Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Confusing the literati

Things to do for a laugh

No. 38: Confusing the literati.

Simple. I joined an online poetry community run by a major publishing house, where people who think they might be good at poetry cut and paste their doggerel and everybody else says how good it is that they managed to rhyme “cow” and “sow”. In fact, one chap there had, long ago, decided he was in charge and essential decreed that nothing remotely interesting should be posted on “his” forum. Nice poetry about nice things, and any newcomer was viewed with the deepest suspicion. And it's got to rhyme.

You know, the kind of crap they print in local newspaper letters pages on a particularly slow day.

So, I wrote some “nice” verses about Princess Diana, kittens and falling in love in the moonlight. You know: shit. They loved it and asked for more. In return, I would offer my reviews, which would all be “A stunning indictment of the human condition juxtaposed onto the delightful innocence of your naive verse”, even if it was about a pet pony.

Puppies. Mother Teresa and a few lines about the late Pope. “Pope John Paul/ An example to us all/ He came to us from Poland/ And moved my good friend Roland”.

Sod that. I let them have this, then, my finely honed meisterwerk:

The Knives

Knives in a drawer

"I cut bread", says the first, "The body of Our Lord."
"I cut meat", says the second, "so this family might eat."
The third: "I cut fruit, so they may thrive."
The fourth glowers, far cleaner than the rest
"I have a tale to tell, and 'tis true, by my blade.
"So listen well."

"He came into our kitchen, shouting, screaming for his food
"He swayed, drink on his breath, fight in his fists
"Pulled at her hair, called her ‘cunt’, punched her face
"Again, again, his fists called the tune, she sang the song of fear
"And when she fell, his boots continued the conversation
"Which did not last long."

"Her hand, it found the bone of my black, black handle
"Her thrust, sinking into the warm, red flesh
"Eviscerating, poisoning him with his own faeces
"Blood draining from ripped organs into torn lungs, drowning him slowly
"For I have seen what makes a man live, and have stopped it
"As she cries for lost love."

"Friends, I cut man."

Funnily, no bugger reviewed it. I don't know where I'm going wrong. Maybe I should have made it rhyme.

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