Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Poets Should Be Teachers Like Submariners Should Be Bricklayers

Izny the Zepoleene
Wasn't very good rhyming words
But was very good rhyming clouds
Now how many poets can beat that

Mimzy the Triximeme
Wasn't too au fait tilling fields
But was very good tilling cows
So how many farmers have seeded that

Please note
Mizmy could also tile cows
And the cows graciously enjoyed grazing mosaically
 their untilled fields
Mooing gentle shimmering chessboards..
    ..Only to be check-mated later
      By the abattoir gentleman
His first pre-dawn task
Happy-finishing the milkmaid
 Clasping her buttocks 
  with his clammy
       thrumming tactical bingo-numbed mugwump fingers
beneath the Ben-Day Dot reversing twilight..

Morphing now rapidly into a kinetic
Hulk killing-machine post-Heathcliff

 Deployed James Blunt secrets still echo-throe her
inside her post-coital ears

A delicate sunrise
       A circular-saw screeching

      Cow eyes silently beseeching
         Squares polka-dot Pollocked

                Stun-punched and Picasso'd 
 Curated into Cubist frozen fractal Guernica-
 by Evensong..

Cixxy the Nipineem
Wasn't very good with the ladeez
But was great at pulling daisies
Now how many Alan Titchmarshes can do that

Please note
Cixxy also once allegedly pulled Alan Titchmarsh

I said allegedly

And that allegedly is a VERY big ALLEGEDLY indeed
So please note that dear litigious post-rock poetry haters

                                          Thank you so very much

Now the question remains
Where did Cixxy allegedly pull Titchmarsh to
This being a matter of some fierce and dissonant discourse and debate..

You know
   the Alan Titchmarsh fan community 
       is a frighteningly fractious and recalcitrant place..

One theory has it
Cixxy pulled Titchmarsh into a hedgerow
The other
Cixxy threw Titchmarsh over a windmill
Which makes much more sense to me
Nipineems often throw objects of their desire over windmills

In Nipineem culture you see
Throwing someone over a windmill
Is a sure-fire gentle-hearted method of breaking the ice
Especially when you throw someone over a windmill
And they smack side-on into a frozen pond

And as we all must acknowledge 

Titchmarsh is the uber alpha male
Thus likely to excite and trigger
       bursting Nipineem hormone bubbles
Small allegedly this time
But big allergy
Especially if you suffer from hay fever
And don't do elegy poetry..
   sad swans
pill-popping pylons swaying in corn circles d
esultory ducks

      the thwack of leather on willowy nun  the pissed parson pressing grapes at the fete

a flying screaming
to-be sneezer
smashing into a frozen pond..
                                                        Typical phoned-in imagery
                          of countryside idyll-dystopia twenty-first century wonder-porn...

     Okay     Now    
That's a Hank Kingsley Hey now
Post-rock poetry groupies
Imagine being thrown over a windmill
And smashing yourself through a frozen pond
And having a sneezing fit
After breaking above the marbled glass waves of shattered ice..

Does this second scenario make much more sense to you too
Let us have a fierce debate
But no violence please
We all know how these

                                           sneezing-fit debates can escalate

You've been there
Yeah I can tell
Me too oh me too

The windmill
Came before the chicken and egg
Windmills and
Nipineems both being lacto-vegetarian

                                                                                                                  random thought..
..for there are no rules to invoking romantic rainbows..
end of random thought..

May I ask you one question please
Okay thanks
                                  Hey now
                            Here is another
Has the legend that is Titchmarsh
Mentioned this controversial biopic episode in his sneering
And perhaps seething
But generous-to-a-fault-that's-me 

                       I-can't-help-myself autobiography

I haven't yet invested in his ghost-written autobiography
I mean how on earth do ghosts manage to even hold a pen..

I wish this poem had an end
But where does that begin..
Now here you go ladies
Gird your loins
Isn't loins the most horrible poetry-word
Probably in any English language
Gird your lions
That is much better
Gird your lions..mooo
That lion roared moo because it has mad cow disease
Bee Tea Double You

Ready yourselves
Seamless post-rock poem-gear-shift in..
T-minus 5
Blast off..

An alien crash-landed in
His crease-free silver space suit
      hung from his saucer's back window

By the busted furry robot
Bouncing off the helium-3 air-bags
And so luckily for him that visible interior vacuum-atmos-ambience

        fit right into the
              Taplow sales rep groove

The sales reps racing to
Taplow singing
Squeeze My Baby Aubergine

Noted the crash-landing saucer
And almost stopped to watch this strange tableaux
But they didn't
I admire that

They didn't travel all the way to
From as far away as
Only to witness a typical alien sales rep saucer-crash-land tableaux
Even though the alien wasn't a typical sales rep at all
He was actually an archetypal atypical alien area sales MANAGER
Who was once subtly depicted in a tapestry
Back in the day when archetypal atypical alien area sales MANAGERS

                                               rodeo-rode around in Agarthan chariots
                                              And made their go-faster-striped ass-racers 
                                               piss in plastic bags made of parchment-reeds
                                              to be thrown carelessly outside the
                                             Dinky Donkey drive-in amphitheatres                                              Nothing changes eh

This is the end
As Jim Morrison famously once sang

This is the beginning
His admiral father less famously might have conspiratorially whispered
In the
Gulf of Tonkin

And that's a very speculative musing there
            my post-rock poetry haters..

The End