Oive rrit a poem, with explanatory notes.

I i see in my soul the citron breasted fair one
Still gold tinted, her face like our night stars
Drawing unto her her body beaten about with flame,
Wonded by the flaring spear of love
My first of all by reason of her fresh years
Then is my heart buried alive in snow.

They chatter her weakness through the two bazarres
Who was so stong to love me
And small men that buy and sell for silver
Crinkles the fat about their eyes
And yet no prince of the Cities of the sea has taken her
Leading to his grim bed

Death sends me the flickering of powdery lids
Over wild eyes and the pity of her slim body
All broken up with the weariness of joy
The little red flowers of her breasts to be my comfort
Moving above scarves, and for my sorrow
Wet crimson lips once i marked as mine.

I was moved by Carlisles ongoing deathg spiral into non league, the above is somewhat overly expressive, certainly for contemporary audiences, but contains the feeling of doom, approaching death, relegation.

Not totally ok for a football club, that deep feeling exists, but it doees, for one, now in Gloucester, not Carlisle.

In the music industry this would be known as the difficult third album,the first was brilliant and sold in millions,the second album sells reasonably well due to the popularity of the first but it’s not as good and then you have the difficult third album and unfortunately that’s what this is,no album deal renewal and EMI Music has just let you go Frank

Now I know that you will see this review as some kind of attack on yourself which you will take personally,just stand back from the laptop for a minute or so and reread the poem before you reply

But you do attack, the first paragraph was ok, then again it isnt in a review sort of way.

Because you are the writer, that your ability to review anything would be like asking a crackpot. What chance has a chimp of understanding Shakespeare?

Or of you understanding Shakeespeeare, is there a difference. ? As Oscar Wilde said of a production, the play was good, the audiece a disaster.

You are not qualified to comment, your track record of commenting on art is abysmal. Whatever your view is, it is wrotted on bog paper, or should be.

Ask Griiff, whether it approaches the sorrow in his heart, i think it does not. I looked at three pictures of my first love this morning, a beuaty from the furthest reaches of heaven.

My broken heart is over a woman, Griffs over a pile of bricks populated by spivs, yours a second of regret, a flob on the ground, and carrying on, like nothing happened, oblivious to having the wings of an angel casting you in shadow.

To sit next to a man who has spent his whole life trying to educate others! What a dreadful experience that is

Oscar Wilde

Tcchh. 3/10

This is a major speech for you. Unfortunatley you do not address the the burgeoning, fulminating horror that inhabits your breast. Indeed i wish i could hear your curses at games. Its already November, time is short.

And you are bottom. Bottom like, and in a show business way, being mischievious, had Carlisle been playing Cambridge, and i was the Cambridge chairman....

No one could call it art, certainly these days, even in Roman times, that instead of shaking hands with the opposition, i would instruct the Cambridge players, in the best possible taste, to drop their shorts, and part cheeks.

There is a line that you are under, if it was sod you could be the unburied dead, and will shortly be. And from what ive seen of div 4 it is teerrible to behold. And you aree the pits of the pits, its no wonder you are depressed.

Try Clevedon Town or Weston Super Mare.

We’re not bottom Frank.

Oh.

Your not.

But are you below THE LINE?. The line of relegation, that if you finish below it, next season, you will be playing ALDERSHOT. In my previous life as a brummie i got to know Weston well, as you should, a pier, regularly burnt down, and with a cracking beach.

Made of mud.

I went walking in the mud flats near there, the other side of the abandoned 19th century pier, and almost never made it back, my feet were sinking 10 inches into mud.

The fish and chip restaurants are excellent, how the hotels get people to stay there god only knows, the only thing to do is play slot machines. All of the south west is a mud flat, great choice. There is the railway at Minehead, with a live cam at Blue Anchor.

I watched a you tube video about cumbrian towns, they are all dying, nothing to do, dilapidated, no money, no people, no work etc. No wonder you left. I would have thought Manchester would have been better or around there.

Sorry Frank, but you’ve undermined your own credibility there. If you get the main point of your post wrong, why should anyone believe anything you say?

Your not bottom, but you are. Your not top. Splitting hairs.