Yellow flowers….

Gathering up stuff from blogs past, it seems I’ve been quite prolific (I only started in 2007 – or maybe late 2006)….or maybe prolix is the word….? Regardless: you’re here; now read or bugger off….

******************

Here we go: Wordsworth hour. This first one isn’t mine; I heard it first from a guy at college:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high oer hill and dale
When all at once I saw a pub
And went in for a pint of ale.

….which I posted on one of Sam Jordison’s blogs on GU:

Sam went on to talk about the Grand Canyon, and the perils of lofty micturition; my version:

I wandered, desperate for a piss
Whilst walking by the Canyon Grand
Dare I let fly o’er the abyss?
Or should I use a rubber band….

….punctuation disputes intruded; the next will make no sense unless you read the latter bits of the blog; nevertheless I’m pleased with it:

I wondered ’bout that airborne kite
That floats on high oe’r “that’s” and “it’s”
When all at once I saw the light
And realised that “its” best fits…

….and so it goes: then, elsewhere, limericks came into play:

You’re a wonderful poet, dear Bill,
You immortalised me with your quill.
But my heart’s clouded greatly,
You’ve wandered off lately -
Are you hosting a new daffodil….?

Replied Bill to the lonely narcissus:
“In my absence, there’s nothing malicious.
I’ve been lonely floating,
Profoundly emoting,
But don’t say a word to the missus….”

….the final word (for the moment; there’s a lot of mileage left in Daffodils) went to this:

Eledils.

I parted lonely as a wandering day
That slowly winds and floats oer lowing hills,
When all at once the plod ploughs home his way
And leaves the host to darkened eledils….

….which is from here, a blog by Maxim Jakubowski:

….although earlier on that blog (a blog about litblogs), this erupted:

The Bad Writer’s Lament

I’m a wannabe, (gonnabe!) literary giant
With a highly original blog.
So what if the publishers ain’t that compliant?
I’ve a fan base – one man and his dog.

The hours that I’ve spent, phrases carefully drafted -
To be critically trashed begs belief.
But my fans know I’m good, they adore what I’ve crafted
(Though sometimes the dog gives me grief).

It’s beyond comprehension, my words not yet read
By a public that hoovers up trash.
You’ll regret the missed Nobel when this blogger’s dead
And his print outs (and dog) merely ash.

My talent unwonted, unrecognised, rare,
I percuss the hot keyboard all night.
And despite all those Jonahs, I really don’t care,
Gonna write, gonna write, gonna write….*woof!*

….d’you know, I have a feeling we may not have seen the last of Wordsworth parodies yet….

Blasts from the past

Still stuck for inspiration, so here are a few more old favourites from blogs past….I have no idea where this first one was written originally, other than “somewhere on CiF”, but it’s scrawled in pencil on a yellowing piece of paper, so must exist somewhere:

What was there before the Big Bang?
“Minus time” – what can that mean?
These are questions posed by God’s Gang,
Dawkins neither heard nor seen.

“Nature’s laws are just God’s wishes,”
Sing the faithful to the Lord;
“Let’s decorate our cars with fishes:
That’ll show the heathen horde.”

Meanwhile, a physicist gets curious,
Asks more questions, scratches head.
“The argument for God is spurious.”
And, satisfied, goes back to bed.

******************

This is another one I alone like (it’s about the smoking ban):

Do not go gentle into that dark fug,
All men should burn and rave at those who smoke;
Rage, rage against the lighting of the fag.

(With apologies to Dylan)

******************

Ben Myers wrote a GU blog on spam poetry; my response deliberately misinterpreted his sense:

I logged on, bleary as a thing
Who’d wandered far in search of ale,
When all at once I heard a ping,
A message flashing “you’ve got mail”.

Despite myself, I click the links
(I shouldn’t, hope that’s understood)
But when I spy that foxy minx
Another message: “you’ve got wood”….

(….this won’t be the last time Wordsworth turns in his grave in response to this blog….)

******************

….silly stuff, that makes me laugh – from a Jean Hannah Edelstein blog on GU:

I

vespula vulgaris,
When trapped in a jar is
The angriest thing.
And soon she’ll be pasted,
‘Cos when she’s wasp, wasted,
She can’t use her sting.

II

mellifera, Apis
Perhaps for a jape is
A stinger in kind;
“To bee or not to bee”
Is something we don’t see
Inside it’s bee mind.

Do insects have fun
When their workday is done?
Do they write comic verse
About stings they have stung
And the humans who curse?
Do they read fly-blown books
Or cast long lustful looks
At the queen; or, far worse,
Do they watch insect porn?
Is “The Joy of Insects”
An allowable text
When they get the bee horn?

III

Anteaters, to ants, are nasty
Eating only antipasti.
One wonders how the anthill copes
With all those hungry misanthropes.

IV

Mozzy, mozzy, buzzing fright
In the forests of the night.
Co-ordinating hand and eye,
I’ll frame your bloody symmetry.

….enough, surely, for one post: thanks and apologies to all those whose words triggered something weird….

Recycled!….the possibilities are endless….

Probably my favourite of my stuff scattered across GU….although no-one else seemed to like it….this one on poetry vending machines, from this thread:

There are machines in pubs for every vice.
A coin or two is all that stands between
Your wish and you; your prize for that small price,
Something to smoke, to bite, or, if you’ve pulled tonight,
The necessary means to keep it clean.

But we move on. Machines now dispense verse.
A coin or two is all that stands between
A tongue-tied youth, a dreamy little nurse.
No longer spouting bull, the bard ensures he’ll pull -
Let’s hope he’s saved some coins for *that* machine.