LIVEN this place up shall we?

Here you can post YOUR OWN poems, prose, music, or art inspired by the 'Muses nine'.

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LIVEN this place up shall we?

Postby Matt » Fri Aug 13, 2004 3:30 pm

Nobody has been chatting for a while and I was trying to think what would liven things up?

Forgive me if you feel this is off topic-i know that discussion on Keats has lapsed in recent weeks-it seems that our own muses have been to demanding! I'm sure Keats wouldn't mind though!

I was thinkin perhaps the regulars on here could (for a bit of fun and nothing else) produce a poem-together. Perhaps an epic? In fact perhaps just a short epic or a tale of some sort.

What would make the poem interesting is that we would all incorporate our own styles, the resulting poem being a mish mash (yes-a mish mash) of different layers, styles and opinions?

What do you think everybody? Start discussing!
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Re: LIVEN this place up shall we?

Postby Despondence » Fri Aug 13, 2004 4:15 pm

Matt wrote:What do you think everybody? Start discussing!

Start writing!

Someone has to start, and I nominate you. This sort of thing only works if everybody improvises and adapts to the previous post - sitting around the table discussing it through first will only spoil the fun and lead to nothing. Do you believe we would actually agree on anything if we were to deliberate before spouting?

No, I say, complete and utter irreverence, and to this high requiem we'll all become sods. I only swear to build upon, but not glorify, what is handed down. Let the games begin...

Postby Matt » Fri Aug 13, 2004 5:34 pm

Right then. Here it comes. The good ol Matt Pinkett verse....:S
The poem as of yet is untitled....lets make it a modern day Don Juan

Here goes.....

1) What the world needs now is a hero.
A proper one.

What women need now is a hero
To give them a proper one.

Most men will say they don't need a hero
And this hero men will hate
But it is these men whom in secret
Rate this hero
Higher than anyone else they know
And so therefore the women
Of these secretlty doting men need one thing
A hero
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Postby Matt » Fri Aug 13, 2004 6:06 pm

2) For the sake of this story though,
We can not make do with just any hero
Such as the type whom fly through the air
And lift cars with their toes.
For let me tell you this one thing:
The Heroes whom use x ray vision
For the sole benefit of man kind and nothing more
-And not to see if straight laced women
Are really whores-
For these heroes are not real I swear
For what sort of man
With X ray sight would not
Gaze all day at Women
In their underwear?

And so what the world needs is a hero
In the Byronic form.
A Man handsome and loved by women
Hated (in public)
but loved (in secret) by men.
A hero whose love it is to love
And whos luck it is
To love those that bring danger
And to bring danger to those he loves.
A man who although good,
Bad afflicts him too-
For he is real-Understood?
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We could be heroes, just for one day

Postby Saturn » Fri Aug 13, 2004 9:10 pm

What a great idea Matt - it's a bit like when Colerdige and Wordsworth decided to write 'The Wanderings of Cain', or when Keats and Brown collaborated on Otho the Great (though neither of those were particularly successful).
Here, as they say is my two-penneth worth:

A hero must be born of a god,
Goddess, or hero in turn
Then live, his descent unknown
Until on manhood's verge
His talent's displayed.

Then shall the gods rain
Their blessing; signs
Will appear, auguries sure
Of parentage divine,
Which wil blazon forth
Great things, and deeds
Of high worth, worthy
Indeed of the son of Zeus.

What powers will he bring,
New-fangled and proper
For the modern age?
Will he heal the sick
Or to to the starving
Bring desparate succour?

Will he instead come armed
To battle with Injustice,
Shaking horrible weapons
With a firm hand, angry
At the gross abuse of man?

What plans has Kronos' son
For this new bastard child,
Begot of an union of flesh
'Twixt woman and deity -
The mingling of immortal
And frail mortal blood?
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Matt » Sat Aug 14, 2004 6:16 pm

Where must one look for such a hero?
Where should one go?
For surely on this earth heros do not reside
Ah! But you're forgetting one thing-I must chide!
Remember that this hero is not of comic books
And despite the fact that he is blessed with looks
Akin to any of Olympus' greatest Gods
Our hero is real-and he can be found no place odd
Or magic or surreal oh no! Our hero-our someone
Can be found living in a simple suburban street
Twenty five miles outside of London
But dont be fooled into thinking that simple means sweet
For the life of the inhabitants of this place unamed
Is anything but orderly, controlled and tame
For our hero is not a hero yet
It is his eighteenth year and lest you forget
What your eighteen year was like
I warn you now to remember-the booze, the tears, the stupid fights
And our hero like every other boy his age
Has had to face the full force of his hormones rage
And after an affair with one married woman (or maybe four)
The people of the town our hero lived in wanted no more
But do not think that this is all our hero did to be exiled
Ah no! What is to come and what we will relate
Is a story of a childhood mad and wild
(And before we go on to describe this to you
There is one thing that we must do
And that is to tell you
That despite our hero's bad childhood reputation
It would be wrong to think that he lacked education
For our hero, he is one of those rare, strange beings
Whom love nothing more than to
Love everything, hate everything, know everything.
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Our Hero's story continued...

