richa
on 3am by Nicholas Jones
23 Oct 2003, 7:47 AM
Not much to add to that, very good observation
I like the way you don't put a full-stop at the end, to leave ending open.
This reminds me of "On a Supper of a Stinking Ducks" by Samuel Wesley.
The story thus - At a Clubb of Younkers, after a Frost a couple of Wild-Ducks were bought. A thaw coming the day after, these having before been frozen hard, fell in, appear'd all black, and stunk most harmoniously - yet, that nothing good might be wasted, the Purchasers dress't'em, and eat the first pretty nimbly, not staying to tast it; but by that time, Colon being a little pacifi'd, advancing to the second, it drove 'em all off, and was given a decent burial at last in the Boghouse.
Come all you brisk Lads that have ever been seen,
At the place that you wot of hight-Clerken-well-Green!
First of all Merry Mac, come and taste our good cheer,
For our Hearts will all vibrate thy Lyricks to hear.
One and all run and Saddle your Cane, or your Beast,
And hasten full speed to the bountiful Feast!
In pow'rful Gambado's, or sinical Boot;
In a thrid-bare old Cloak, or a new Sur le tont!
Or flaming with Fringe, or meek Kid on your Hand,
With blustering Cravat, or reverent Band!
Both peaceable Hazle, and Kill-devil Steel,
Both Tory-Bamboo, and Fanatick-Brazeel!
Remember Batts Axiom, your Curtlass prepare!
Whet Stomachs, and Knives! Here's a Bill of the Fare;
Here's Duck upon Duck, for no more you must look;
If you'll have any more you must go to the Cook.
I tell you the Truth, and I tell you no lye!
They shine and 'twere Butter, or Stars in the Sky:
Zich glorry-vatt Ducks but zildom are zean,
Whore shou'd they be bore but about Taunton-Dean.
If they stink Mrs. Muse your nice Nose you may hold!
Disparage 'em not for they're bought, and they're sold;
Consider as cheap of the Poulter they had 'em,
As e're of the Higler-(the Servant!)
Here Dick, Black-Bess for thy absence should frown,
Look over thy Shoulder, and 'tweak off their Down:
But prythee deal gently, for 'twould be no Wonder,
They're so soft, and so young, if they sall all-asunder.
'Tis true I confess, if my Nostrils can tell,
They send out a kind of a Civity smell:
Yet more then a Bustard the Poulter might prize one
Like them, for their flavour like pasty Venizon.
Some will say they've a whiff like a Worm-eaten Bitch,
Or a Tartar Ragoo, ready dresst in a Ditch:
Or a cleanly blue-Pig-but ne're keck honest fellow!
For they're wholesome enow, tho' a little too mellow.
They're black, but where Indians do paint the De'el White,
That colour be sure's a most heavenly sight:
They dropt from the Moon out of Breath, and the Thumps
Which they took on the Ground have discolour'd their Rumps.
Cozen John! 't had been better if y'had not been so sickle,
But in our Garden-Cellar had laid 'em in pickle:
Tho' the Cook says they're sweet, I'll venture engage her,
That the Ducks should ha' stunk with the T--'s for a Wager.
Pothecary's Bills have full often half broke us,
With chargeable Vomits of Carduus and Crocus:
When these Ducks from the Bum-gut to Keckhorn would draw,
And like a Turn'd-Pudding-bag empty the Maw;
O Spirits of Arm-pits, and Essence of Toes!
O Hogo of Ulcers, and Hospital Nose!
O Devils Dung fragant, and tarrifi'd feather,
With Snuff, and with Carrion, Ana, jumbled together!
O Jelly of Toads! India's hasty-Pudding!
O Playsters of Issues champt down o'the sudden!
With fat blubby Pease, that are grimy all o're,
Thick butter'd with delicate matter and Gore!
Well! If these you survive, I'll believe 'tis no Fable,
That Indians gut Adders, and bring 'em to Table:
But after, if your Pest'lent Breath sally on us,
Wee'll get to the Windward, or Mercy upon us!
Hoyst 'em up with a Rope at the Fire! 'tis no matter,
Tho' they drop in the dripping, and crawl in the Platter;
So do's the sweet Phaenix on Frankincense-Faggot,
Sit roasting her self till she turn to a Maggot.
How about calling it "Ode on the Mammoth Cheese Weighing over 7,000 Pounds"?
http://eir.library.utoronto.ca/rpo/displ
WOW!!!!!11
MEDIOCRITY CODE
0074C001
http://www.mycgiserver.com/~prawne/code.
Cram-o-rama. Pain, Beauty, religion,halloweenish creepiness, love. Damn good details too.
WOW!!!!!11
MEDIOCRITY CODE
00801400
http://www.mycgiserver.com/~prawne/code.
I don't know where you stand (regarding yourself) as far as rythm and meter are concerned. I'm still figuring it out myself. That being said, I'd like to see the first 5 stanzas smoothed like tha last three.
This grooves.
About people having a basic humanity to themselves behind the diktats of the environment (a metaphor)
Wanted to put a bit about a senile old woman (always looking into the light to carry on the metaphor). And how she would look after cats or the like though she had no memory of why.
a diamond may cut his windscreen with light. I get the image but is it a diamond or light? I stumble here for some reason. I like it otherwise. Most what you write reaches me, makes me think. Keep it up.
WOW!!!!!11
MEDIOCRITY CODE
80FC7D69
http://www.mycgiserver.com/~prawne/code.
-good-
Like the line 'sun hangs like salem heretics'
Especially with the church theme, not so much an image I guess as a comment.
'Am I trespassing on God' is a nice comment to explore(perhaps a bit more).
The images though good are rather arbitrary.
Word choice I think should make the reader ask why you included certain details and not others, and should strike deep at the meaning of the poem.
Definitely a poem with merit though.
my contribution was 'a' by the way horus
not sure who came up with dustman.
Using the word soul is too abstract, you can not expect the reader to understand your conception of it.
Beautiful on the surface/but if you swim in me....
the following should be why you are not beautiful, not about caressing islands.
I think carress islands should come before 'but if you swim in me'
It is a rough draft, but I would not comment if I thought it was meritless, I think you have some nice images and although the idea is a bit worn I'm sure you can polish it up a bit.
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Its good but I think a little over-elaborate.
If the reader can appreciate punchy language and still the plot this would be a very good poem.
whimsical with the faeries yes, but quite cute
'A mass grave of ended calm expression'
is my favourite line
cancers are not like a tumour they are a tumour if they are in the brain.
'And everything grows clear yet wavering.
like when we were long ago for the first time.
Swimming.'
Is an ace metaphor.
Like this, it does seem kind of european, the music, roots/truth, glad you used fever as a portal rather than diving right in with lots of abstracts.