Saturday, September 03, 2005

If Shakespeare

Maybe it's because they had a poetry festival here in Melbourne just recently, or maybe I'm just mad, but I was recently struck with several poetic fits. Here's what I came up with:

If Shakespeare Dropped Acid

If Shakespeare dropped acid with the Rolling Stones
Marianne Faithful would dance with Ophelia's bones
At the bottom of the sea;
Juliet would fly into the Marmalade sky
And Hamlet would step up to the microphone and cry,
"Is this Mick Jagger I see before me?"
If Shakespeare dropped acid with the Rolling Stones.

If Moses drunk soma with William Blake
They'd bake the ten commandments out of chocolate cake
And ask Shiva around for tea;
The LORD would speak out of a flaming fish
And ask for a sample of that tasty dish,
Before changing into a tree,
If Moses drunk soma with William Blake.

If Homer and Sappho got blotto on plonk
And stonkered, they bonked till the sun rose with a thunk
Then the sky would fall into the sea;
And Mighty Zeus would retire and Hera expire
And whole turning world would explode into fire
Before turning into a pea,
If Homer and Sappho got blotto on plonk.

It's meaningless, it's obscure, and it scans badly: the perfect modern poem! But that's not to say that I haven't been working on, er, more traditional efforts. Here's another one I've been writing ...

My Love: a poem by Timothy Huw Train

My Love is like a metaphor
That's sweetly typed in June;
My Love is like a simile
Or like a bag of goon;

My Love is like an elephant
That's wearing a beret
My Love is like a flamingo
That's dancing in the bay;

As fair art thou, my chocolate love
This cask is fairer still
And I will love thee still, my love,
Oh shit. I'm drunk again.

That's all I've been able to come up with so far. Do you like it?


James Blackwell said...

I love your blog. Would you mind turning on RSS so that I can subscribe?

Chief Bastard said...

The last verse has a certain pentamic iambeter feel about it. Ripe with fruity reference, the prose tumbles along like a babbling brook, within it's eddies swim the last vestiges of the winter spawning.

Die, Oedipus, die.

*snapsnapsnap* thankyou, i'm here all week man.

Anonymous said...

There was a poetry Festival in Melbourne and NOBODY told me about it? *falls into a heap in the corner and starts crying prolifically*

I love the first one, a little bit of silly poetry with some knowledge behind it is always fun. It is proof that you're not one of those pretentiously existential poets. No matter how silly, it still makes one think outside of the square... and isn't that one of the aims of poetry?

The second one is really cute, and funny too. A drunk guy wearing his heart on his sleeve! I remember writing a similar poem in my teenage years, and the only line I can remember is "I wear my heart like bright pink tracksuit pants." At least chocolate can't talk back to you if you tell it you love it either! Well done!

And if you hear of any other poetry festivals LET ME KNOW:-)

TimT said...

I had no idea what an RSS feed was. I had even less idea whether I had one on my blog. Then I logged into blogger, and clicked on the settings tab, and it told me that I had my RSS feed (whatever that was) and that it was on (whatever that meant.)

And yet apparently it is not on. A strange paradox ...

Anonymous said...

Thanks, cb. Actually, I thought it was a poem about life. And I was going for Dactemic Pentylics, not Pentamic Iambeter ...

Sappho, so good to catch up! There's plenty of poetry gigs around Melbourne, but there's only so much performance poetry one can listen to before the gag reflex kicks in.

Anonymous said...

I think what they have abounding in Melbourne is not something you could actually call performance poetry. Back in my day, however...

It depends on the venue and the amount of the berets! But seriously, if anything comes up let me know and I will show you where the 11th muse hides...

PS I wasn't really a carpet muncher, it's just that my publisher told me that I could sell more volumes that way

TimT said...

The 11th muse? That's two more than usual!

Anonymous said...

well I am the 10th of course, and I don't suppose my father told anyone about the time he shagged the peasant servant girl, did he? No. Plato was always quite taken by my little brother, I can't possibly imagine why. So when he became the 11th muse, which is totally unfair because he was a boy, I denounced men. It's still pretty good secret though!

(Bullshit occupies bored minds so well, no?)

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