Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bee-dubya-ell Date: 17 Apr 09 - 07:30 PM A poet, though he be mediocre, Is better than a mortgage broker. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 17 Apr 09 - 01:48 PM No ruts, no wheels, no wagonloads; Cleaving to the dry middle hump of the road, Safe in the center of neglect. A quiet middle, free of intersection For meetings are always done at the edges. Minds that live here fear the ditch and hedge And define their paths by staying away From all directions. Heaven is not desired, and the dull middle voice Goes to eleven. AHJ |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Rifleman (inactive) Date: 17 Apr 09 - 12:20 PM Two local translations of the same poem, in keeping the the tradition. flamin mediocrity sky marvel at its muckle dull depths. tell wor, frances d'ya wondor why the hairless cat ignores yee? why its foobly gaak makes yee feel flamingly mediocre. i gan tell yee, it is worreed by yor scroon-like facial growth that looks leek a unidentifeed. what's mare, it knows yoor scroon pottin shed smells iv that. everythin undor the muckle flamin mediocrity sky asks why, why d'ya evon botha? Only the cat knows and Flamin mediocrity sky marvel at its muckle dull depths. tell wor, frances d'ya wondor why the hairless moggy ignores yee? why its foobly gaak makes yee feel flamingly mediocre. i gan tell yee, it is worreed by yor scroon-like facial growth that looks lick a unidentifeed. what's mare, it knows yoor scroon pottin shed smells iv that. everythin undor the muckle flamin mediocrity sky asks why, why d'ya evon botha? Only the moggy knows. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bee-dubya-ell Date: 17 Apr 09 - 12:18 PM I thought that I would never see So much dull mediocrity Assembled in a single place Excuse me while I hide my face |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: s&r Date: 17 Apr 09 - 12:02 PM It is Friday today Tomorrow Sat. The evening sol reflects on the windows opp. The youth meander up the St. I live at Watched suspiciously by a cop. The crumpled paper jetted in my garden Was once news but now plain thanks EEC Litter regulationism needs a warden Since rubbish lines the local sea Stu |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 17 Apr 09 - 10:01 AM WAV certainly brings out a sort of compulsive creativity in folks, huh? I never would have guessed such flaming mediocrity could go all the way up to eleven. A |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 17 Apr 09 - 07:47 AM It's the 42nd this very weekend, so if you fancy... Poem 193 of 230: THE 35TH MORPETH NORTHUMBRIAN GATHERING – SPRING 2002 Toward Morpeth's Gathering, Either side of Great North Road, Daffodils gleefully showed Their stalk-dressing flowering. And then, at the Gathering, Another great flowering Of English heritage, showed Through competitions that glowed With competent folk-singing, Storytelling, bag-piping (The small-pipes rapidly rode By hands, in staccato mode), Clogdancing and stick-dressing: Things that are worth addressing. From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: The Sandman Date: 17 Apr 09 - 07:19 AM The Eccles parody tickled my fancy for all my thoughts did dwell upon nancy. hark tally ho,in pursuit of some feed. and is there crumpet still for tea. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: GUEST,Poésie de Promenade Date: 17 Apr 09 - 06:50 AM There was a young woman from Ealing Overcome by a peculiar feeling She rolled on her back And opened her crack And pissed right up to the ceiling |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Stu Date: 17 Apr 09 - 06:40 AM Whelks do roam on hillsides green and sing a plaintive song to molluscs unseen. Under aragonite housing they go a-roaming, across blue rainbows into the gloaming. From where, they call plaintive gastropod airs, and crawl very slowly over the limpet stairs. Whelkishness come now and praise be! for you taste fine when eaten by me. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: GUEST,Chongo Chimp Date: 16 Apr 09 - 05:16 PM Poetry is the leaven of life, And it's way damn cheaper than havin' a wife! When life gets you down and you ain't got a home, You can always feel better by writin' a poem... Burmashave! - Chongo |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bee-dubya-ell Date: 16 Apr 09 - 05:10 PM Once I had a blue kazoo One day I dropped it in the loo And soon my kazoo wasn't blue It turned a most ungodly hue The color of an old work shoe Encrusted with vile viscous goo It wasn't red nor was it green Nor puce nor even tangerine But something somewhere in between A color that was quite obscene Like oozings from a ruptured spleen I'm sure you know just what I mean |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Rifleman (inactive) Date: 16 Apr 09 - 01:36 PM From the Oxford Book of Vogon Poetry. See, see the dead sky Marvel at its big puce depths. Tell me, Frances do you Wonder why the wart hog ignores you? Why its foobly stare makes you feel ugly. I can tell you, it is Worried by your possett facial growth That looks like after many years. What's more, it knows Your nadgers potting shed Smells of splod wurdler. Everything under the big dead sky Asks why, why do you even bother? You only charm politicians. