"Armed With Your Classy Effervescence" by Steven Ilchev, 2003

Armed With Your Classy Effervescence
----------------------------------------------
/Steven Ilchev, 2003/
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Calendars flicker on and on
While plastered backgrounds echo a song,
A vehicular squeal meandering through my
Fire lawns ever so teal

Iced fire - such vintage champagne flirting with
Effervescence in a glass mirroring bathtubs meant
For us in a room spelling out creepy nudity that
Becomes me today as I stand entangled in complexity,
The blooming of mega-inferiority

Illusionary comfort eclipsing my absolutely limp modesty
As I gather the magnetic powers that be -
The arms of your unmistakable effervescence

Arm'd indeed with nothin' but fear...
I excite you no more and hard as my craggy
Expression is it melts down... and
Try as I might the infant inside spills
The rain that belts the crust of my
Tumbling heart

Then I drain myself to fright the way you'd
Hold me,... almost! Your classy effervescence
Still towering throughout my dusty shelves
Forever barren of the stock-in-trade
That'd present me as a sexy beast

I hold on to your force, I yawp your classy name,
Oh please return to me 'fore I keel over and cease
To bat them eyelids
That'll always be connected
To yours!　

"Heart Of Oak" by Steven Ilchev, 1994

HEART OF OAK
________________________
/Steven Ilchev, 1994/
________________________
　
From the hive of his safety,
The brat blubbers by the bridge above the ship
Of his future; with self-criticism he looks
Upon the flock of molecules of love and hate

Brat who watches the ship drift away from reality –
Horizons stretch beyond the mountain peaks
And the ship deletes the crimson air
Like a feather in despair

From the hive of his safety,
The brat intrigues himself with a solitary ship in rusty rivers
Eyes closed yet vigilant for the pictures
Of the past always roam the grounds of the brat

From the hive of unwritten safety,
Untamed brats blubber for the ships of
Future which never come below the agelong bridge again
To make ‘em realize that hope can never wane.

"Moondust Pancakes In The Fast Lane", by Steven Ilchev, Staffordshire, 2002

Moondust Pancakes In the Fast Lane
************************
/Steven Ilchev, 2002/
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Zip, zip as starlight wheels cross the colourways
Of opalescent baby Rainbows, tackling
The streaming mother-fountain Moonsparkle
Which pancakes its naughty, naughty neon beam

Unseen… three deers mastodoning like gallant boomerangs
In atmospheric patches of intimate horror, so lovely - so worthy
Of the molten silver screen undetected as water vessels
Purify the killer-dusk on a slightly craggy look of an intrepid man
Of men

Zip, zip as starlight wheels crisscross the broadest fancy
Colourways of opalescent love-sung Rainbows, hurtling
Throughout the messy moondust of Moonsparkle's constellation
Gently flailing as eyes fixate on this wholehearted naughtiness…

Elegance… as the intrepid man of men motorheads the
Fast lane of a love song intangible; he may be eating the
Macabre pie of pies but in collision's prism of romantic
Horoscopes, he blushes bodily and soulfully as his Television
Glass of dreams ties him to a fiendishly gorgeous
Lady of the sea-breeze knell of aural mystique

Class… the collective mind and body elegance flirting
With the eyelids' ghost-affection from the intrepid man's
Roughened skin… the man of men now knows the beautylight
Of reckless moondust… moondust pancakes in the fast lane
Milkshake rice-cakes on platinum linen romanticized in
Raspberry cream of unearthly Paradise won

Paradise won because lost it can never be when
Attraction wheels are set in motion and the
Opalescent love-sung Rainbows pancake
Lightly with the man of men and the woman
Of limitless culture bubbles his ailing spirit
Bubbles it back to life, she does

Moondust pancakes in the fast lane
Taking on the power-cranes of human reservation
That limit the man of men to the rooms of boredom's servitude;
Taking them on and winning, spinning the starlight wheel
And the doors of intimacy's fascinating horror excitement
Leaning… towards the palm-trees of love's infinity

