Edmund and Luka's Poetry Request Corner
- Thread starter luka
- Start date
pattycakes_
Can turn naughty
Consider the Lily (remix)
If (remix)
Howl (remix)
The Raven (remix)
Kubla Khan (remix)
If (remix)
Howl (remix)
The Raven (remix)
Kubla Khan (remix)
woops
is not like other people
Jeremy Bentham
here he presides in the panopticon
the auto icon ever present his head
in a safe somewhere still he sits
with stick and spectacles
as large as life looking on
at university administration
he still makes every meeting
and would promote the greatest good
for the greatest number - if
he could still speak
but his silence
has lasted centuries / london's
leading biggest education exists
all around him cloisters full of computers
with the weird old waxwork in the corner
here he presides in the panopticon
the auto icon ever present his head
in a safe somewhere still he sits
with stick and spectacles
as large as life looking on
at university administration
he still makes every meeting
and would promote the greatest good
for the greatest number - if
he could still speak
but his silence
has lasted centuries / london's
leading biggest education exists
all around him cloisters full of computers
with the weird old waxwork in the corner
luka
Well-known member
Alright let's remind ourselves how this went then and try a remix https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49303/howl
luka
Well-known member
I saw, knew, none of the best, a few people, lacking conviction
disinterested in life, whiling away the time, uncommitted to either
self-destruction or redemption. I saw them in Londis hesitating
at the biscuit shelf, or in the beer garden, mildly rowdy after
four pints. I watched as they went to work dissastisfied, came home
irritable, Sainsbury pizza in plastic bag. Without talent, without
vocation, without values, fatally directionless. Who prepared
perfectly nice meals in their kitchens and after eating, did the
washing up and wondered what to do with the time before bed.
Who went to nightclubs from a sense of obligation and danced
also from a sense of obligation, who greeted their friends, heartily,
from a sense of obligation, hugged, slapped backs, smiled. Who
passed through red brick universities and complained about the
queer theory and feminist critique and upon graduating, never read
a book again, considering their education to be over. Who never once
fell in love but had enough partners to save their parents from getting
worried, nice girls and nice boys they weren't ashamed to be seen in
public with. Who were well aware that good enough is the best you can
hope for and refusing to settle means starving and alone. Who took
drugs sometimes and grew out of it, scared by the comedowns and
chemical imbalances who decided it was safer after all to drink a few
on a Friday night, misbehave within the boundaries of the permissible.
Who were haunted by the void, always, aware that something was missing
that this could never be enough. Who dressed in navy blue mostly, wore
brown shoes after growing out of trainers. Who went away on holidays to
Prague, Croatia, Iceland, and took photographs. Who ate the local cuisine
and spent evenings on the balcony drinking wine. Who had nothing to say
to one another but knew how to fill the silence, who's laughter would set
the teeth on edge.
Isn't this pleasant and rose through the ranks, slowly and methodically
with frustration. Who masturbated in the kitchen quickly and guiltily
then put on radio four. Who had no adequate identity offered to them
no meaningful role to fill, no part to play, no face to set upon their
shoulders and who are not to blame, are victims
chewed up and spat out in the firing line
guts in the mud and writhing
wondering what to do
before death.
disinterested in life, whiling away the time, uncommitted to either
self-destruction or redemption. I saw them in Londis hesitating
at the biscuit shelf, or in the beer garden, mildly rowdy after
four pints. I watched as they went to work dissastisfied, came home
irritable, Sainsbury pizza in plastic bag. Without talent, without
vocation, without values, fatally directionless. Who prepared
perfectly nice meals in their kitchens and after eating, did the
washing up and wondered what to do with the time before bed.
Who went to nightclubs from a sense of obligation and danced
also from a sense of obligation, who greeted their friends, heartily,
from a sense of obligation, hugged, slapped backs, smiled. Who
passed through red brick universities and complained about the
queer theory and feminist critique and upon graduating, never read
a book again, considering their education to be over. Who never once
fell in love but had enough partners to save their parents from getting
worried, nice girls and nice boys they weren't ashamed to be seen in
public with. Who were well aware that good enough is the best you can
hope for and refusing to settle means starving and alone. Who took
drugs sometimes and grew out of it, scared by the comedowns and
chemical imbalances who decided it was safer after all to drink a few
on a Friday night, misbehave within the boundaries of the permissible.
