Haiku.
Simple in it's form,
Complicated by nature.
I hate poetry.
Okay, I don't enjoy using the word hate, so let's just say I have a strong dislike for poetry. I used the word hate cause it was only one syllable.
Dislike is strong too;
Impassive is more like it.
Who cares? I sure don't.
Maybe I just don't understand it. Yeah, that's it.
Why some are fascinated with and use poetry as a creative outlet is way beyond my simple intellect.
You'll never catch me
Composing a single line.
What a waste of time.
Whenever I think of poetry, one poem comes to mind: Who Has Seen the Wind by Christina Rossetti. You know that one:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
etc, etc.
I mostly think of this poem while gasping for breath as I pedal into the wind. When I ask myself the question "who has seen the wind?" it is usually followed by an expletive laden answer.
I mean, I don't have to see it, I can freakin feel it!
My guess is Christina Rossetti wasn't a cyclist.
Poetry sucks wind
Yet people still enjoy it.
Why? No idea.
On the other hand, I really dig limericks. I mean there's some rhyming going on that tells a story, usually a humorous one. It also helps that oft limericks tend to be a bit naughty.
Irish poets rock.
They have a sense of humor
The whole world enjoys.
Hey dude, this is supposed to be a blog about cycling. Like, get it together!
Okay, okay, I'll get to the point:
Haiku, and the rhythms it produces, fits perfectly with the way mokes talk.
For you non island folk, mokes are usually guys that hang around pool halls and bus stops and their sole purpose in life seems to be to shake you down for your money.
That's probably a biased generalisation, but I'm sticking with it.
Anyway, the way mokes communicate, the tempo and pacing of their speech, fits the haiku mold perfectly.
So, submitted for your approval, I give you-
Moke haiku.
Written in great haste
With inebriated mind.
Check out the sidebar.
You'll never catch me writing no poetry.
Moke Haiku appearing on the front page are archived here:
Bradduh, wat is dis?
Das my whatchumacallit
Put em someplace else!
I wen get da kine
Wat kine you wen go out get?
Da regala kine.
Eh, my wave! My wave!
No drop in on me again.
I see you insigh!
Time fo eat o’what?
Mix plate at Rainbows Drive in
Shoots! I buy, you fly.
Puka pants, must stare
What brah, I owe you money?
Look away quickly.
5 comments:
Poetry seems to be just the natural approach to the language, for the sons and daughters of Ireland. At any rate, you don't often catch them working at it!
I've got some Irish in me, but not as much as that, sadly. My poems are as much work to write as they are to read!
disclosure: I largely jest in my summation of poets and poetry. To be sure, I respect and admire anyone who wears their heart on their sleeve and throws their work out there.
Perhaps poetry is too deep and I too shallow.
I can relate to Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade when climbing hills on my bike; a valiant yet futile effort.
I agree about the Irish. The word lyrical comes to mind.
Hey, in jest or not, it's a respectable stance as you lay it out. Even, a righteous stance.
I think anybody putting themselves out there in any creative form, the very first thing they have to grant is that nobody's obligated to give a shi*. Artists seem to think sometimes that the world owes them encouragement or (worse yet!) that their art owes them a living. Art can be done for any reason, but if at the bottom of it there isn't a heavy foundation of "I do it because I can't not do it" - to me, without that at the bottom of it, you got no business calling yourself an artist.
Me, I don't claim the distinction, necessarily. I'll take "craftsman" and be pleased as punch.
*t
Shit, was that "one point perspective" subtitle there before? Can't believe I didn't catch it - nicely put.
Talking about art makes me all hot and bothered. I'll reserve extended comments for a future post. or posts. or maybe a whole new blog.
I'll say this though, the line between craft and art is surely a blurred one.
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