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 16 Apr 09 - 03:44 AM Poem 113 of 230: FOLLOWING THE SUN - SPRING 2000 Having moved, by buses, up the hill from Salford to Bury (To be within walk of new work, again), These stimuli surround between my abode and the factory As I follow the sun - its wax, its wane: Walking toward work and the rising sun, a morning chorus Rides the crisp breezy air of hill-farmland, While gravel, of road and path, beneath my plonked feet crunches, And P.V.C. flaps loose of its hay-stand. Bumble bees, tree sparrows and robins bob along the hedgerows, Squirrels and hares hop ahead on my route; And on a weather-wrapped reservoir - glassy, or dulled by blows - Glide mute- and whooper-swans, ducks, geese and coot; Horses, goats, sheep and cattle laze and graze on fields of green - Fields they, in turn, feed, helping make hay; And, above, swifts and herons sometimes grace the aerial scene - A scene framed by a moorland chain of grey. Slugs - some rusty, others pitch-black - slither on a clayey path, That slopes sharply beside the reservoir; And a whitegood on green-grass - a horse trough, once a human bath - Amuses me as I view from afar; As does Peel Monument, atop a distant Holecombe mount - By which an uncle and I once took lunch; Disturbed nettles - brushed in such distraction - make their bulwarks count, And a shed-side arbour demands a hunch. One time, three sheep-dogs determined me lost, and rounded me up; Oftentimes, the Metro. tram rattles by; And, sometimes, a horse will urge me make handy a grassy cup, Or nudge for a scratch down its back and thigh; On cooler mornings, the dew on grasses soaks my joggers through, But beautifies clumps of whimsy grass-heads; And, already proceeding on his routine of chores to do, A farmer strong-hoses out the cowsheds. Caravan-people leave their grouping to walk the well-worn track, And milk- and mail-vans squeeze tightly by; Antique farm-machines rust away in a grassed ramshackle-stack, And pigeons startle from their grassy lie; In sun, fishing-people and bathers dot the reservoir's shore, And, in shade, ferns the sides of path and stream; Near gates, manure fills the air and makes stepping a chore, But elsewhere the views are a poet's dream. Magpies, near horses, bop around - perhaps for aroused worms; Laburnums sprung yellow, and hawthorns white, Pleasingly, in nature, border the fields of farming-firms, And help enclose this Radcliffe rural site; Plus, as I meander home from a day's factory toil, The sun, when it sets in a clear sky, Forms a large amber ball, behind a converted cotton-mill - Signalling another day almost by. From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll) Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book) |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 15 Apr 09 - 12:31 PM I'm glad that Eccles parody was allowed to stand - it tickled my fancy, frankly, in more ways than one...very nice with a soya-coffee. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 15 Apr 09 - 11:26 AM Scansion he knew not, nor understood The current of the higher good That poets turn to for their light; Rhythm had he none, and few Notions you'd call deep, or new; And writing on, in couplets long, We could not say that he was wrong, But knew him not quite right. His was a hungry turning, blind, To fill an anorexic mind, By spilling nouns about like blocks, Upon a sleepy kitchen floor, Never enough, yet nevermore. The cause of hunger never known, Truth never asked, light left alone, Painting the souls as broken clocks, Hoping to fend away the night. Llewellyn Sapon Gentile Confessions of a Brussels Sprout Pon, Deris Publishing Lily-on-Grime, 1986 |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: GUEST,The baker's dozen Date: 15 Apr 09 - 10:43 AM Poem 112,330 of 234,860: FROM AN ECCLES CAKE - SPRING 2008 The bedroom window's southerly views Framing bakers paying their dues - All kinds of cakes filled with fruition, And youngsters avoiding