Zip, zip as mystic starlight wheels crisscross the puddle-colourways
Of opalescent baby Rainbows as man and woman bolt along
Upon the moondust pancake in the fast lanes;
Moondust yielding the gloss of intimate horror stories, so thrilling
Moondust cradling the baby of gloss so lovingly
Gifted to the Earth's carers of the touch…

The touch the man of men longs for as he
Caresses the ruby portraits of his sea-breeze lady
Of the elegant walk and talk she raises…

Zip, zip as moondust pancakes so energetically tired
Motorhead their splendour through the fancy
Colourways of opalescent love-sung Rainbow Warriors…
And the dusk on the craggy look of
The intrepid man of men growing ever so glittering
Now…
As the gift of life dawns its gilded fireball mirror
Unto him… he lives

Lives… for life of man is to be in heart and hearth
With the woman of the sea-breeze bubbly elegance
He learned about… As she taught him
To unleash his bold beasts he locked away before
And to consume the moondust pancakes without delay
As the fast lane of the gorgeous, slow romance
Cannot be left to ponder on the floor

Intrepid man of men, don't ever floor
Your dancing shoes that will take you to
Paradise won, not lost in greyish fog at all;
Paradise won - the Paradise of the blue riverSuns

Moondust pancakes following the drive
Through roaming colourways of the opalescent
Baby Rainbows of the turquoise mystic dusk
And the intrepid man of men is mounting harder
To excite the flight of elegance
Radiated through the lady Rainbow
Of his molten heart

Hurtle man, hurtle your love
As though tomorrow's pancakes
Would run out tonight
And may the moondust's glory lash you
As you fly unattended through fast lanes
So exotic

Dear lady Rainbow, the intrepid man
Of men is riding near and he has all
But defeated the pancakes of fear
He'd like to ride with you in the moondusted
Fast lane to glow love's gloss
As you paint the planetary moss
On your television-screen boards of magnificence
That stones breathe for when confronted with,
And let there be pancakes of romance to mould
Into what would be the greatest beautylight of
Naughtiness

Zip, zip - the end of neverending is the ultimate
Beginning of love's refreshment and the signal
Of excitement in the fast lane beckons all to
Drop everything and bake a love pancake
As the colourways of opalescent baby Rainbows
Are flooded with moondust, so cheeky

So cheeky it gives life
And life is love
The running of the Motorhead
Junction never too busy
To accommodate the breath
Of elegance
For whom our man was born all
Those years ago…

Kissing everywhere… kissing thoughtlessly,
Kissing irresponsibly, ironing the fast lane
Beaming in the riverways, diamonding the colourways
Nestling in ghostly films… grinning…
Hurtling… hurtling wildly with eyes of dragon fire
As cosmic heights pancake the brainwaves that wire
The station of Paradise won… the moondust of glitter
And fun…
Hurtling, hurtling not ever blinking an eyeball
Man and the elegant woman…

Zip, zip – life zips us in the lace
Of facial dusk to move along and wonder no more
As little things would sometimes need but a
Deranged commotion of the strategic war theatre
Of elated romance dreams of the moondust
Never still

Intrepid man in a pathetic leaf attire
And a sea-breeze wave-musified elegance woman
In a trendy so revealing gown
Soothing the gloss pancake of romance
In fast lanes of the messy moondust…
Messily infinitely clean!
Man and woman in exotic lands of turquoise
Dusk… never cease to steam…

And trains of slumber hop through butterscotch rails…
'Tis quiet… love is everywhere, yet slotted
In one welkin-defined location!

"I Dread The Day When Blue Federalist Swines..." by Steven Ilchev, Staffordshire (2009)

I DREAD THE DAY WHEN BLUE FEDERALIST SWINES...
---------------------------------------
by: Steven Ilchev, Staffordshire, 2009
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I dread the day when blue federalist swines
From regions not quite au fait with George's stance,
Select the people's very song and belly-dance;

Denounce these scoundrels,
Rough 'em up repeatedly,
Thy sovereign Englishness enhance

With cherished rhetoric of forests' manors
And Cotswolds' stone-walls, and not some cheap
Imported vin from a make-believing France

Before the lateness of the hour
Accentuates the creepy manner
Of our catatonic trance!

