kidattypewriter

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

More Peotry

Perhaps because they feel that the Fare Evader messages on the walls of the trains make for a rather depressing trip, Connex have recently taken to posting artwork and poetry on the walls. The poetry is of the vague, near-meaningless type, full of pretty adjectives and images of mist. From memory, here's one of them:

He took hold
Of my hair
And spun me into gold.


It starts with an ordinary image and ends with a pointless metaphor. Of course, one of the other poems is even worse. It has the chopped grammar you find in a lot of modern poems, a pretty natural image, and a judgmental conclusion:

Melbourne: in the autumn mist
You look more beautiful
Than you deserve.

This sort of poetry is so simple, anyone could write it. So I did. Here's a sample poem I've written. I call it

An Observation
Green fields: morning.
A turd: steaming.
In my heart: despair.

Chopped grammar, a natural image, 'steam' instead of 'mist', and a ludicrous ethical conclusion. I told you anyone could write it!
My second poem is again set in nature. I call it ...

Pastorelle
Old cow chews grass
Thoughtfully
On the hill

Drops a pat or two
Fretfully
..............Regretfully
On the hill.

This is probably my favourite. When I wrote it, I wasn't sure whether to use the word 'Fretfully' or 'Regretfully' in the second stanza. I decided on both.
My third effort is about the beauties of nature - as all poetry should be - but it has a surprising twist!

I Do Not Think That I Shall Ever See: A Haiku
Glad, green, vivid: gosh!,
They have some nice tree paintings
At the library!

I wanted to use the phrase 'The eternal transience of existence' in that somewhere, but it just doesn't fit into a haiku, dammit!
My next poem, I'm not so sure about. It feels a little unfinished, but I like the cryptic title I've given it:

Look At What You've Driven Me To, Linda
All day,
I peer into
The brick.

What is
Your secret
Brick?

The fucking
Thing
Won't tell me!

All that's
Left
Is suicide.

Fuck!

I think what the speaker is trying to say in this poem is, he tried to find meaning in a seemingly random, meaningless, everyday object, and ended up seeing how meaningless his own life was!
I think this poem should be read by Kurt Cobain.
The following poem is grandiose in conception, describing one of the true glories of nature.

Damn! I Wish I Hadn't Drunk So Much!
Rushing river,
Turbid torrent,
Cutting courses
Through grass, through bush;
Coursing through to
Lake or ocean,
Not before
Cutting canyons,
Moving mountains:
Rushing river,
Golden stream.

*Zips fly up*
*Moves on to next poem.*

My favourite part about the following poem is the title, but the subject is truly awesome.

Au Naturelle
The perfumes of nature:
Spore-rich sensations
Swirl through the air.

Inhale deeply
Of these rich aromas
From my sweaty socks.

This is the final poem in the current sequence. It's a little vignette, inspired by William Carlos Williams So Much Depends. It's titled:

Untitled
I once had
A tapeworm.

It was
Very long.

My very
first pet!

It died and
I cried

And cried
And cried

And cried
Some
more.

I dedicate these poems to David, who has recently been touched by the Muse himself. I strongly suspect he's got himself a copy of Billy Corgan's poetry and been inspired ...

21 comments:

Hooch said...

TimT, please tell me to buzz off in future if you don't want to know about your typos....but seeing as you seem to be a literary kind of guy, I thought they might bug you as much mine bug me.

Peotry=Poetry
Was the 'Linda' poem criptic because of 'too' instead of 'to'?

Hooch said...

LOVE the poems. They are very grand. Maybe you could submit them to Connex? You could make millions.

They put me in mind of Kylie Mole's boyfriend Dino's Poem:

I seen a dying butterfly,
Lying on the ground.
I picked it up and accidentally squashed it's head.
Oh well.
It would of died anyway.

TimT said...

Dino has a future in writing. He probably edits a big-time publication like the train timetable now.

Oh, the spelling mistake in the title is intended, though the mistake in the 'Linda' poem isn't. Cheers!

Burgher Russell de Hotham Esq. said...

Timothy, thou noble squire! We are but a small travelling party in search of shelter, company, and if we can ever work it out, some sort of questing object or meta-object. Thy fine friend, the great and ignoble Jon Sterne recommended unto us your good graces, and keen intellect as a suitable guide on our path for something or other.

Carest though to enlighten us on our path, or perhaps give some insight into thine own?

TimT said...

Good morrow to you, O Urban Burgher (and if it isn't good morrow, it should be); salutations, greetings, and hi. I prithee, is there a task that I can avail myself of in your favour? Is there a small boon that I mayst vouchsafe to you, an errand that I might pursue at thy request?

Or, to put it another way, what he heck's going on here?

Erica Starling of the East said...

Ahoy there good fellow, Timothy-T,
t'seems that you like poet-ry
'tis I, a Starling, Erica nam-ed
minstrel, if you prefer me say-ed
'twould be grand to use your poems
'twith my mandolin and gno-ems
all seven of us t'gether we shall comp-ose
t'stories of quests and panty ho-es!

TimT said...

Utterances poem-ic or gnomic
Are more than welcome here;
And Mandolins, Crumhorns or Harps
Are sure to raise a cheer;
Though when ye jest of epic quests,
My poor heart quakes with fear:
I'd rather lie back in my longue
And sip Le Grand Marnier ...
Tho' if your band the distant lands
Doth wish to visit e'er,
I'd don my cap, and leave this crap -
And I would come back ne'er!

merkel the tautologically angry barbarian... said...

Ach, still no orcs! But that newt was a tastier little critter than the grid bug!

So what have we in this level? Poetry? Excellent! I like to carve poetry on the bodies of the vanquished with my trusty broadsword, preferably in the style of a Gilbert and Sullivan patter song.