Postby Saturn » Sun Aug 15, 2004 1:01 pm

So he lived a life of calm,
Of everyday ordinariness
Not knowing of his birth.
Until, one day (in the pub)
He drunk a prodigious lot:
An amount only a god
Could quaff and still live.

His friends were amazed
The landlord pleased,
All were astounded
And our hero confused
(And not a little blocked).

So he began to think,
Then he went to see
His mother at home.
"Mother" he asked,
"Who was my father?"

She looked at him
Such as a wolf looks
At his latest prey.
"My dear, I have
Something to say".

"Mother, was he
Not a fighter-pilot
As you always say?"
"I'm sorry son, but
Your father's a god"

Well as you can guess
he was a little perturbed
And also curious too.
If his dad was a god
Think how well he'd do
With the girls at Uni -
What a chat-up line!

Next he went to sea
To see if he could see
His real father for real.
So he went to Greece
With his latest squeeze
On a dodgy cheapo cruise
Of the blue Aegean isles.

Having got thoroughly,
And immortally pissed,
He fell way overboard
And was washed clear
Of the ship and all rescue.

He was tossed and turned
And whelmed and hurled
Until finally he was spat
On a unknown shore.
He, exhausted, slept
Face-down on the beach
And woke with a mouthful
Of sand and soggy dogshit...

That's enough for you all to be getting on with today.
Can't wait to see where you take him next!!!
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Matt » Mon Aug 16, 2004 1:13 pm

And just before he grew accustomed to the taste
Our hero-(Luke was his name)
Realised that what was in his mouth was waste
And thinkin that he had gone insane
Luke pinched himself until he bruised
And finally once his arm was purple yellow
Luke no longer was confused
And realised where he now was
On the coast of Greece not far from Kos.

And so what was to pass
What lie ahead?
For Luke although now alive
Moments ago may have been dead
For never had he reason to gloat
Over his ability to stay afloat
But death by drowning was not for him
And Luke looked to the sky and on a whim
Cried out for the father whom he'd never met
"Oi Dad! You up there you big old git?"
Shouting this Luke would regret
For in Lukes mouth fell some pigeon shit.

Wondering why his Dad the God was mad so
Luke sat down and thought about where he used to live
And why he had to go...
And as i've said before in a previous post
Our young hero's rebellious past
Someone else will relate
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The Gospel according to Luke continued....

Postby Saturn » Mon Aug 16, 2004 10:47 pm

:D Here's the story of his youth in ottava rima doggerel.
Why Luke anyway?

'Cause no Sire he had,
'Tis shameful to tell -
His life was very bad;
His arse's horrible smell
Was just a warning
Of what was to come:
The whoring and horning
The whiskey and the rum.

Even in his infant days
His toys he did abuse
In many different ways -
His teddies could accuse
Him of such gross neglect
It were better left untold.
He his baby cradle wrecked
As it wasn't made of gold.

Before a beard he wore,
He'd run the gamut of vice:
Excess never heard before
Were his for any old price.
Whether women or wine
He'd never have his fill -
He didn't ever draw a line
At any drink or dodgy pill.

Pleasure was his daily bread
Even from earliest youth -
He lived wholly free of dread,
Growing ever more uncouth.
Tasting all the forbidden fruit
Was nothing new to Luke,
He lived in luxury; ill-repute
Was required for a Duke.

Never stopped he to think
Or paused a while to first
See how low he would sink
By quenching so his thirst.
Thus he lived his life until
That fateful, drunken night
When destiny he did fulfill,
Hopes raised Olympus height..........

Don't know how much longer we can keep this up - my brain hurts!!
Last edited by Saturn on Wed Aug 18, 2004 11:27 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Matt » Tue Aug 17, 2004 1:48 pm

Yes this story is certainly no Don Juan...perhaps we should throw down our pens!

My poetry was appaling. No structure, poor rhyme. Bloody hell.


Ah well

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It is a bit like Don Juan

Postby Saturn » Tue Aug 17, 2004 6:02 pm

It is a bit like Don Juan - I added the shipwreck and the riotous youth parts specifically to be echoes of that great comic masterpiece. It isn't too bad, I really enjoyed it, hope you did too.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Despondence » Wed Aug 18, 2004 11:18 am

Maybe the story itself is no Don Juan, but the story of the story almost is! By Jove and all his marble horses - I was laughing at your last two posts till I fell off my chair. It's a fabulous comedy you have produced, although you did not know it - and the punch line simply could not have been scripted, it had to be acted :)

(sorry I didn't pitch in, btw, I was occupied elsewhere - but I would only have made it worse!)

Thanks a lot Despondence!

Postby Saturn » Wed Aug 18, 2004 11:25 am

I appreciate your kind words. I'm glad I was able to make you laugh. Bit of a change from my usual stuff don't you think?

I'm not all doom and gloom you know - I DO have a sense of humour.

Matt's idea was a really great one. Hey, we failed but then so did Coleridge and Worsdworth and they were geniuses!! (is that the right word - or is it genuii or something??)
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Despondence » Thu Aug 19, 2004 12:25 pm

Oh come now, I don't think you "failed". There are no rules and no goal was set - that's the charm: you don't know where it's going!

Anyway, it was quite fun to read. Dunno about genuii though; sounds like a word invented by Borges.

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