[Lance Levens]

Fleeing Johnny

(The Flea answers Donne)

Ok--let's get this straight. Your blood, her blood
in my blood? Can we say crowded, Johnny Boy?
And just forget the question of good
vs. bad, that you've been treating her like a toy--

no, forget that. Let's talk hygiene.
Do you have any notion where this girl
slept last week? I don't want to wax obscene
but just because you run across a pearl

you fancy doesn't mean you've got to reach
out and man handle it. What if she's come
from Madagascar where she lived on a beach,
with sailors and soldiers or some Papist bum?

Are you even listening to me? " Bite us," (you prick!).
"her, then me, so I can write some sexy verse."
I'm outta here, my friend. You are seriously sick.
And don't ask the spider. He'll cop your purse.

[John Whitworth]

Good man. Animals may well be the way to go. But here's mine, which is human.

The Traveller

Jesus, who would shoot the breeze
Talking to a bunch of trees?
I was – I admit it – plastered
When you anted up, you bastard,
When you wrote the cheque, post-dated.
Now your credit’s zero-rated.
Friend, your outlook’s far from sunny
Since you gave me funny money.

Then you said you’d make it right
In the middle of the night.
Some things are beyond a joke.
I’m a decent sort of bloke.
I suppose you thought perhaps
I was like those other chaps,
Easy come and easy go.
But you’ll see it isn’t so.

Now I’m off to feed the nag.
Put your money in a bag
And PAY THE BILL, that’s my advice.
I’ve got friends not half as nice,
Friends who do the sort of stuff
That is positively rough.
We’ll be back at sparrow fart
To break your legs and break your heart.

[RCL]

I consider the "character," the fictional persona/N of the poem"

On Last Looking into Hefner’s Playboy

Much have I traveled where no man grows old,
where surgically shaped women lie and preen
round sunny L. A. poolsides. As a teen,
I knew the narcissistic playbook cold,
and through my youth and midlife blithely trolled,
heedless of the geriatric scene.
Never thinking years would dull the sheen
of buxom Barbies in the center-fold,
I now feel like a scanner of dark skies
who looks for newborn starlets but finds porn;
or shriveled Hef himself, whose bloodshot eyes
see sirens in retreat—and charm outworn,
all lust a bust, hangs limp in his demise,
breathless, upon the Disney Matterhorn.


Ralph

[Jayne Osborn]

Hi there Ralph,

Good poem - though it doesn't seem to be one that 'takes as its starting point a character or characters from another, preferably well-known poem.'

Keats' Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen is well-known enough, but...I'm under the impression they want a person or persons in the first line, not just a pastiche of a famous poem.

[RCL]

Jayne, thanks for the heads up. Apparently, I still don't quite grasp the "starting point." The N of a well-known poem? Something like this? Ping-ponging Plath's N:

I consider the "character" the fictional persona/N of the poem, in this case the voice in "Daddy."

Bewitched

Sivvy! I cannot live with you,
a girl whose dark charms grew
for seven long unholy years
after we said, I do.

Oh no, I must be rid of you,
whose spells would turn me blue,
moving me to violent tears
with magic that you knew.

True, it’s true, I’m leaving you,
who’d melt my mind to glue,
and daily dig my heart out
to boil it in your brew.

Now, I’m going, cursing you:
your tongue's a torture screw
racking me to finally shout,
adieu, you witch, we’re through!


Ralphoooo

[Jayne Osborn]

My pleasure, Ralph.

I have to admit I'm not a Plath fan at all, so I'm unfamiliar with your Plathian reference above, and to whether it fits the bill or not.

But no, they don't mean the narrator of a well-known poem. Have you looked at the LitRev 'Clairvoyance' thread? The winning poem this month alludes to 'Albert and the Lion' here and what they're after is a similar idea i.e. find a famous poem about someone and then write your own poem alluding to it (I think!)

I hope that makes sense and I've made it clearer

[John Whitworth]

Here's another one. How do you think they cope with Scots?


Tae a Poet

Big-bottomed, blusterin’, lumpen lummox,
Wha eats enough tae fill twa stomachs,
And flattens a’ the humps and hummocks
You chance tae see,
Your poetry’s enough tae flummox
The likes o’ me.

I never had imagination
Or the Romantic education.
To make poetic conversation.
I speak my mind,
Though you may find the observation
To be unkind.

You say that mice an’ men, together
Wi’ every sort of fur and feather,
Can change the world and change the weather –
Is that your art?
I call it high-falutin’ blether,
Not worth a fart.

For beast an’ man’s like man and wife,
It’s war we’re talking, tae the knife,
An’ should ye wish tae end the strife
‘Twixt man an’ moose,
Get oot ma field, get oot ma life,
Get oot ma hoose.