Of our catatonic trance!

"Who Knew The Roadmaker" (1995) by Steven Ilchev

Who Knew The Roadmaker?
======================
/Steven Ilchev, 1995/
======================

Who baked the asphalt at noon
For the bare feet of tramps
For whom that sheer torture is
To walk the note of pain?

Who knew the Roadmaker?
The baker of chocolate asphalt
Who knew the Roadmaker?
The mermaids' patrol with guns
Of a rose's blood

Who knew the Roadmaker?
The godflesh of insults,
The merciless locksmith,
The sceptical prisoner,
A canonized leader and
Minister of mediocrity

Doctor! Bug! Oh, Frog!
Walkin' the note of pain
You've dented our trees and looted
Cucumber nations for the sole purpose
Of consumption, consumption
That's spitt'n all out

Who knew the Roadmaker?
The curry salesman of kidneys,
The merry keeper of distance
The soldier of safe danger,
The baker of chocolate asphalt,
Singing the note of pain

Who knew the Roadmaker?
The blue-jeansed Professor who cooks
The meal of independence
Who knew the Roadmaker?
The sweltering stripper of clothing
In the shack of daylight's ghastly rays

I knew the one and only Roadmaker
He struck me on the spinal chord
And on a platinum highway he blasted
The dynamite of disdain

Who knew the Roadmaker?
Who played the note of pain?
The Roadmaker did
Did it all alone!

"Juice Of Care" by Steven Ilchev (1994)

JUICE OF CARE
{STEVEN ILCHEV, 1994}

Sleek is the skin I crawl upon
Beneath the reading of a moonful
Of wisdom

To the endearment of blood-lusty vultures
Juice toddles on the brow of squeez’d love
Love that manifests itself in juice of care

Her skin is tenderly almighty
And I feel strongly weak in juicy
Spicy adoration

Injected with the lemon flavour of her
Golden skin I let a dizzy heartquake bash
My brains

It’s heady – a demolition like an alcoholic
Festival but there’s no violent element in it
All

Just a maiden with a pink rose and a boor
With a juice of care yearning for the
Harvest’s hush and the song of the sunrays
And gathering clouds.

"Girl, Envelop Me!" [1995] by Steven Ilchev

Girl, Envelop Me!
/Steven Ilchev, 1995/

Purple, unspoken and velvet snowy face
contoured with grace
a glowing eye of shyness
neurotic heart thwarted by tyrants
a lovely princess stung by the fiddle of
rejection’s demonic intonation
musical distress - hurtful, sour note
like a salty finale of a novel!

A princess in the warm emotions of her
stripped soul but a strumpet for a solemn
savage who is a "strumpet’s fool",
She sits on my knee and her caramel hair
lashes my wrinkles
gently, gently, LOVINGLY!

You, royal bird of tenderness
envelop my exhausted, vile eroded spirit -
the spirit that holds you ever high
and swiftly sinks into eclipsed adventures

I stand to raise you in a thoughtful flight
my lady of mild lemon words
I resemble a dotted gladiator foiled by
weakness of elation for you
a rare harvest for a cosmic romance-seeker!

Girl, envelop me with cotton strength
drown me in the philharmonic tempest of
the wind and mounts
blow away my groovy bitterness
sweeten it as my eroded leaden spirit
wails for some twisting of the tongue and lips
that are eclipsed by the rude marketing of love!

Woman, no cake of ordinary girl
although your fingernails can touch my blatant wounds
You are a royal lady glistening in diamond love
your price is not to be delivered;

You are a bucketful of mercy housed in an artistic
shape; I drink your pure crystal tears
to intoxicate the grey hue of conservative romance

Girl, envelop me with juicy strength
by the philharmonic tempest
of the meadows and the valleys
whispering into each other’s troubles

Swing your honey taste unto my bitterness
I long to breathe your fragrance
I see my eroded spirit shed a glassy tear
eclipsed by the contemptible marketing of love

Purple, unselfish and velvet snowy face
blended with the seeds of grace
glowing eyes of truthfulness
a heart of naval air relaxed by the shores
of my anchored hands
envelops me;

Hang onto me - euphonise this romantic vase
with orchestral energy, unsung peace of
intellectual tenacity like the overture
of an optimistic play.

