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
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 ...
Old cow chews grass
On the hill
Drops a pat or two
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
I peer into
Won't tell me!
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!
Through grass, through bush;
Coursing through to
Lake or ocean,
*Zips fly up*
*Moves on to next poem.*
My favourite part about the following poem is the title, but the subject is truly awesome.
The perfumes of nature:
Swirl through the air.
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:
I once had
It died and
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 ...