This poem was created using a technique I call Frankenpoeming. It’s where I take a few lines or a phrases or an image from the poems I’ve been reading each day & then crunch them all together — reconfiguring metaphors, smashing words against each other, juxtaposing ideas I wouldn’t have necessary considered, & just generally using them as jumping off points into something of my own.
Then I leave it for a few hours, before going over it again & editing tweaking polishing, extending weird things into things that more (or less) sense. Sometime extracting the really crazy stuff altogether — or just leaving it.
*****
darkness treks
for fifteen months been unsuccessfully screaming you home
daily flinging myself at the feral ferryman’s feet heart full of terrorlove
every note forlorn forever can no longer tell bat from man, from moth
seven forgotten stars stare straight in my eye singing swift desolation
endless walks deep down permanently passing leading from nowhere
to somewhere worse
Day 20 – TILthat in 1974, the Journal of Applied Behavior Analysis published a paper titled “The Unsuccessful Self-Treatment of a Case of Writer’s Block.” It contained a total of zero words.
With this in mind, I’d like to write a poem based on the paper.
*****
The Unsuccessful Self-Treatment of a Case of Writer’s Block (a poetic interpretation)
A different kind of day today as I played with form/function/generation a little. There is something which links all 4 of these poems (almost everything on this page in fact). I’m wondering if anyone can work it out.
Sonnet 1 Of Orpheus’ lyre, the ancient bards did sing, Whose melodies could charm the savage beast, And make the rivers dance and trees take wing, While all creation listened to his feast.
With golden chords he wove a magic spell, And drew the shades of Hades to his side, To rescue his beloved from the depths of hell, And bring her back to earth, his blushing bride.
But fate was cruel, and jealous gods did frown, For mortal love was not for them to bless, And so they tore his love away, to drown, In the eternal night of loneliness.
Yet still he played, his music pure and true, And all who heard were moved, and loved anew.
Limerick 1 There once was a man named Orpheus Whose music could calm any ruckus He played with such skill The trees would be still And rivers would cease their loud gushes.
Limerick 2 Orpheus played the lyre with grace His music could slow any chase He sang with such skill His voice could even still The ferocity of a wildcat’s race.
Sestina 1 Orpheus, the bard with lyre in hand, played music that made the gods weep. His voice was like the sweetest bird, and all around him would gather to hear as he sang of love and tragedy, of loss and hope, of life and death.
His love, Eurydice, met an early death, and grief consumed Orpheus like a brand. He journeyed to the underworld, full of tragedy, to plead with Hades, and make him weep. The god was moved by Orpheus’ voice, so dear, and allowed him to bring back his beloved bird.
But Orpheus, in his haste, lost his bird, and his love was returned to eternal death. Heartbroken, he sang a mournful song, so dear, and played his lyre with a trembling hand. His music made the underworld weep, as they listened to his tale of tragedy.
Orpheus’ life was marked by tragedy, as he mourned his love and lost his bird. His songs made even the gods weep, and his voice was as mournful as death. But he continued to play, with steady hand, singing of the past, present, and what he held dear.
Orpheus’ lyre was his most dear, as it spoke his heart’s deepest tragedy. He played with a steady, sure hand, telling the story of his lost bird. His music echoed with the voice of death, as he made even the underworld weep.
His voice, like the sweetest bird, made them weep, as he sang of the things that he held dear, of love and loss, of life and death. Orpheus’ life was a tale of tragedy, but his music, like his lost bird, lives on, guided by his steady hand.
Day 19 – TIL aboutmy relationship with Reality TV
True Man
Truman syndrome is a mental condition some people suffer where they believe they’re the star of an imaginary reality tv show.
You’ve got to feel sorry for those people living their sad fantasy worlds given i long ago realised that i was & am the centre the focus of attention of millions & millions of adoring fans worldwide — my family & everyone i know merely actors in a charade which makes me the rightful focus of the world’s attention.*
That being said — you’d think they’d have gotten better actors to play some of the parts
*paraphrasing words actually said by someone who suffers from Truman syndrome
dearest love : though : you : cannot hear me : nor feel me neither : (i fear) : i’m only a little : behind you : close enough to reach : out : to clasp your hand : if i could : (if i was allowed) : if the sensation : of my white hand : passing through yours : did not eerie me out : so i silently : wait : stepping softly : behind you : (waiting, hoping ) : for day light : to appear : (perhaps) : for you : not to despair
Day 18 – TIL about my relationship with books
Tsundoku
the joyful gleeful wonderful act of acquiring books & not reading them
… yet …
i’m a tsundoku sensei believing there’s always tomorrow & failing that — next life
The poetry volume I read today had several Mirror Cinquains in it. This is a mix of a standard Cinquain & a Reverse Cinquain. So, using the usual syllable counting convention, a mirror cinquain = 2,4,6,8,2 blank line 2,8,6,4,2 syllables. I’m not usually a big fan of form poems, they feel too forced unless you’ve got a lot of time to tweak them (which you don’t get in a NaPoWriMo when you’re working). Nonetheless I thought I’d give it a bash. There are lines I wish I could alter (ignore the scansion) which might happen in a future version.