"Throstle" (1998) by Steven Ilchev

THROSTLE
/Steven Ilchev, 1998/
================================

It’s the topic of discussion,
Like the sound of the percussion,
Of how many times have humans
Caught a bird

Rain of bolts befalls the webbed crier
Who connects to crimson flowers
That are hovering in dour silly worlds

Jokers stare at a garment of a lady
From a playground where anybody
Is a pig at heart

And the kings would be crest-fallen
Their servants, fungous wardrobes,
As the princess would be married to
A nerd

Befog! Befog! Befog the solar system
Which bundles thousands of despondent
Souls

Befog! Befog! The blood red microbes of
Materialism that slouch through these
Defenceless veins and bones

Prism of cotton in alleys blessed with
Yarrow motors the frazzling feet of
Poorest, poorest… those who aren’t known!

Between the birded cage,
O so dethroned
And the pipe of sin that
Puffs encyclopaedic rigmarole

The handsome cataract let such
Bushy hair down
While the catamount would never cease
To moan and moan…and moan
Never cease to moan

Too dear is the booming way
Invoiced at the homes of catastrophic
Everydays

A callous melody composed by
The golden burning hay;
Is it today? Is it today?

Hey throstle, throstle, throstle
Galvanized with hope; this plastered
Robotland
That breathes such toxic waste is your
Picturesque belief in the wonderful victory
Of benignity, so salted in the abandoned shaker

A throstle with a sun-kissed self-expression
Presenting his cheerful lyricism – lyrics for
Givers and takers! Lyricism not ever naked!

Like the sound of the percussion
A thud tells the throstle
Of the bloody stampede that awaits
Some miles away

That evergreen throstle decides to sing
One lasting song… and blast!
Without taking these moneys
That may have been offered for the dirt
In some pockets noteworthy or so
Our throstle undresses…

And kindly receives a beating that so banishes him
And leaves him stranded to the nest-egg of security
On the driest branch of all… of all

One such throstle – what a beau of a wealthy look
One such throstle – what a man of the lover-gun
Reeling with devious contradicting looks
That would solemnly butter the bread
On the ever-burning hay,
Burning day by day!

Between the birded cage,
O not so dethroned
And the forgiven pipe of sin
That still puffs encyclopaedic rigmarole

A home of catastrophic everydays would
Play its tales for centuries and on
Through a battered enigmatic gramophone
Beside the blackened unrecognizable forgotten
Hay!

For now it cruelly burns the puppy words of new:
"’Tis bitter, bitter time to…
buck the golden pay…"

‘Tis bitter, bitter time to suck
the lively courage out of the priceless golden
sunset-moronically-purified ray…　

Unpopular War Necessitated By Volatile Cosmetic Peace [by: Steven Ilchev, 2001]

Unpopular War Necessitated By Volatile Cosmetic Peace
by: Steven Ilchev (Lichfield, Staffordshire)

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/2002/
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"George W. Bush – thou art a gangster and thou shalt plunge the Earth into an epic holocaust from which there will be no recovery for some time! Who in Heaven’s name are you, really?" These are more or less the words uttered by a symbolic, vocally enhanced statue that is pleading an anti-war case. Another statuette is calling for more time before salvoes are fired: "Let there be peaceful inspections in Baghdad and then we’ll see", the words engraved upon an icon of reluctance. An icon breathing from the heart of a stubborn piece of wood that has besmirched the name of unity. A united front on an issue of disarming a marauding incubus now rests in peace(s) and no one is happier than the incubus himself, Saddam. He has almost too perfectly managed to bisect the civilised world and rope it into a knot of barnyard bickering by doing what he does best… being himself. And as the fence of this volatile cosmetically peaceful atmosphere all but caved in to a resolute minority bunch an unpopular war erupted and political and military astuteness is about to follow.

