon. How do we find out the unknown? I was told she took an over dose but she could have had her head chopped off as well.
What a scary skull, I think someone has chopped off his or her head. May be Marilyn was misunderstood and disbelieved after all for everything they said and did.
Love From
Mic
x
UNKNOWN POEM AND TITLE.
Tell me I am lieing about what's on my mind. My work is my own. It isn't copy of other people's work.
How do you know what's known and unknown?
I have stuff that I have written for yrs not published but sitting at home.
The place is a mess.
There are too many unknown answers to unknown questions.
Now you are trying to tell me I am someone I am not. It's not true I am me.
My poems are written by my mind and hand.
I am not clever ; I am not thick.
I am not happy that you make me feel like the odd one out.
I am so fed up of been disbelieved for what I do, the least you can do is support me to have my work known.
What's the point of having a title and what's the point of saying my name.
Is my name Mic or am I just saying that?
Search the libraries to see if another person's work is the same as mine.
I mustn't put myself down.
I must believe anything is possible.
My home is full of poetry: my home is full of my mind.
I am not trying to be the person I am not.
How do I get disbelieved?
Just because I am a slow learner and have a long term illness.
Find me out when I die but I won't end my life just because the world disbelieves me.
No matter how hard live gets, I am not going anywhere until I am taken away.
You won't get to me.
Misunderstand and disbelieve me as much as you like, I know I have no shame, I am just clearing my mind. 15th May 2010 to 19th June 2010
THE INTERVIEW.
Mic " I want to be famous, how do I go about it, Marilyn?"
Marilyn " What do you want to do?"
Mic " I want to be a writer, I love poetry."
Marilyn " Do you have an office?"
MIC " Yes an office in a hut in the middle of nowhere."
Marilyn " Have you wrote an poetry?"
Mic " Loads since I have been a boy that haven't got published."
Mic " Your a film star, Marlyn, what's this pin up about?"
Marilyn " It's about this Murder movie I'm in called ' WHO IS THE WOMAN?'
Marilyn " May be you can write a film for me in the future."
Mic " May be I can."
Marilyn " I am playing my character now but just myself as the talking skull, talking to you Mic right now."
I knew Marilyn was the skull but I didn't know she was playing her character while I was interviewing. I jumped with a screamed, it scared me to death. 19th June 2010
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