Orpheus’s last song
lament sad bobbing head song sung sans vocal chords always singing his beloved’s name loudly
even death could not prevent him from it despite decapitation sings as it floats to sea
Day 17 – TIR my gran
It’s the anniversary of my gran’s birthday today. To remember her, I looked for some Facts About Grandmothers & found a variety of sites ranging from dry statistics “78% read the newspaper” type thing to wildly subjective. However the one I have chosen appeared on several pages & is without doubt, true. (I have not chosen the most obvious fact: No love is as special as grandmother’s: it truly is unconditional.)
Grandmother Fact #1: they cook the best food
christmas lunches tuna mournays corned beef swimming in white sauce thick pea & ham soup egg sandwiches, taken from the freezer, then toasted even just Continental Hearty Beef soup straight outta the packet tasted ambrosial from her kitchen
what would this vego grandson give for the chance of one more meal with his gran
Just playing round with a passage from Book IV of Virgil’s The Georgics where he describes an incident surrounding the Big O following his failed attempt to restore Eurydice to life (he claims he that O lamented for seven whole months).
nightingale
a nightingale nightly cries amongst the shadowy poplars
lamenting the loss of her chicks stolen as i saw by some hard-
hearted ploughman (what need has he of three featherless chicks
callously snatched from their nest). the mourning songstress weeps
her song throughout the night all night, every night, repeating
her miserable notes relentlessly pierces all peace with her pain
wails all night, fills air all around with melancholy protestations.
unlike Orpheus, she has not forgotten how to sing
Day 16 – TIL a lot of flamingo related fun facts. (In point of fact I have lots & lots of bird facts, that I almost put a dozen of them into one megapoem, but this flamingo triptych seems to work quite well…)
flamingo triptych
i. there are more fake flamingos on Earth than real ones
ii. flamingos pair for life some stay mated for 50 years or more
nice that flamingos are 12.5x better at partnering than i am
iii. you probably know a crowd of crows is called a murder
& an assembly of owls is a parliament (or wisdom, or study)
but life gets really joyful the day you discover a flock of flamingoes is a flamboyance
With Big O & Eurydice being the theme this year, it feels a little like every day/poem explores the issue of grief so at times I’m not sure whose writing what about whom or when. The only thing I am sure of is why.
dream
always know when you dream of me — it’s why i never sleep.
abandon the rasping light of day to pretend you’re calling my name.
the hazy lamps murky blue dragging me from the road.
walk on without knowing the way repeating thought eternally fast, faster.
tracing back black stone steps down again into echoing caves.
the dog by the great gates barks three times, or once each.
the blood river creases & curdles with endless ponderous energy.
always knowing i’ll never find you — we exist in incompatible worlds.
Day 15 – NTBLAILabout more than a forgotten letter of the alphabet
In Celebration of &
the ampersand’s formed from the ligature of the letters ET — the Latin word for “and”
… & the term “ampersand” is a corruption of and (&) per se and which literally means “(the character) & by itself (is the word) and”
… & this small odd looking character was actually once (kind of) the 27th member of the English alphabet*
… & when reciting the alphabet in the 1800s long-suffering schoolchildren would sing-song-say, “X, Y, Z, and per se and” so the students were essentially chanting “X, Y, Z, and by itself and”
… & being lazy children this was routinely slurred to the mondegreen ampersand & thus entered common usage
… & there’s a graffiti & in Pompeii from 79 CE
… & when it appears as &c where it means etc. (the ampersand time travels back into its E & T bones)
… & in screenplays, an & denotes a writing team [the word and designates the writers wrote separately, read: someone rewrote, & if there’s more than three ands on a credit, it’s a good sign you should probably stay the hell away from that movie]
… & when creating new type faces the & character allows designers to inject a little joie de vivre & artistic flair into proceedings
… not to mention some quite nice poets really love it & if that’s not a cause for celebration — then there isn’t one
*the thorn and the wynn are also membersof the Former Members Of The Alphabet Club but sadly we don’t have time (in this pome)to learn what led to their demises
2 Bob’s worth: a bonus poem
i. Jerk Bob that old bundle of chuckles the joy-killing chump Robert Hartwell Fiske in his dreary, dull AND utterly unreadable Dictionary of Unendurable English: A Compendium of Mistakes in Grammar, Usage, and Spelling with Commentary on Lexicographers and Linguists believes ampersands should only exist in proper names, business names, book titles, and the like never in place of the word and
he further opines: aside from the hurried, the only people inclined to use & in place of and are those who have scant sense of self and scant sense of style, and believe using & somehow swells them both.
