Day 23 — a sonnet, sort of + big birthday cakes

Today’s poem is a homage to Bill by way of Henry VIII. It’s a Golden Shovel of “Orpheus with his lute” a 12 line poem/song in Henry VIII. Many/Mosyt scholars believe this play was a collaborative effort between Bill & John Fletcher, & I’m inclined to agree with them because it’s never felt like “Shakespeare” to me.

I’ve chosen it because: well Orpheus … & I have Golden Shoveled the last words of each line, juggled them & turned it into a sonnet. Not a great sonnet, mind you, but one with a passing resemblance to a snout. Unlike the ones from the 19th which were all AI generated That was the big guessing game thing that all two of you played haha). It had been my intention to reinterpret one of those to try & punch it into shape but I just found it too hard/the lines too banal. This definitely needs more work, but time being what it is means you get what you see …

*****

Luteless, Orpheus
(with Golden Shovelment to William Shakespeare/John Fletcher)


Forlorn Orpheus longed once more to see 
for himself; the unbelievable greenness of trees,
Rather than be buried neckdeep in melancholy
surrounded by deep dirt, soul ready to freeze

He had long since forgotten how to sing
had no desire to take up lute & play,
Forgotten there was a thing called spring.
had no desire to complete his latest lay.

He longed for the cheerful sway of flowers
wished somehow to re-kickstart his sad heart
Longed for the gentlest summer showers
wished sadly to care once more about petty art:

If only he hadn’t glimpsed her in his corner eye
Then neither of them would have needed to re-die.

*****

Day 23 — TIL about Bill’s birthday

old man Bill

If Bill
were alive today 
he’d be 459
which although 
pretty rootin’ tootin’ 
ancient — is still
less than half
as long as Noah 
or Adam.

However, 
he splashes all 
the post-flood crew
out of the water
— over double 
Abraham & Isaac;
almost quadruple 
poor young Moses.

Which is easier to believe:
Methuselah made it to 969
— or the Stratford man
wrote the damn plays!


Day 22 — The Lord of the Fools + LOTR

Over the course of a month lots of ideas get tested & abandoned. Several lines in this poem were previously homeless yet coagulated into this one. As for the Poetic Factoid Poem — Warning. There’s a big *BIG* TRIGGER WARNING on this one for people who don’t feel/think they’re as old as they really are.

*****

Lord of the Fools


dirt beneath my nails
clawing the claybanks
for your return


dream of trees


a lifetime to learn
the dead do not
dance back to life
on the whim 
of a lonely man

a mere heart beat
to make it proof

can’t craft the words
the way my brain feels them


impossible imposter


need to learn another language
to remember how to speak my own


lost days 


try drowning myself 
in every river


but even there i’m evicted

*****

Day 22 — TIL something deeply disturbing about the Lord of the Rings films

the Lord of the Wrinkles

i. meme
read a brutal meme 
today which said
Viggo Mortensen 
is the same age 
Ian McKellen was
when he played 
Gandalf.

NO, I AM NOT OKAY
I CANNOT POET
ANY MORE TODAY
SORRY! GOODBYE!!

ii. data
naturally, being a fool
i had to check 
the veracity 
of cursed meme
— turns out 
it’s even worse
Aragorn’s older 
than Gandalf
was at the end
of Return of the King

time for a cuppa & a lie down

Principal photography 11 October 1999 — 22 December 2000
with pick-up shots done from 2001 to 27 June 2003.

Viggo born October 20, 1958 (current age 64)
45 when started filming, 49 when finished 

Ian born 25 May 1939 (current age 83)
60 when started filming, 64 when finished 

Day 21 — underground fungi & Gruen undercover

This poem is a sibling to yesterday’s in that it began as a verse in that Frankenpoem which did not fit in with the rest, but was an idea I liked & echoed one I’d been considering: a poem wherein Big O is a fun guy while making his way down to Hades. The title just won’t work though… 

*****

shroom-zoom


took a wrong turn
shimerlight lost
not even shades
wander this way
lick water from walls
but wretched hunger
will claim me first
at least i’ll die here
perhaps my psyche 
will find its way to E
only the sooty fungi
the clang of clay pots
tracking spicy spores
down into the river
at the end of the world
beginning of the universe
stars & souls & gods
all zooming by / the ache
of my internal eyes

*****

Day 21 — TIL about the Gruen Effect

the Gruen Effect

shopping malls (& casinos)
modern pilgrimage sites
fully enclosed  introverted
climate-controlled faux 
town squares skylight-lit food 
court pleasuredomes+parking
are intentionally designed as 
confusing customer traps /
disorienting / losing track 
of time & space / engrossing 
overwhelming experiences /
crammed with colour / bright 
lights / tantalising smells / to 
transport customers in/
to states of emotional
arousal / succumb to countless 
tempting desires / forget their original 
reason for shopping / make impulse purchases
because / they’re / available / & / attractive

\ not because \ they’re needed


Day 20 — Frankenpoem + poetry derived from academic papers

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 – TIL that 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)




Day 19 — Poem AId + ReAlIty TV

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 about my 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

Day 18 — a whispered love letter + piles of books

Pretty self-explanatory: a pseudo-letterpome.

whisper


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

Day 17 — Orpheus’s last song + Grandmother Fact #1

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

Day 16 — nightingale + a trilogy of flamingo fun facts

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

Day 15 — Day 2 of the Festival of Grief: dream + &

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 – NTBLAIL about 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 members of 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.

So go suck on them eggs Mr Hartwell Fiske

Day 14 — double loss

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