The wonderful Aussie blogger bluebee has sent me a poem for my Close Shaves week.
~
Canine Fictions
Tank,
the neighbour’s dog,
has a lot
to say in the morning.
I imagine he entertains
the Voxdogz with tales
of victorious nocturnal stoushes
with the white cat from across the road:
“A face like a chook’s bum,
I tell ya rrrrhahahaharuffruff “
But I’ve seen him run,
wide-eyed,
at the sight of her.
a rooftop view
is the lone duck’s comrade,
clear Autumn skies
~
a rooftop view
when the autumn skies are clear,
the contented duck
~
the duck observes
a clear sky in autumn,
there are no regrets
By night he dreams of three exotic ladies in harem pants, adorned with beads and misty coins, whirling together in a heady dance.
The dance of the three ladies, beginning with the light touch of one that awakens his senses to the fleeting now, shimmy from the top; then the heart and body of the second dancer snaking and shivering with the middle notes, the music punching the air, staccato hips; joined by the final dancer, who lingers over rich, base notes, infused in the atmosphere, undulating torso.
Arms and bodies fuse in a confluence of silk, flesh and hazy smoke, forming a pyramid of inspiration burning in his
nose.
______________________________
Note: the fragrance pyramid consists of top notes, middle notes and base notes to create the perfume, that the perfumer will create
The reader’s face was blank
the words had not sunk in.
The poem had been read
but then he chucked it – in the bin!
He didn’t like that poem,
didn’t ascertain its meaning,
he was busy contemplating pies
and the cost of his dry-cleaning.
But this story is just beginning
for metaphor was pissed,
his very being was compromised,
he didn’t like being dissed.
Simile was similarly outraged,
like a prisoner denied a smoke,
he didn’t like this reader
who was dumb beyond the joke,
and narrative was spewing
she was livid, through and through,
she told as much to subject and shape,
and they were fuming too.
Symbolism was gnashing teeth,
a cross tattooed on her back.
Infuriated – an understatement –
she wouldn’t take no flack.
Outrageous cried the first stanza,
turning to the second,
this reader – talk about acting the goat,
is that what you would reckon?
K’noath, that’s pretty much how I do feel,
my tone is smoky red,
I’m only short but misunderstood
is not the way I’m read.
By now allusion was going crazy,
cartoon smoke came out his ears,
bit like the lies from Abbott’s mouth
before he safely engaged the gears.
Now rhythm and rhyme were plotting,
they were going with the flow,
let’s take revenge on this dim-witted dude
he knows not how low he will go.
The attributes of the poem united
in ranting, and bristling and bridling.
The theme would be taking revenge
and in this there would be no dam idling.
They gathered their weapons so swift –
there were knives, a chainsaw, an axe –
oh yes, they were ready for battle
and reader was not watching his back.
The reader’s face was blank
as you’d suspect from someone dead,
he had failed to hear the music,
so they cut off his empty head.
(soundtrack to the poem)
______________________________________
Note: Recently there was an interesting comment thread on Aussie writer Nigel Featherstone’s blog where we were talking about a ‘poem … going to go wild and violent due to being shunned and misunderstood!’ Nigel asked me to write the poem (we will soon be making the movie 😉 ).
In Greek mythology we have the Muses. They were the anthropomorphic goddesses said to be inspiration for the arts, science and literature. If you invoked a Muse you might be blessed with a flow of the good stuff – an epic poem, a painting, a philosophical treatise – you name it!
The artist was a mere conduit for a Muse to talk to and entertain the ancient Greek populace.
This is ancient Greece we’re talking about folks but now it is the year 2014. Yet we still hear artists (poets, writers, visual artists etc.,) talking about their Muse! Whether they do this metaphorically or with a real belief is a question that only they can answer. I would like to believe that the answer is veering toward the former but am sure that’s not always the case.
In the 1960’s Bob Dylan was called a prophet by many of his fans and eventually he believed what they were saying. He believed that his lyrics were coming from above and he was the vessel to receive them. In later years he dismissed the notion with some irritation when asked by reporters.
To literally believe in a Muse has a number of implications. It means that you believe in Musey type goddesses out there in the heavens. It means that you believe you are one of the special beings selected by deities. Fancy that – a direct line of communication with the goddesses of writing, art and whatever.
It means that you believe your talent is coming from the heavens and has nothing to do with that cerebral mass in your skull (it also follows that you have no talent and are a mere channel – it’s Muses who have all the talent). It means that you (and some hundreds of thousands of other artists) have been selected by the Muses, out of the 7 billion people on this planet, as a conduit for divine art.
Wow, that’s special!
You can believe that if you want but have a good ponderate before diving into the deep end and hooking up with those mischievous celestial Muses.
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Note: I hope some people aren’t too offended by this post 😌 but I believe that people benefit from having a greater self belief (internal locus of control) rather than externalising their situation (external locus of control).
Beware the beasts Out to get you. Vibrations of rage, running deep Into the heart of the ground. Nimble thy feet will be to avoid the Excruciating crush of the bovine burden. Oppressed you will feel, it is only fair. Pray for divine assistance – Holy cow! Oh Lordy, get me outta here. Bovine phobia, yes It’s a thing. And the cattle cry – Alleluia.
Gabe Feathers McGee 
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