Are George W. Bush, Tony Blair and other world leaders who have taken this drastic course of action today’s heroes? Are they to be commended for snubbing an indecisive UN body in times when most of the world, including the developed European Union nations such as Germany and France, is not endorsing the demise of a brutal empire that has stifled a land of incredible culture? The once upon a long ago Mesopotamia – nowadays a relic that people have come to know for quite a while as the Iraq in tatters! "Are Bush, Blair and the rest of those who told the UN exactly what to do in but so many words the personalities our world ought to look up to?" – a confused termite whispered in the dark as it examined a statue of an (not "the") unknown soldier. "Only time will tell", an answer ricocheted from the adolescent-looking soldier’s computerised heart. The response continued to bemuse the termite: "The jury’s still out on those other termite-candidates you spoke about, mate but desperate times call for desperate moves and it is a bold revolution, and not a time-consuming resolution that is called for now. All’s not fair in war and that’s a shame but you have to realise that when you create a peace façade while others ponder over you, this war’s popularity ceases to matter to those who seek to eradicate a looming threat. This blasted conflict, dear Sadie termite-brother is the only hope I cling to that the planet I love will not bleed for you and you alone! And for that cause I am prepared to fall in battle!"

The statuette of the adolescent soldier teleported itself to a theatre of military preparations as the scheming termite negotiated his way to a bunker of bittersweet safety. "This war that few want is going ahead", he thought aloud. "I need to play my Saddam role to the hilt. Those evil aggressors will make me the martyr I have never been but will now become to those who never even loved me. I have received sympathies from the ones who didn’t have it in them to back the aggressors. I am so good!"

The two players in this case – the termite and the soldier with a computerised but not unfeeling heart – are the puppets in this dramatic production called "Gulf War 2". Who is wrong and who is right? This question is eroding people’s lives and there’s no real winner in this unfortunate event. Who wins wars? Wars yield no winners and that is for sure but the environment and its carers would be the grand losers if pussyfooting around termites is one’s successfully-unsuccessful business in this, the Age of Terror. Megalomaniacs have no place among us and if that sounds insensitive and undemocratic perhaps this sobering colloquial phrase might cheer some up: "Tough schnapps!"

Have power-hungry political termites masquerading as their people’s leaders ever considered anyone’s democratic right of choice an important factor in the running of their gloomy microcosm of the world? What do the names Castro, Idi Amin, Augusto Pinochet, Josef Stalin, Adolph Hitler, and yes Saddam Hussein represent on an artistic piece of embroidery? Something resembling bloodstains milked from the souls of those "fine" individuals’ submissive lambs, one might insist. Should one be blamed for thinking along these lines? Zoom in on many a busted nation on a flattened map and then wonder no more.

George W. Bush, Tony Blair and their respective cabinets can hardly be viewed as awe-inspiring in their own right. Calling them revolutionary or visionary may just amount to political flattery. They are not the Franklin Delano Roosevelts and Sir Winston Churchills of the 21st Century and they have entered a game that does not have the across-the-board marketing appeal that would make it very popular indeed. Going to war is never a triumph but the decisiveness shown by the governments of the United Kingdom and the United States in toppling volatile cosmetic peace by going against the grain (and the grain being the UN) is nothing short of historically justified as well as pertinent to the reconstruction of a troubled region. Stability in the Middle East is essential if the international community’s war on terrorism is to succeed in the long term.
Some cynics may argue that the bottom line of this offensive against Iraq is just that – i.e. in finance lingo terms. That is not too far away from reality and the wealth of oil in the region is of great interest to the US. The volatility of stock markets and the stabilisation of a dwindling US economy and a weakening greenback are undoubtedly factors in this equation. Reaffirming the American imperialism may also be on Bush’s and his cabinet’s collective mind. All that might lead to the developing world reeling from heavy economic shocks and that would be advantageous to the US – a valid reason then for a vivid African icon to berate Bush’s policies in the Gulf?

