Cape.

Good morning readers.
This morning I had a panic attack. I found myself fluttering around between old watches, new watches, alarm clocks, TV guides and anything else with a display on it. Which was right? Does this one do it automatically? I mean, I did it already, at least I thought I did but, did it do it again? It is an hour out from this one and I thought I'd done this.
The trouble is, I'm losing an hour AND working in the morning. I detest the idea of working Easter Sunday but wasn't quick enough booking the time when the boss decided we were to open so, by the time you're reading this I'll no doubt be in a major grump having been deprived of my sleep. Also, I've been given a revised contract to 'look at'. I'm looking elsewhere.
This week's theme has been superpowers. It would seem I have invisibility issues. A thrown together poem then... Thanks for reading, S.


Cape.

Back when I was six years old I had a magic cape
I carried it in my pocket and used it to punctuate
The days with lots of crazy dreams, places that I could go
It helped me to imagine everything I didn't know.

The cape and I would hide in corners
Under the curtains and behind the couch
We'd really be in Buckingham Palace
Eating whatever was being thrown out.

We'd creep around the garden
Gathering jungle plants
The cape helped make it possible
To escape the killer ants.

I'd wear my cape whenever I could
My accomplice and I, up to no good
Stealing fine diamond necklaces, solid gold bars
Escaping imaginary sleeping guards.

We stowed away inside a rocket
Took a trip to the moon in the shed spaceship
Kept hidden until all the astronauts were sleeping
Then covered them all in invisible felt tip.

We were James Bond evading the gaze of the neighbours
Sneaking over the fence to retrieve a lost ball
We were brave in the face of the onrushing indians
There was no other cowboy could hide in my hall.

They were days to remember, the magic and fun
The sneakyness of never getting caught in the wrong
Looking back at those days, everything was so simple
Anything could be done, you just put the cape on.

So never throw those things away whilst you remember childhood
Keep hold of that invisible cloth you draped over your face
For at some time in the future, you might want it about you
It will be there, just be sure to hold it in a special place.

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Lyrical Ballads

 by Ashley Lister

A third year undergrad recently posted a poll on the Dead Good Poets’ FaceBook page. The poll can be found by following this link: /http://www.facebook.com/groups/10150320397700001/ and I know she’d appreciate any further votes and opinions that can be added. The student is interested in finding out whether song lyrics can be classed as poetry (and vice versa).

My response to this question has been: “It depends on the song.” If anyone wants to know what I mean, study the lack of poetic content in the following:

Gangnam Style – PSY 

(translation)
Oppa is Gangnam style
Gangnam style

A girl who is warm and humanly during the day
A classy girl who know how to enjoy the freedom of a cup of coffee
A girl whose heart gets hotter when night comes
A girl with that kind of twist

I’m a guy
A guy who is as warm as you during the day
A guy who one-shots his coffee before it even cools down
A guy whose heart bursts when night comes
That kind of guy

OK, you might argue. But that's a song in translation. It's unfair to comment on poetry or lyrics that aren't being conveyed in their original language. Culturally they might be more meaningful in their original form.
So I'd ask you to consider this example:

Cheeky Girls (performed by The Cheeky Girls)

Cheeky girls…………
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys

I never ever ask where do you go
I never ever ask what do you do
I never ever ask what’s in your mind
I never ever ask if you’ll be mine
Come and smile don’t be shy
Touch my bum this is life.

Oooooh

We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys

Hhmm cheeky cheeky

Yes, you might argue, but again there's a language barrier here. Perhaps Pinky and Perky (NB - Ashley, check the correct names of the Cheeky Girls before posting this blog) who do not have English as their first language, were unfamiliar with the words they were singing. This example includes repetition, rhyme, sound structuralism and an example of a tripartite reduplicative. But, personally I think this is proof that song lyrics cannot be universally compared with poetry.

However, if you’re still not convinced (and this is one of my personal NSFW favourites):

F**k the Pain Away by Peaches

Sucking' on my t*tties like you wanted me
Calling me, all the time like Blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time
What else is in the teaches of peaches?
Like sex on the beaches, Huh? What?
[REPEAT]

Huh? Right. What? Uhh
Huh? What? Right. Uhh
[REPEAT]

SIS IUD, stay in school 'cause it's the best
IUD SIS, stay in school 'cause it's the best
IUD SIS, stay in school 'cause it's the best
IUD SIS, stay in school 'cause it's the best

Sucking' on my titties like you wanted me
Calling me, all the time like Blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time
Like sex on the beaches
What else is in the teaches of peaches? Huh? What?

F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away
F*ck the pain away. F*ck the pain away

Call me a snob but, if any of those above are considered poetry, they are surely examples of bad poetry.

NB - and if you're looking for examples of good writing, check out the blog for this student: http://www.megansyearofthedragon.blogspot.co.uk/ 

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He's not a Vogon, just a very bad poet

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy describes Vogon poetry as being “the third worst poetry in the Universe” with Azagoths of Kria coming in second.

The very worst poetry of all in the history of everything is credited to  Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings. Though on the recent tour, the 'editors' of the Guide have been accepting submissions of some rather arm gnawing verse.

But how, I hear you ask, do you write something so mortally bad that the listener's brain actually seeks ways of devolution so that it can return to a primordial ooze with little to no understanding of languages and thus freeing itself of hearing any more?

Well you could use a poetry generator like this:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/vogonpoetry/lettergen.shtml

Which simulates the twisted dirge of Vogon verse.

Here is my offering from this site:

See, see the Clever sky 

Marvel at its big puke depths.
Tell me, Ashley do you
Wonder why the pug ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel tired.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your humblington facial growth
That looks like
A cheese.
What's more, it knows
Your nudcrumble potting shed
Smells of pea.
Everything under the big Clever sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm nappies.

So from this I can deduce, that to write really bad poetry you must:

Use bad imagery

Use very bad metaphors

Use simplistic adjectives

Pay no attention to time or meter.

So, taking this on board, and without computer assistance:

Ode to the furry thing I feed called a cat

Oh thing of fur,

with eyes,

your mouth eats the meat,

in jelly that smells bad.

Like a small vacuum cleaner that likes meat.

You swallow the jellied meat cubes,

That have escaped from their tin prison.

Purr cat Purr.

For that is your way,

Of telling me thanks,

For the smelly food,

Oh purr you furry cat like thing that is a cat.

Job Done

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