ii. Lovely Bob Robert Nares in his far more charming highly erudite & intellectual work A Glossary; or, Collection of words, phrases, names, and allusions to customs, proverbs, etc., which have been thought to require illustration in the works of English authors, particularly Shakespeare and his contemporaries. Vol. I. A new ed., with considerable additions both of words and examples believes the ampersand’s calligraphic qualities make it a compelling design element that can add visual appeal & personality to any page.
For someone who loves this myth, I’m really struggling for quality content. Wondering if I should abandon it for something different for last half of the month. The Poetic Factoids, however, remain a treat to create.
lost with, out haven
since : losing, you twice : in, two worlds : one green, light : one shadow, mist : find myself : lost : always, wandering : looking for a, home : that, never approaches : heart : out, of land : out of, hope : out, of, tune : every moment : miss you : more, than human heart : should : or can : this side, madness
Day 14 – TIL how deeply brain & body are connected
vocalisations
when your “inner voice” whispers wisdom deep within the wetness of your brain tiny muscle motions trigger in your larynx
no wonder i suffer so many sore throats after my multiple personalities have had their say on every conceivable topic
the muscular cacophony leaves my chords, exhausted
Been reading some Emily Dickinson over the past 24 hours, so the layout of this poem has been affected by her typographic style with her Capricious Capitalisation & Extravagant Dashes. (I’d unconsciously kind of half-imitated it in my first draft, & when I realised I thought what the heck & pushed it a bit more.) Still in her early stuff, so the poems I’ve read haven’t really got the dashes working in full swing as she later did. (Which suits me just fine in this pome hahaha.)
obsolete soundtrack
it is now One Week — since we Last Spoke & I’m Bravely — Listening to my Special Playlist
Made to Help me get Through those Bucolic Times when I was simply — Missing
You because we Hadn’t spoken — In half a day — Or Whathaveyou
Not sure how I’ll Make It — Through these Thirteen songs
This was actually begun as a poem for someone else … & took a wrong turn along the way, which improved it immeasurably.
*****
wallows
was happily wallowing, wallowing;
in my heart of broken glass pain;
my sad song that never ends;
my woe-is-me tale of eternal misery;
with my wounded soul lying in a cave;
like a hippo in mud;
like the proverbial pig;
like the … when i got to wondering
what other creatures like a good wallow. a quick interwebbing told me elephants & elephant seals warthogs & rhinoceroses tapirs & bison all do; some deer too.
accidentally learning along the way, it’s a comfort behaviour, free sunscreen, insect repellent, wet brush to enhance moulting & remove parasites; as well as aids social cohesion & play in young animals.
by which, i’d forgotten my mopery (though i was a good dealitchier)
BONUS POEM: April 20, 2018
After a scare with their prepaid Skip the Line tickets I finally saw my mother (Old Ma Jones) & my niece inside, when I thought, WTH I may as join the end of the queue & see how long it actually takes. Seemed a shame to be so close & not even try.
*****
shadowvale
I did not leave
myself all day
lost in the space
I’m always lost in
— from here
I glimpse things stranger
than I have known
things I could
once have been
were it not
for the shadows in the vale
Hmmm, I wrote this yesterday (Friday, in the early post midnight hours before going to sleep) & having written it, didn’t think of it all day. Clearly I thought I’d posted it. Just as clearly coming online tonight to post today’s (Saturday) I did not. Thank gawd NaPoWriMo is nearly over for another year.
Apropos: the good old Facebook rehashed memories thing has shown me that it’s about this time every year I write a NaPoWriMo post saying how I’m feeling sick, & true to form, have been fighting an ever-increasing sore throat all day … Poeting is hard
eggdreaming
& so at the end
of another weary
day flutter home
shake off shoes, feathers
fold away wings
strip down to skin
climb into my tangle
of sticks, soft fabrics
fall into fitful sleep
where if lucky i will
dream once more
of my lost eggs
gareth roi poet boi 