A wandering Barbrian, I a thing who shreds, and scratches,
of ballads about slashes,
and dreaming of deathmatches...

what? Where have ye all gone? Wait for me, ya big galoots...

TimT said...

When a Vikings not engaged in his employment (his employment)
Or maturing his marauding little plans (little plans) ...

st jon the cross said...

I only like poems about dudes from Nantuckett (or ladies from Venus).

TimT said...

Or the thing from Uranus?

Enny said...

Enny Doth Yoth Ye Olde Penne,
Hath arrive-eed late oh yet again;
She stumbles in and looks around,
The scene be filled with light and sound;
She seeks ye quiet place to rest,
To mull on purpose of this quest;
Tho brandished sword and gleery lear,
Make quiver of those to see here;
She sits and drinks and watches on,
'til ye band moves forward, with plus one.

Burgher Russell de Hotham Esq. said...

Tim, you ask a fine question, and unlike Jon I am happy to pervert your ears with foul, if obvious, verse. If the minstrel Erica would be so kind as to strike up the requisite tune...


I am the very model of a modern blogging netizen
I'm misinformed, my grammar's poor, my readership is only ten
I'll rant at length, the failings of a humble little ball-point pen
And then complain, it is the fault, of the evil Howard government

On Mondays I will post about my weekend on vacation
On Tuesday, about the works, at my local railway station
On other days, pretend to be away from my computer screen
Till Friday, when all I do, is post pictures of my cat again

(Till Friday, when all he does, is post pictures of his cat again)
(Till Friday, when all he does, is post pictures of his cat again)
(Till Friday, when all he does, is post pictures of his cat a-cat again)

I haven't bought a newspaper since September eleven
Yet I also run a blog where I daily pick on MSM
I'm misinformed, my grammar's poor, my readership is only ten
I am the very model of a modern blogging netizen

(He's misinformed, his grammar's poor, his readership is only ten)
(He is the very model of a modern blogging netizen)

I only ever post when I am needing to procrastinate
So everything I write has my biases cloaked as postulates
I often check my logs for an amusing sounding google search
I'm listed first when someone looks for goatse and the catholic church

I also am devoted to the internet community
As long as there is booze there, I will make it a priority
But one thing, I am certain I will never ever have occur
'twill be cold in hell before I ever let slip to my mother

('twill be cold in hell before he ever lets slip to his mother)
('twill be cold in hell before he ever lets slip to his mother)
('twill be cold in hell before he ever lets slip to his mot-his mother)

When I read through my archives, I can only blush at my expense
Lucky me, next week, the things writ now will be forgot by then
I'm misinformed, my grammar's poor, my readership is only ten
I am the very model of a modern blogging netizen

(He's misinformed, his grammar's poor, his readership is only ten)
(He is the very model of a modern blogging netizen)

That is all well and good, but hardly tells you why we comment here
I've started on a quest to find out better ways of making cheer
And so I put to you Tim T, the question that we'd like to hear
Why blog the way you do, and what was it that got you started here?

We must also decide where we will travel in the coming week
I'd like to hear suggestions, where we might find friendly blogging treats?
You may join us if you like, merry shall a larger party be
Where confusion reigns, there are many chances for creativity

(Where confusion reigns, there are many chances for creativity)
(Where confusion reigns, there are many chances for creativity)
(Where confusion reigns, there are many chances for creativi-tivity)

I can't believe I managed to work the entire song in here
Shame on you Rob for starting us onto such a gross parody
I'm misinformed, my grammar's poor, my readership is only ten
I am the very model of a modern blogging netizen

(He's misinformed, his grammar's poor, his readership is only ten)
(He is the very model of a modern blogging netizen)

TimT said...

Thanks for giving me a laugh on a Sunday morning. I'm ezspecially impressed that you managed to work the whole song in, my favourite is the 'MSM/September 11' rhyme. It seems rather a pity to put something so long and so jolly into comments, you should perhaps post it on your site?

I would put forward, as a tentative suggestion, a visit to Armaniac's premises, although we may have to ply him with liquors of various sorts before he lets us in.

As to why I started blogging, well, it was started when I had too much time and not much money on my hands, as a record of my unemployment; it's continued, since then, just because I like having the netspace to say whatever I like ...

TimT said...

Or, to put it another way ...

Enough, my friends! 'Tis high time we repair
To the Armaniac's mysterious lair!
And, tho' 'twill take some doing, I believe
That loot, liquor and lust will soon relieve
Him of his forebodings. And so, away!
We shall reach there tomorrow - if not today!

Madame Hooch of the Heath said...

Returning from her scouting and pillaging on ahead. Madame Hooch returns to the party, only to find them all in full swing, verse and song, without her.

Her talent for verse having eluded her some years hence, she decides to cover it up by speaking in the third person. (A weak attempt, which would surely not go unnotice but for preoccupations with wine and song).

*sits down to nap, one eye half open, lulled by tunes and the prospect of future adventure to the world of Armaniac*

TimT said...

Welcome, O Hooth of the Heach, I mean, Heath of the Hooch, I mean Madame. Perhaps the lack of verse is a good thing. I mean, prose may be prosaic, but verse is worse ...

So, now we're all here, what are we going to do?

Orgy, anyone?

*Coyote howls*
*Tumbleweed rolls across screen*

Armagnac Esq. said...

What ARE you loons up to???

Burgher Russell de Hotham Esq. said...

Is that a "no" to visiting Armaniac?

I thought it was perfectly obvious what we were doing... if anything.

Burgher Russell de Hotham Esq. said...

Oh well, too late now.... We've moved on.

Armagnac Esq. said...

Despite reservations about their bona fides, I have belatedly discovered the roving band of minstrels, bards and village idiots and offer my hearth, replete with decantered Jerez....

Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au

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