nutrition; Hot cross buns I'd often see - And Ecclefechan roaming free; And, in a distant tin perched high, The floury nest of a warm mince pie; In spring, lemon drizzle would yellow the floor - Matched by simnels, marzipanned by the score; Behind Pudding Lane, a moony crest - A glimpse of creamy Paris Brest. A half-moon cake, I kid you not, I really liked it quite a lot. The kitchen window's cakey view Would me with love and pride imbue; A patissiere there on a mission - To end my struggle with nutrition; While an English cook of tarts - Fattened the chambers of my heart; White merengues soon did me wrong, And treacle tarts my arteries thronged; Blood in my veins made a roar - I feared I would soon be no more; As the sun set in the west I sped towards eternal rest; A cholesterol-filled graveyard plot, I died by cakes, but loved the lot. I am going to allow this post to stand with the admonition that you are NOT permitted to use multiple identities. This will be allowed as it is poetry, but be advised it will not be allowed again. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 15 Apr 09 - 04:47 AM Further on frogs; and food... Poem 112 of 230: FROM AN ECCLES FLAT - SPRING 2000 The bedroom window's southerly views Contained allotters paying their dues - All kinds of veg. brought to fruition, And youngsters receiving tuition; Starlings and sparrows I'd often see - On a roof or a nearby tree; And, in a distant poplar perched high, The large twiggy nest of a magpie; In spring, daisies would yellow the floor - Matched by Forsythias, grown next door; Behind terraces, a moony crest - The Dome of the new Trafford complex; And the moon itself, in the right spot, Would light the night's clouds up quite a lot. The kitchen window's northerly views Included an agent selling news; A butcher struggling with position - Much sunlight aimed at his nutrition; And a popular English chippie - Mashed peas and red sauce on top, for me; White gulls dotting a sombre grey sky, Plus light- and large-aircraft flying by; Walkers and traffic would make a roar - At peak travel hours all the more; Handsomely-set skies toward the west As the day's sun took its nightly rest; And a bucket-pond and ivy plot, That, on a shoestring, I loved a lot. From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll) Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book) |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bill D Date: 14 Apr 09 - 08:02 PM An oyster met a rock band....and discovered A noisy noise annoys an oyster. -------------------------------------------------- There goes the Wapiti Hippiti hoppiti Ogden Nash |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Janie Date: 14 Apr 09 - 07:42 PM An oyster met an oyster and they were oysters two. Two oysters met two oysters and they were oysters too. Four oysters met a pint of milk... and they were oyster stew. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Don Firth Date: 14 Apr 09 - 06:49 PM Speaking of soup, I once knew a fellow whose vision was so poor that when he bought alphabet soup, he had to get the large print edition. Don Firth |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 14 Apr 09 - 05:43 PM Sorry if I leapfrogged you, Amos - no animosity, or Amosity, intended. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: GUEST,Captain Swing Date: 14 Apr 09 - 05:03 PM Old Hippie - I know it as: Si Senor der dey go Fortilorris ian ro Dement lorris, demis trux Fullagees anensan dux Hope it makes more sense |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: The Sandman Date: 14 Apr 09 - 03:43 PM Sinister S,I too understand what the work of Cage is about. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Surreysinger Date: 14 Apr 09 - 03:01 PM Sinister Supporter ... surprisingly enough quite a few of us on here know perfectly well what Cage's work is about and, as Bonnie said, what it's title is. Believe it or not, some of us also perform classical works as well... I've actually been present at a performance of the piece in question ... and found it somewhat pretentious and pointless!!! Good job we don't all like the same things, isn't it? |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: The Sandman Date: 14 Apr 09 - 01:04 PM why powdered vegetable soup,cant you cook?Ihope you dont eat Pot Noodles if you get apressure cooker youcan boil your vegetables speedily. one day for a spree. I was feeling in need of boiling a carrot or three. so without much a do. caution to the wind I threw,and bought myself a pressure cooker. while I was there I do declare,by chance I met my future wife. she was areal good looker. by Billy