Maybe at first glance, that great African statesman’s vociferous criticism of the American leader is quite valid but it is also laughably imperceptive. The lack of foresight on his part could lead to a potential dearth of much needed US investment on his continent. Can this esteemed but ageing figure really afford to flirt with a prospect of no American aid by aligning himself with Saddam through his anti-Bush rhetoric?

The world now holds its breath and there is a split international community that needs mending and humanitarian aid that needs to be distributed to innocent civilian casualties that are unavoidable in conflicts of this nature. History will in the end be the judge of this war which some choose to paint as a crime against humanity. With all their imperfections, the world’s Superpower and its allies in this desperate but inevitable theatrical performance are the ones exhibiting a sense of sanity in a hopelessly insane situation. Align oneself with them or with a despicable despot who may gas everyone out of existence before tomorrow comes? It is plain: one has to choose and live with the consequences. The good people of Iraq and the citizens of the world are riding on the outcome of this operation and negating its seriousness is tantamount to self-destruction.

"George W. Bush – thou art a gangster and thou shalt plunge the Earth into an epic holocaust from which there will be no recovery for some time! Who in Heaven’s name are you, really?" He is not perfect and should not be put on a pedestal but he has the capacity to dislodge the termite that has plagued mankind before it has spread uncontrollably. So, stand shoulder to shoulder with the American president and never misunderestimate the devil behind his enemy, our brittle world’s enemy. The one they call Saddam.

The drama associated with this rather unpopular war continues. The Oscars ceremony will probably echo further anti-war sentiments. The news bulletins know of nothing else on Earth. The stage is set and one might be tempted to give this play the heading "Of Mice and Men". The explosiveness of today’s situation and the lows to which humanity has sunk would support a deviation from that title to "Of Mice and Termites", some may suggest.

The Earth is at war and it is tragic but peace never really had a chance. It will be given the chance it so richly deserves when the weed is uprooted by the coalition forces. Until then the termites are at large and the sirens will go on as the curtain of night sets the scene for more air raids. It is Hell that had to come and needs to be handled with surgical precision. As for ordinary people… they need to keep up with the beat of normality before they are consumed by cold fear and uncertainty. The meaning of life has to shine on amidst this global pain if real peace is to be achieved.

Insurmountable Universes Apart... (by Steven Ilchev, 2005)

Insurmountable Universes Apart - These Days 5/5 And 7/7 In The Year of 'PORNOPLASTICISM' 2005
***********************************************
by: Steven Ilchev, Lichfield, Staffs, 2005

Oh July thou month of Uncle Radish McTurnips
***********************************************

May 5 seems like a trillion miles back in the Bermuda Triangle-like posterior of hallucinogenic beyond. So much multicoloured water has streamed under the proverbial PORNOPLASTIC GATE bridge since. Labour got their third term with a halved majority but the Lib Dems made some significant strides. The Tories need an overhaul if they are to reinvent themselves... they certainly lacked the X-factor (which, I guess, is true of most politicians nowadays) and with Mickey Howard at the forefront they embodied caricatures of desperation more than anything else.

There was time for some high-profile circus too with the vociferous George Galloway who as some may remember won the votes of a Welsh constituency. What a choice for a Member of Parliament. The heartbeat of "Respect". And what about that bird who sang her tempestuous heart out in a concession chant - the VOTE FOR MYSELF PARTY or something of that ilk? She only had ONE VOTE in her constituency, a record! Wonder where that vote came from? It was all good, cleaner than babies' nappies kinda fun, it was!

We have since witnessed some exhilarating scenes from Istanbul and back at Merseyside with the 'Pool winning the UEFA Champions League trophy in an epic battle against the highly-rated AC Milan. What a humdinger! What a comeback by Stevie G. and the lads. It was something special. We have also more recently been reminded of the helter-skelter world we really grace today. The spirit of Lennon's Imagine as though smothered by a rotating axis of evil that is hell-bent on thrusting us into a chaotic tailspin. Well, they won't win! This is my message. This is a great nation. Still is and it has nothing to do with the cement bollocks of the bloody Empire, the annoying Royal Family and their gaffes, the colonialism tosh that the "SUN" and other monosyllabically-empowered tabloids keep reminiscing about, or the nostalgia about military greatness & all that jazz. None of this is a measure of this beautiful country's profound greatness!

