I've been amiss in thought and time.
Gee has eaten up my days,
As well the food I bought him, fine
He seems quite happy as he plays,
I think he's quite the rambunctious pup,
And then he shits along my floor,
and when I turn to wipe it up,
he's moved and kindly shits some more.
And as I see him idly pawing, eating happily and snoring,
I think to pass the time as he,
I'd rather that, than live as me.
Noire velvet, toxic maiden.
Eyes dripping dark persuasion.
Under such a siren call, all good men,
will surely fall.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
This was a poem I loved when I was younger.. and was the source of a blazing row I had with my mum when I was about 15. (Well.. maybe not the source... but certainly it ignited the fuel)
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They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Just curious...
In the last 6-8 weeks or so, I've been writing everyday, as often as usual. I have pages and pages - but none of it seems to fit together in the way I intended when I started a poem.
Sometimes I go back to things I've written a long time ago, and graft old phrases into the newer sections , as they just seem to fit better.
I just wondered what your approaches were? For poems more so...... I think my haphazard style would never work for novels. I sense that requires a far more logical approach.
Do you -
1. Have a system for writing your poetry? - plan out in your head where it is going before you start, so you dont end up with books full of random half paragraphs and nonsensical lines?
2. Wait for the proverbial bolt of creative lightning to jolt you into vomiting a fully formed poem, (when this happens it seems to feel pretty good)
3. Write down anything that comes into your head as you think of it (e.g. 3am if you wake up after a dream) - and form it later, rather like gathering a creative snowball from discarded thought-flakes
Im still learning how to write, and love it - but its just occurred to me that other people have probably had all the issues I'm having, so thought I would inquire of other minds.
I know this isn't a 'poet' site of course - but there seems to be more than a few creative minds on here - so I thought I would ask.
Ozzy was the greatest, but he was the cruelest too.
With a grimace and a sneer and coldest stare that cut right through.
There were no others like him he was born with traits so rare,
Like his father- ruthless choices driven through without a care.
Alpha males will strive to fight their way to rule the pack,
by snarling, growling, biting fierce and beating others back.
But when the sun has set and darkness creeps across the land,
When the Beasts have had their rabid pleasures on demand.
Quietly he sneaks and tiptoes cautiously the halls,
finds the Beasties sleeping carefree sprawled along the walls.
With a simple lick of fate, a cut, so clean - a nick!
The Beasties - Alphas all, are too their deaths so quick.
He watches as they bleed out and some wake with panicked eyes,
reaching vainly for him- but far too late realise.
Ozzy had it planned - you see - he had not missed a trick.
Stupid wee tut Beasties, busy pleasuring their pricks!
Ozzy wants it all - to rule an empire by decree.
And wo betide the fools who think to stand in front of he!
I'm searching for a dog... as they are more reliable than people - and endless bundles of unconditional love. Anyway I read this today and it made me smile. It was written by Mr Pope on the collar of a dog he gave to his royal highness Frederick - Prince of Wales in 1738 - it's famous, but I hadn't heard it in quite a while.
"I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?"
One day my princess...nay... my Queen! will come.
My Goddess from across the sea.
I'll finally realise that there is one
who's slightly different, just like me.
I'll wrap her in an ocean of hugs,
and a sea of cuddles,
on an island of kisses.
Nothing will be too good for she!
She who connects the long lost dots.
She sees completely,
Yet still, loves me.
“Good morning Mr Tumble” said Rabbit.
Mr Tumble nodded curtly , and turned and moved quickly, his hands a blur and his coat tail shimmering with morning dew.
“We’re going up!” he said- “Hold on to your Hats!”
“Up and away flies my giant turtle, my creator of worlds!”
Moon rays and space dolphins swim and wriggle across the cosmic path. A great purple and orange ribbon that streaks overhead and rips through the galaxy.
“How do you stay on course Mr Tumble?” wonders the rabbit. Nibble Nibble.
“Yes!! Yes!! and how will I know which way to run?” asked the greyhound nervously.
Mr Tumble looked kind but stern ”Dear rabbit! there is no direction here- we go where the wind blows.”
“Not for us to wonder why, the ribbon in the sky.” Says Mr Tumble.
”Jungle Quake!! Galactic Shake!! Daughter, Jupiter - mess she make!!” he said abruptly… looking slightly mad, staring intently at something in the distance.
He looked lost in thought, trying to remember something important.
“We are who we are rabbit- we go where we are needed.” Mr Tumble turned away and focussed on his task.
“ I don’t like it up here, it’s awfully high!!” said the greyhound.
“You won’t fall, you silly noodle horse!” shouted Mr Tumble as the wind picked up,
“You’re a metaphor! no one can ever hurt you- you’re safe with me forever! Rabbit too!”
Bunny Rabbit, funny habit, zipping left and right. Twitch of nose and wiggle of tail. What is it you truly desire fleetfoot?
”Apparently we’re going down now!!….Everyday a new adventure!” said Mr Tumble , as rabbit and greyhound stared in wonderment at the stardust twinkling around them.
Ok. So obviously I didn't write this. Edward Lear did.
I just like reading out loud.... all the time.
So I guess I'm recording it for once.
Not sure why.... but why not.