meic wrote:Apparently highbrow poetry for broadsheet readers doesnt have to rhyme, it is only the tabloid stuff for plebs which has to be dumbed down in that way.
Makes sense, otherwise I wouldn't think it was poetry at all
Its like music, some think that the song (lyrics) should tell a story, I am not into that, I believe that music plays with emotions, that's the way I like it.
NA Thinks Just End 2 End Return + Bivvy - Some day Soon I hope You'll Still Find Me At The Top Of A Hill Please forgive the poor Grammar I blame it on my mobile and phat thinkers.
There's a recent report that a vast statue of Rameses II - aka Ozymandias - has been unearthed in a Cairo suburb.
Looks like one of the most famous poems in the English language will have to be re-written. Here's my effort:
not by Shelley wrote:I met a journalist from a modern slum, Who said: One vast and legless torso of stone, Lies in a puddle. Near it, in the mud, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose right ear, With wrinkled lobe, and part of his huge head, Tell that his sculptor well believed in size, Which yet survives, dangling from a crane's hoist. The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. There is no pedestal - but if there had been, No doubt these words would have appeared on it. "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings, Look on what's left of me, ye archaeologists, and rejoice!" Nothing besides has been dug up yet - But we live in hope!
Suppose that this room is a lift. The support breaks and down we go with ever-increasing velocity. Let us pass the time by performing physical experiments... --- Arthur Eddington (creator of the Eddington Number).
Together at the breakfast table, jazz drifted through from another room, whilst rain fell gently, puddles. The pink Azalea across the street just was, whilst I was, all is.
A point of reference? Many references...........
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"All we are not stares back at what we are"
W H Auden
Last year I was listening to the news. An article came on of a child being run down by a motorist breaking a red light. It brought me to tears to think of a poor innocent child (or anyone else) being needlessly run down. I sat down later that morning and wrote this down.
I WAS ONLY A CHILD.
I was only a child, I was only a child As I wait here, as I stood there It’s only a child
I was only a driver, I was only a driver As I drive here, as I drove there It’s only a child
It was only a red light; it was only a red light That I drove through, that I went through It’s only a child
It’s only a red spot, only a red spot That I lay in, that I laid in It’s only a child
It’s only a black car; it’s only a black car They put me in, that I am in It’s only a child
It’s only a casket, it’s only a casket That I sleep in, that I slept in It’s only a child
Will you remember, will you remember Through the years, through the tears Will they remember? I WAS ONLY A CHILD
This was my best effort, partially bikeback and partly homebound fettling. To be sung to the tune of Bill Oddie's "Throwing-up Blues", in an appropriate Hollywood-hick accent:
THE DAID-DAWG SHOE-SOLE BLUES
I woke up this mornin' Found my dawg he was dead Found ma shoes was unglued Man, I should have stayed in bed
I got the unglued shoes, I got the unglued shoe-sole blues - The wet-foot squelchin' daid-dawg shoe-sole blues.
.....Daing.
Well I'd a druv to the store To git some Super Glue Ma daing truck wouldn't start Man, I thought I would spew
I got the unglued shoes, etc.
So I'm a-walkin' down the road With ma sole goin' flap Don't watch where I'm walkin' Man I walked in some crap.
I got the unglued shoes, etc
Well the big man at the store He says "Boy, what's them tracks? You better wash me that floor Or you ain't comin' back."
I got the unglued shoes, etc
So I puts ma shoes outside An' I wash the man's floor An' I get ma socks all soggy Then I walks out the door.
I got the unglued shoes, etc
When I walks out the door I sees ma shoes they have gone They bin eaten by the dawg That belongs to the man.
I got the unglued shoes, etc
So I'm walkin' down the road And a cop comes along He says "Boy you can't do that, You got to have you shoes on."
I got the unglued shoes, etc
Well I tells to the cop The extent of ma tale He says "Boy, you are a vagrant And you goin' to jail."
I got the unglued shoes, etc
So I'm sittin in the jailhouse And ma dawg is still daid And I still ain't got no shoes Man I should uh stayed in baid.
I got the unglued shoes, I got the unglued shoe-sole blues - The wet-foot squelchin' daid-dawg shoe-sole blues.
.....Daing. He'll be pretty high by now... zoning regulations... sanitary deepartment [fade]
meic wrote:Apparently highbrow poetry for broadsheet readers doesnt have to rhyme, it is only the tabloid stuff for plebs which has to be dumbed down in that way.
I believe plebs are also refereed to as the working class, is that who you are referring to as lacking ? Is it possible that if it doesn't rhyme it isn't poetry? Have you listened to Leonard Cohen the best musician the world has ever known ?
