Monthly Archives: June 2012

WHAT KIND OF A POET AM I?

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Just now, between 26th June and 1st July the Poetry Parnassus is taking place in London. It’s the largest ever global gathering of poets from 204 Olympic nations so really worth a visit. It’s curated by Simon Armitage. He’s still looking for an entrant from Monaco, so if you are a poet from there, get on to Simon quick.

I caught a few snatches about the Parnassus on Radio 4 during which some of the participating poets were asked, ‘What kind of poet are you?’ I found their answers terrifyingly erudite, and that set me wondering what I would say if asked the question. I would say this –

WHAT KIND OF A POET AM I?

What kind of a poet am I?

Well, I’m really quite gifted, but shy.

I like rhyming verse

that’s quite tight and quite terse,

and raises such questions as why

the stars still twinkle in heaven

and wars still rage on this earth,

why the cat’s been sick on the carpet,

and what’s lit up my life from my birth.

That was another of my 5 minute exercises, with which I’m becoming increasingly obsessed! I have a secret fear that I might be called upon by some very important person to write a verse at very short notice through my rhymebydesign service. It hasn’t happened yet, but it might. Who knows?

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THE QUEEN’S DELIGHTS

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I’ve been thinking again about limericks. That’s because I want to enter The Writers’ Bureau free competition about the Diamond Jubilee. So far I’ve written three new limericks about the Queen, one of which is too rude to write here. Suffice it to say it refers to the Queen as REGINA. These two don’t quite fit the bill but I quite like them anyway.

 

SECRET DELIGHT

The Queen has a secret delight,

She cuddles her corgis at night.

When they’re starting to snore

She screams, ‘Oh what a bore

I wish you could be more polite.’

 

HIGH JINKS

The Queen’s at a rave in the town,

She jiggles and jives up and down.

Joins a row of high kickers,

Then strips to her knickers,

While holding on tight to her crown.

Aside

No, I haven’t read it yet, only the very mixed reviews. I suspect many of us are green with envy that E.L. James has achieved such financial success with her mummy porn novel.

WAITING FOR FIFTY SHADES OF GREY

It’s a novel called Fifty Shades of Grey.

Fifty shades?

Yes, that’s what they say.

Are there fifty things you can try in bed?

I don’t know yet, but that’s what they’ve said.

I wonder if I’d manage to find the time,

While there’s stuff to put on the washing line,

And the baby to feed,

Plus the homework to check,

And most of the time I feel like a  wreck?

Well, it’s plain that there’s danger

In the domestics of life,

You better play mistress

Instead of dreary old wife.

Roll on your fishnets,

Frolic and play,

While waiting for…

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY?

TINY WEENY WORKS

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If you attend a writing class, which I have now and again, you’re often asked to write very short pieces which tell a story in very few words. These can later be developed in to a more substantial piece, although in my case this hasn’t happened too often.

Here are a few of my efforts:

JELLY

Our love was like jelly. First it glistened, then it wobbled, now it’s collapsed.

DUNGEON SALE

Energy spent. Assortment of well used whips, handcuffs and rubber garments. Further information: ancientdominatrix@orgies.com

THE END OF THE AFFAIR

She hasn’t come home? Well, I burnt them as you asked. Cinders sent to Jane’s office yesterday.

GRIEF TEA

I drank them while pissed. Your ashes. Put them in the tea caddy for safe keeping. Made a lovely cup but I hiccupped with grief all over again.
These exercises are worth a try to get the creative juices flowing, whether you’re a poet or a novelist. Warning though. They’re much more difficult than you think!

 

RONNIE BARKER IMPROVES ON LEAR

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Just yesterday I heard some of Edward Lear’s limericks on the radio. Apparently the late comedian Ronnie Barker felt that some of his last lines weren’t very strong, so he set about improving them.

So instead of :

There was an Old Man of the Dee,

Who was sadly annoyed by a flea.

When he said I will scratch it,

They gave him a hatchet,

Which grieved the Old Man of the Dee.

*

Ronnie altered the last line to:

And cut off his leg at the knee.

That set me thinking about limericks, so here’s one of my own.

ABDICATION – I WISH!

How cold it is on this barge,

It’s good my pashmina is large.

I’m waving like mad,

But really I’m sad,

I’m fed up of being in charge.

 

 

QUEEN OF HEARTS?

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I haven’t lost my mind yet, but I must have lost hundreds of umbrellas and that’s a pity in this depressing June weather.  The only one I have left is a half broken Black Watch tartan number that belonged to my Mother, and she died  nearly 20 years ago. That does make me wonder why I still have hers when I’ve lost all the rest. Is she still exerting her influences beyond the grave I wonder?

So, on this grim June day I give you my reflection on one of the cruellest of illnesses, and pray [sort of] that my forgetfulness won’t go too far beyond umbrellas, sunglasses and keys.

QUEEN OF HEARTS

Edith are you in there,

Tucked inside your mind?

Are you waiting for me somewhere,

Or  am I left behind?

*

Yes, it’s really morning,

And it’s time to drink your tea,

No, I’m not a prison warder,

I’m here to keep you free.

*

Let’s have a game of Patience,

-But oh your wild grey eyes-

You say I am the King of Spades,

And rattle with surprise.

*

Here’s our wedding photo,

A wreath around your hair,

That posy now is nettles,

Those eyes a vacant stare.

*

Trixie died last spring time,

She’s out beneath the tree,

I’ve told you that so many times,

No need to scream at me.

*

You wander down the garden

With a saucepan and a spoon

You say you are the Ace of Spades

And God is coming soon.

*

Yes, it’s really evening,

And time to go to bed,

But you’ve dribbled on your nightie,

And put pudding on your head.

*

The cards are on the table,

They don’t make sense to me,

I thought you were the Queen of Hearts,

Oh pity, pity me.