Bunter,Owl of the remove 4 may 1927 |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 14 Apr 09 - 12:53 PM Dear bloody jumping Jaysus, WAV... it is hard to imagine how roundly the link between my last post and its antecedent (Cage's remark on the impossibility of silence) was so wholly and completely missed. Your remark, in the context of my post, is one a boiling frog would make about the pleasantly warm water he was succumbing to. I do not meran to be rude, but I feel badly misunderstood. A |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 14 Apr 09 - 12:10 PM No frogs, Amos, in my "pottages", above - rather, there's usually powdered vegetable soup, baked beans, lettuce, cucumber, carrot, or whatever other vegies are fresh at the store; plus toast and crisps and red sauce. We can, on the other hand, plant a simple bucket-pond in our gardens to help stop the world-wide decline of frogs. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 14 Apr 09 - 10:39 AM Darkness, more and more, or less and less. Silence approached asymptotically. Only by degrees do you lure a soul into residence In a blood-bound sea of bone and meat, Make an identity that really sticks, Or boil a frog. Increments rule. A |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bonnie Shaljean Date: 14 Apr 09 - 10:38 AM It was a joke, SS. Ever hear of those? Yes, we all know the "proper" title, but thanks all the same. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Stu Date: 14 Apr 09 - 10:34 AM "Instead, he heard two sounds, one high and one low. He was told that the first was his nervous system and the other his blood circulating. " That's basically what tinnitus is. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Jack Blandiver Date: 14 Apr 09 - 10:16 AM What is it with Folkies and John Cage? To give piece it's proper title, 4'33" has precious little to do with silence, on the contrary. 4'33", pronounced "four minutes, thirty-three seconds", (Cage himself referred to it as "four, thirty-three") is often mistakenly referred to as Cage's "silent piece". He made it clear that he believed there is no such thing as silence, defined as a total absence of sound. In 1951, he visited an anechoic chamber at Harvard University in order to hear silence. "I literally expected to hear nothing," he said. Instead, he heard two sounds, one high and one low. He was told that the first was his nervous system and the other his blood circulating. This was a major revelation that was to affect his compositional philosophy from that time on. It was from this experience that he decided that silence defined as a total absence of sound did not exist. "Try as we may to make a silence, we cannot," he wrote. "One need not fear for the future of music." For more, please read: http://solomonsmusic.net/4min33se.htm. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: The Sandman Date: 14 Apr 09 - 09:40 AM here it is,the sound of silence. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bonnie Shaljean Date: 14 Apr 09 - 09:34 AM Cage's four minutes of silence prompted Stravinsky to remark that he looked forward to a full-length work - |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Snuffy Date: 14 Apr 09 - 09:25 AM Christian Morgenstern said it all a century ago in Fisches Nachtgesang. Further comment is superfluous |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 14 Apr 09 - 04:27 AM I'll make vegans of vogons!.. Poem 206 of 230: MY DIET Chasing breads, nuts, bananas, Red sauce, apples, sultanas, Crackers, conserves, cucumbers, Pickles, porridge, pottages - Lemon barley, Cocoa, coffee, Or cups of tea. From http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com Or http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 13 Apr 09 - 09:04 PM Absofuckinglutely it is. The academic nabobs might assert there is some disbloodyfuckingscrepancy in such as assertion but I don't see it. A |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Joe_F Date: 13 Apr 09 - 08:30 PM "Far fucking out" is a whole nother tmesis. Whether "It's eight o'fucking clock" is a tmesis is a nice question. * VirginiaTam: And frolics in the grass. * The place to pass On curves, you know, Is only at The beauty show. Burma Shave. Her man's whiskers Never faze her -- He shaves by Electric razor. Why bother with Burma Shave? * Said a sage in Westminster Abbey, "Most critics are cruel and crabby, But Auden and Clerihew Bentley Have treated us justly and gently." |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Nick Date: 13 Apr 09 - 07:38 PM The example of zeugma I always remember from schooldays was - "He swallowed his pride and a cough lozenge". Hypozeuxis is new to me. It was tmesis the other week which up until then I'd always thought was what Mr Jinx chased after. Aren't parts of speech fun? Were it not for WAV, we might not be exploring them. Or talking in subjunctives. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 13 Apr 09 - 07:09 PM The diazeugma is a zeugma where a noun governs two or more verbs. Latin rhetoricians further divide the diazeugma according to the placement of the subject and verbs. Diazeugma Disjunction The subject appears at the beginning of the sentence and each verb follows in its respective clause. Populus Romanus Numantiam delevit, Kartaginem sustulit, Corinthum disiecit, Fregellas evertit.—Rhetorica ad Herennium The Roman people destroyed Numantia, razed Carthage, demolished Corinth, and overthrew Fregella. Formae dignitas aut morbo deflorescit aut vetustate extinguitur—Rhetorica ad Herennium'' Physical beauty: with disease it fades; with age it dies. Diazeugma Conjunction The subject appears in the middle of a sentence and may take the place of a conjunction. Stands accused, threatens our homes, revels in his crime, this man guilty of burglary asks our forgiveness. Despairing in the heat and in the sun, we marched, cursing in the rain and in the cold. Hypozeuxis The Hypozeuxis is the opposite of a zeugma, where each subject has its own verb. The parents scowled, the girls cried, and the boys jeered while the clown stood confused. "We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!"—Winston Churchill (Wikipedia) In case anyone wondered about that zeugmatiic epilepsy hitherto and yon. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Surreysinger Date: 13 Apr 09 - 06:56 PM Capn ... that's the first time I've seen Mr Cage's glorious piece of music written down ... thanks... |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Nick Date: 13 Apr 09 - 05:31 PM >>For what it's worth, I've retired from versification, but... OH NO!!!! Surely some mistake UNCOMPRESSED (for WAV) The last swan flies from Coole unaware of the waiting hunter And the walking man leaves the foul rag and bone shop Of his heart on the final sojourn And the, abuse, of the, humble, comma ends. Let me number the days that my heart bleeds for your return Let me yearn for my turn to burn the infernal internal churn Lay metre aside and chase zeugmatic symbiosis On the top deck of a number 27 bus Reflecting on the mund and inane. Not one. "Walk a mile in my shoes" he said But I only managed to walk obit. Errata will follow but Erato can sleep again With conscience unbound E J Thribb (13) |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Don Firth Date: 13 Apr 09 - 04:50 PM Speaking of modern composers, Knock knock.Don Firth |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Bonnie Shaljean Date: 13 Apr 09 - 04:41 PM An Easter greeting, courtesy of Ogden Nash: I asked a rabbit that I knew To lay an Easter egg for you The air was filled with chilly frost The rabbit said to me GET LOST! That egg routine is for the funnies Us rabbits just have little bunnies This information spoiled my day - But Happy Easter anyway |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: The Sandman Date: 13 Apr 09 - 04:24 PM by John Cage: by John Cage. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 13 Apr 09 - 04:11 PM That's the kind of verse that pales in comparison, Don. The room was humming harder as the ceiling flew away When we called out for another drink the waiter brought a tray, And so it was that later as another sonnet failed, that my post, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Don Firth Date: 13 Apr 09 - 03:59 PM Very good, Snuffy! (Does the CIA know about this?) Don Firth |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Amos Date: 13 Apr 09 - 03:46 PM In the march of human minds Down the weaving span of time, Men have found a higher voice: Word and image, meter, rhyme, Weaving with a subtle beauty Deepest thought, and highest hope; Does our poet meet this duty? One and all have answered, "Nope". Do not let this witless folly Make a mediocre slave. Put this silly rhymester's folly Back to work for Burma Shave. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Snuffy Date: 13 Apr 09 - 03:30 PM Only an in-sider would get it, Don. |
Subject: RE: WalkaboutsVerse Anew From: Don Firth Date: 13 Apr 09 - 01:00 PM By the way, in my bit of "blank verse" above, there's more there than meets the eye—provided you know how to read it. Eruptile Dysfunction: The volcano was near unto tears, And time only increased his fears. He felt very sad That he hadn't had A decent eruption in years. |