England... SHE is beautiful and amazing because of HER heritage! Because of Stonehenge, the gorgeous countryside, the stylish buildings that exude character so rare, the literary wealth that emanates from her heart... England, the land of classless beauty!A land so poetically ensconced in her creative bosom, so innovative and her people's sense of humour and unparalleled etiquette elegantly intertwined as well as forever poignant and inspirational! These constitute the immeasurable statue of greatness that this country, this stunning nation has gifted to the planet thus won the respect and admiration of many. That is why England and her beautiful people will not cow or flinch before the pellet guns of shambolic terror...

I, for one, do resent the involvement of UK troops in Iraq as their presence in that horror zone is the result of a most myopic vision of a paradoxically named Commander-in-Chief of another beautiful and powerful nation who is hell-bent on embarrassing his charges and to crown it all the man cannot even pronounce NUCLEAR properly. I despise colonialism and all that twaddle about military might. None of this excites me... I abhor it... but I re-iterate... that's not what England is about!

The terrorists are as depraved as the colonialists of yore. The terrorists seek world division. They want to bludgeon humanity and the freedom edifice that has been erected as a symbol of prosperity. They will never succeed. Good (and I don't mean Tony and his cronies either... or that robotic degenerate Dubya) will triumph over evil - as banal as that may sound. People with hearts and minds of gold will not permit the erosion of our daily lives and loves in the wake of these terrible atrocities. For many a dreary year the IRA tried to trample on innocent people's liberties but the common man's stoicism was never overpowered. It became universally anthemic!Hatred and bigotry will never provide a recipe for cohesion or inner strength. Not all Muslims or Irish are extremists. A bit of common sense would yield such logic. What is truly paramount about this gorgeous land so steeped in history is that SHE is innovative and deep. Her collective heart is strengthened by prevailing rationality above prejudiced slurs. And that's got nothing to do with the governmental pseudo-liberalism policies that some bored and devoid of any substance tiny section of bigotry-filled individuals believe has underpinned this country's alleged "slide into oblivion".

There's no death of England as the narrow-minded mouthpieces would like us all to believe as they scape-goat others for their so-called misfortunes. Yes, England is different to the England of yore but so is the rest of the world. One has to adapt to it. And extremism will be toppled via the route of the ingenuity of the awesome genuine people of this beloved land that I so adore (and ingenuity there is, right here... aplenty... contrary to what Crane McDigger , the overall-clad bin man of Tipton in the Black Country would like us all to believe). I'd like to take time out to pause for the soulfully immortal victims of 7/7... as well as any other atrocity that has plagued our planet.

England and the rest of the wonderful world will not disintegrate. I might be leaning towards the naive side according to some but is there anything wrong with having a little faith in humanity? What in the world do we live for? I meet so many people each day through work and other conventional forms of interaction and so many of them fill me with joy. And there are so many people so beautiful inside and out. So invigorating in the capsule of conversationalism.Isn't that what life is all about? Not the demagogical slogans that politi-cluttering bumpkins or public school products or supposed geniuses in Westminster or Washington or wherever else would like to instil in their supposed puppet-strung electorates? Surely not!!!

Please pardon my philosophising babble. I like to engage in moments of reflection at times like these and also stress that my faith in humankind will never be diminished as long as I am still breathing out and breathing in... maybe even beyond that somewhat jelly-powdered point!!! "I believe in FREEDOM, my oh my... I believe in beauty, my oh my", to paraphrase the sentiments laid out by a West-Midlands band of bygone times.

My faith is not religious. My faith is deeper than that. It's spiritual without any misconceived deity. As a Wiccan Pagan the only Goddess is Nature's splendour and she is worshipped in natural cathedrals like fountains and waterfalls or enchanted forests where the poetry of the wind never ceases to amaze the hearts and minds of every loving soul that goes aflutter.