Who were haunted by the void, always, aware that something was missing
that this could never be enough. Who dressed in navy blue mostly, wore
brown shoes after growing out of trainers. Who went away on holidays to
Prague, Croatia, Iceland, and took photographs. Who ate the local cuisine
and spent evenings on the balcony drinking wine. Who had nothing to say
to one another but knew how to fill the silence, who's laughter would set
the teeth on edge.
Isn't this pleasant and rose through the ranks, slowly and methodically
with frustration. Who masturbated in the kitchen quickly and guiltily
then put on radio four. Who had no adequate identity offered to them
no meaningful role to fill, no part to play, no face to set upon their
shoulders and who are not to blame, are victims
chewed up and spat out in the firing line
guts in the mud and writhing
wondering what to do
before death.
luka
Well-known member
If you can bear it, teeth gritted, cursing
If you can make it through to bitter end
If you can refuse all comfort, all compromise
If you can remain utterly feral, spitting, growling
scaring them away
If you can shake off friendship, helping hands,
If you can burn all bridges
If you can refuse to learn anything
refuse to study, refuse to pass, refuse
certificates and badges
swayed neither by threats nor promises
by neither punishment nor reward
If you can refuse to understand
Refuse to learn the rules or to abide by them
If you can remain vicious and callous
and not be bribed by kindness
if you can keep all well-wishers at bay
and snarl and snap at pity
If you will not be domesticated by 'love'
If you can chew off your own foot
from the trap and limp away
If you gnaw on bones and suck
on cigarettes
If you panic in the lights
but are not overwhelmed
If you they patronise you
and condescend to you
and are afraid of you
If you are an artist
of self-sabotage
If your eyes are red
and bloodshot and your
teeth all yellow and
crooked
then you will have won
My son
You'll be more of a man
Than they are.
If you can make it through to bitter end
If you can refuse all comfort, all compromise
If you can remain utterly feral, spitting, growling
scaring them away
If you can shake off friendship, helping hands,
If you can burn all bridges
If you can refuse to learn anything
refuse to study, refuse to pass, refuse
certificates and badges
swayed neither by threats nor promises
by neither punishment nor reward
If you can refuse to understand
Refuse to learn the rules or to abide by them
If you can remain vicious and callous
and not be bribed by kindness
if you can keep all well-wishers at bay
and snarl and snap at pity
If you will not be domesticated by 'love'
If you can chew off your own foot
from the trap and limp away
If you gnaw on bones and suck
on cigarettes
If you panic in the lights
but are not overwhelmed
If you they patronise you
and condescend to you
and are afraid of you
If you are an artist
of self-sabotage
If your eyes are red
and bloodshot and your
teeth all yellow and
crooked
then you will have won
My son
You'll be more of a man
Than they are.
luka
Well-known member
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Ganymede did Pattycakes
A poet's inspired words decree
Where Ralph, the delivery driver ran
With parcels piled inside his van
Down to Leigh-on-Sea.
Through suburban sprawl and rural plot
and shadowed hamlets time forgot
where mournful men in gardens mow their lawns
or water their geraniums and daffodils
Silently regretting being born
and dry swallowing indigestion pills
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
In Ganymede did Pattycakes
A poet's inspired words decree
Where Ralph, the delivery driver ran
With parcels piled inside his van
Down to Leigh-on-Sea.
Through suburban sprawl and rural plot
and shadowed hamlets time forgot
where mournful men in gardens mow their lawns
or water their geraniums and daffodils
Silently regretting being born
and dry swallowing indigestion pills
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
woops
is not like other people
betty blue.
how unlike anything english is
this trip through love to escapade to tragedy
via sun-scorched saxophone seaside to parisian old hotel
in vest and apron dress and silk kimono (you can't
feel comfortable in anything else)
the romance of writing and robbing banks
and burning bungalows and running away
wine and tequila rrrapido
pianos and pizza publishers and policemen
insanity only ever inches away
silly to dead serious in a second
across the channel,
they do their dramas differently
how unlike anything english is
this trip through love to escapade to tragedy
via sun-scorched saxophone seaside to parisian old hotel
in vest and apron dress and silk kimono (you can't
feel comfortable in anything else)
the romance of writing and robbing banks
and burning bungalows and running away
wine and tequila rrrapido
pianos and pizza publishers and policemen
insanity only ever inches away
silly to dead serious in a second
across the channel,
they do their dramas differently