Continuing in the simplistic-but-profound theme I mentioned last time, I invented Election Fever on my dog's walk last night:
Election Fever The Right are on the right And the Left are on the left But what I'd like to know Is who's right and what's left
It's not as good or clever as I'd like but the spirit of where I'd like to go more often is in there if you can see it. There are plenty of masters of this pithy wordplay so I've got a lot of role models and a lot to learn but it's a start, although I have done a few of these little one versers in the past.
Then something seemed to take me over on a sleepy Sunday afternoon and evening and two more poems fell out of the neurosphere - amazing - where did they come from?! I guess I was just in the mood.
Spelling Bee probably needs honing (honeying?) still but it's quite cute as it is:
Spelling Bee You say your in luv Think about me every nite And I think your alrite But you cant spel for toffee When you buzz me on the fone Tell me that your all alone Your my badly speling be Put sum hunny in my coffee
This came from a song I was listening to on the radio where I misheard the end of a Marina and the Diamonds lyric 'You've been acting awful tough lately' as 'toffee' and it went from there, simple as that.
There's a concept in English teaching that the learner has to first notice the mistakes or the structures before they can correct or master them. Similarly, as an artist, photographer or poet you have to be constantly and actively alert for creative opportunities or the stimuli will just pass you by and the inspiration won't come, or will come less often.
That's the mood I was in yesterday, feeling quite open, a bit like in my poem My Room, and the words did indeed come.
Then, on another walk with the dog, incredibly, another idea came to me. This one was a bit darker, all about dying, can't quite remember why. Oh yes, I'd been reading about Roger McGough's latest collection of poems where he hints at it so my mind was on mortality. I wondered what it would be like to die tomorrow, as we all will one day, and what some of the consequences and unfortunate circumstances might be. A bit like getting run over with dirty underwear, every mother's shameful nightmare.
Moving On was much trickier, because longer and more complicated and the need to find suitable lines once the initial inspiration had been absorbed meant a bit of brain-racking.
Moving On This dying business is a bit of a pain I've just bought the damn tickets for the train That last poem I wrote was utterly vain I'll be blowed if it doesn't look like rain This bloody timing does in my brain & if she has to do the ironing again She'll kill me If I'd known in a few hours I'd be gone I wouldn't have left the heating on I guess I've been looking kinds of wan But I'd never have had these pyjamas on If she feels likes she's fallen for some sort of con She'll kill me This fading away is a bit of a bind I hope the bank manager doesn't mind It might sound like I'm being unkind But if she finds out I went and left her behind She'll kill me I never thought I'd be off tomorrow There's so many things I still wanted to borrow & if she gets stuck with the brunt of the sorrow She'll kill me
It's funny how things turn out. I'm quite pleased with the way the poem itself starts to fade away, starting with a seven-line verse and finishing with a four-liner, but this is pure chance, not artifice. I had all the verses at four lines then decided to move them up to five to fit in a few more images but couldn't find a satisfactory rhyme for tomorrow, borrow and sorrow so had to keep it at four.
Again, I'm sure it could be tighter, funnier and cleverer, but it'll have to stand as it is for the time being as my brain has moved on and I'm wondering what to tackle next on my creative agenda. I'm pretty much all poemed out after yesterday, so we're looking at pictures of some sort, either another photo analysis over on Nikon and Me or actually getting my hands dirty (and cold) down in the garage with some of those stubborn pictures waiting to torment me in there.
Knowing me I'll procrastinate a little more with some photo chit-chat and then finally hit the studio.
Thanks, dear diary, for letting me get all this off my chest, and may the muse hit you all - and then hit back!