Religion has perpetuated evilness before (Christianity, Islam, Judaism, etc)... all these exponents of indoctrinated 'plain mortal - sacrosanct divinity' relationships and their preachings of the right path, the holy scripture, the Koran, and the wrongfulness of "non-believers" [the damned infidels] have precipitated detriment and shameful massacres. So very unholy in the grand picture of make-believe holiness!

The above leads to corrosive education of the value of humankind's relationship with one another and the root of that is evident in the way the 'civilised' folk slaughter our precious animalistic beastly earthly inhabitants. The way our environment is being violated is nothing short of alarming yet Dubya the megalomaniac wouldn't consider giving us all a deal on climate change. Injustice and abject poverty stain our world. It all makes me wail... As Nelson Mandela recently professed at Trafalgar Sq: "There can never be true democracy on Planet Earth until poverty is eradicated in its entirety!" Wise words from a wise man. A man who has realised he is no angel and has faults but who is the only African leader (and by the same token, a rare world leader) who commands a degree of respect. It was magnificent to watch how Hyde Park manifested the determination of this glorious land along with the rest of our precious world to indeed MAKE POVERTY HISTORY during the recently-staged LIVE 8 concert. It gladdens the heart! It so does!

From a further panoramic viewpoint there's also Big Brother as though laminated in our encephalous background quest for tantalising 'PORNOPLASTICISM'. Derek, Maxwell, Orlaith, Makosi, Saskia - figureheads of Universal trauma-escapism ideologies. Ideologies of instant absorption by a misunderstood and disillusioned populace. Perspectives skew with fierce regularity but what somehow remains constant is the unquantifiable array of chocolate-salty days before and marmalade-gherkin days after the pre-conceived paradigm shift. The shift between FIVE and SEVEN is the Universal apartheid - the bitter Rubicon that has neither been crossed nor abandoned. The dust can't settle for a while. Days that seem so close are so juxtaposed on a calendar of mental turmoil. Fatigue and ale aftertaste cure it all with a sense of welcome falsehood. Hickory, dickory, dock - put on thy muddy brown sock!

a dose o'conjugation

Herewith, my tribute to the grammatical abominations that I encounter on a daily basis as our great nation's semi-literacy escalates ever so alarmingly. Bloomin 'doing words' and all that tuneless jazz!

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a dose o'conjugation
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by: Steven Ilchev, 2007
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when no frigging metaphors can withstand me
when every blasted noun sounds wrong
you gimme a dose o'conjugation
thus hate's personification carries on

and you'll ne'er know the reasons why
the 'doing words' ring true
that's the wonder...of adverbs so few.

Anti-Asylum Seeking-Shire

I penned this one as a form of unbridled disgust directed at every benefit guzzler, homegrown or otherwise. Socialism is evil and it breeds dependency and self-respect erosion. Embrace societal ethos and do not bleed the State's coffers and thou shalt be a talismanic statue of enviable self-reliance. Do dream the sweetest of dreams of a global corner devoid of chavvy and asylum spongers. 'Tis called ANTI-ASYLUM SEEKING-SHIRE! Fly the Cross of St. George's flag and never cow or flinch! It can never be toppled! Snub welfare! Snub third-world self-pity! Promote independence, productivity and the most glorious work ethic!=======================================================

Anti-Asylum Seeking-Shire
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by: Steven Ilchev, 2009
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How many more buffoons must enter
to take over our land's beaming centre
why mollycoddle woeful fleas
supported by our workmanlike bees?

Homegrown work-shy chavs abound
so why bury our heads in the ground
by importing lunatics who hate our style
and shower us with gallons of bile?

'Tis not a form of help but pisstake
derision of the English nation
hard workers, industrious to the core
crestfallen deep inside forevermore

An English house is a hallowed castle
a place of refuge for the working weary
so why is it that lazy 'hoodies dreary
and insolent asylum 'sneer-ease' are
subsidised for generations
while the productive suppress
their indignation?

Asylum plonkers are ungrateful
an affront to the tireless working faithful,
house them and you breed hostility
unleash societal fragility!