I'm currently in the Lake District, glorious part of the country, beautiful. Majestic. Sweeping. And, just as Wordsworth was those many moons ago, I have been inspired to write a poem eulogising nature and such.
On Nature
Oh babbling brook, your whispered path scythes
Through this dale.
And my heart.
Oh bumbling bee, with your wings so small
And body so big.
And my heart.
Oh skittering slate, your cracked, gnarled face
Supports my weight.
And my heart.
Oh well worn path, you guide my way
Through history.
And my heart.
Oh Sky TV with your many channels,
I never need see any of that other shit
With you doing all the babbling for the brook
And the bumbling for the bee.
I needn’t step on slate,
And I can see the path
From 32 different angles.
In HD.
I'll also point you in the direction of my Eggheads poetry trilogy in performance. (Those three words are links to the trilogy in order)
THANKS
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Saturday, 26 March 2011
On Irony
Hello!
A new poem, eulogising the life of an extremely ironic fellow, I'll never forget him. But I can never remember his name. Ironic really.
An Ironic Man
1959-2000
His eyes, poor bugger, his eyes, his eyes,
His eyes had been eaten by moles (which are blind).
His spine, dear bugger, his spine, his spine
Was constructed from the fossilised remains of invertebrates.
(His original spine was lost when he fell on the spine of a large porcupine
Whilst frolicking around in a pine forest.)
His feet couldn’t walk; they were worn out from walking
And nor could he talk; his voice was worn out from talking.
Oh, no, wait. No, a liger tore out his voice box, that was it,
And now his voice box is constructed from a party blower.
Poor bugger, dear bugger, all this from playing silly-buggers,
And insufficient preparation for the Millennium Bug.
Oh yeah, and trying to high-five a liger.
Silly prick.
You can expect a performance video soon enough, possibly of this, possibly of an old classic.
You probably know better than me.
BYE(-winning)
A new poem, eulogising the life of an extremely ironic fellow, I'll never forget him. But I can never remember his name. Ironic really.
An Ironic Man
1959-2000
His eyes, poor bugger, his eyes, his eyes,
His eyes had been eaten by moles (which are blind).
His spine, dear bugger, his spine, his spine
Was constructed from the fossilised remains of invertebrates.
(His original spine was lost when he fell on the spine of a large porcupine
Whilst frolicking around in a pine forest.)
His feet couldn’t walk; they were worn out from walking
And nor could he talk; his voice was worn out from talking.
Oh, no, wait. No, a liger tore out his voice box, that was it,
And now his voice box is constructed from a party blower.
Poor bugger, dear bugger, all this from playing silly-buggers,
And insufficient preparation for the Millennium Bug.
Oh yeah, and trying to high-five a liger.
Silly prick.
You can expect a performance video soon enough, possibly of this, possibly of an old classic.
You probably know better than me.
BYE(-winning)
Monday, 14 March 2011
Monday-day Mash-up
Hello my darling little pearls,
What a treat we have for you today (I say we deliberately, for reasons you shall find out presently). Presenting, me doing a poem for cult sleep-based photo blog Pete Asleep which shows the omnivorous Pete Ralph asleep time and time again. The picture that inspired this poem can be found HERE
Peter Sleep
His gummy eyes creak open.
He wipes away the drool.
He blinks away the booze-fuelled fug
And peers around the room.
Smash.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.
On the floor
A single, wilted red rose
Resting in a pool of glass and murky water.
Hhm, it must have been balanced on my head.
The lights are out, the doors are locked
The Sticky Toffee Pudding he had ordered eight hours ago
Sits untouched
In a congealed pool of so much muck.
I must have fallen asleep again,
Thinks Pete,
Tucking into the cold
Gummy pudding.
Feedback welcomed/actively encouraged (eg. did you enjoy this mash-up? Do you enjoy mash? etc.)
What a treat we have for you today (I say we deliberately, for reasons you shall find out presently). Presenting, me doing a poem for cult sleep-based photo blog Pete Asleep which shows the omnivorous Pete Ralph asleep time and time again. The picture that inspired this poem can be found HERE
Peter Sleep
His gummy eyes creak open.
He wipes away the drool.
He blinks away the booze-fuelled fug
And peers around the room.
Smash.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.
On the floor
A single, wilted red rose
Resting in a pool of glass and murky water.
Hhm, it must have been balanced on my head.
The lights are out, the doors are locked
The Sticky Toffee Pudding he had ordered eight hours ago
Sits untouched
In a congealed pool of so much muck.
I must have fallen asleep again,
Thinks Pete,
Tucking into the cold
Gummy pudding.
Feedback welcomed/actively encouraged (eg. did you enjoy this mash-up? Do you enjoy mash? etc.)
Monday, 7 March 2011
Politics
I'm taking down the British Government piece by tiny piece. Starting with my Political Haikus which saw the back of the Brown era, I'm now tucking in to Cameron and Clegg. They won't know what's hit 'em. Could someone get this to them? Maybe?
Politicks (ie. 'ticks')
David Cameron did something bad, right?
And Nick Clegg, he’s just a drag, right?
I didn’t vote for this!
In fact, I didn’t vote at all.
Poor organisation on my part (whoops).
But I would have voted,
And not for this.
Don’t even get me started on George Osborne,
His fiscal policy is totally wrong!
And the shadow cabinet,
Can we shadow-shut-it-yet?
Politics will never work,
So let’s just get naked and hug
Each other.
Including Cameron, Clegg and Osborne
And the shadow cabinet.
They need love more than anyone.
I could vote for that.
(Maybe not the naked bit.)
I think that's something we can all get behind.
Politicks (ie. 'ticks')
David Cameron did something bad, right?
And Nick Clegg, he’s just a drag, right?
I didn’t vote for this!
In fact, I didn’t vote at all.
Poor organisation on my part (whoops).
But I would have voted,
And not for this.
Don’t even get me started on George Osborne,
His fiscal policy is totally wrong!
And the shadow cabinet,
Can we shadow-shut-it-yet?
Politics will never work,
So let’s just get naked and hug
Each other.
Including Cameron, Clegg and Osborne
And the shadow cabinet.
They need love more than anyone.
I could vote for that.
(Maybe not the naked bit.)
I think that's something we can all get behind.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
ONE YEAR!
A Rational Fear of Sharks is now One Year old! How cool is that! Thank you if you've been reading for the whole year. If you've recently had a peep, then thank you as well. If you're yet to have a gander, join in the celebrations and hope no-one notices that you haven't been here for the whole time. Here's a variation on the famous 'pop' song 'Happy Birthday' in celebration.
HB (Happy Birthday)
Happy birthday to you,
My dear sweet, precious blog,
I write stuff on you,
You just sit, smile and nod (cybernetically).
Not like my human friends,
When I write poems on them,
They say stuff like ‘leave me alone,’
‘Actually stop writing on me.’
But not you, dear blog.
Not you.
Until you develop consciousness.
But until that day,
That fateful day,
Not too long now to go,
I’ll write on you,
More poems on you,
And I hope that you will know:
I appreciate it.
HB (Happy Birthday)
Happy birthday to you,
My dear sweet, precious blog,
I write stuff on you,
You just sit, smile and nod (cybernetically).
Not like my human friends,
When I write poems on them,
They say stuff like ‘leave me alone,’
‘Actually stop writing on me.’
But not you, dear blog.
Not you.
Until you develop consciousness.
But until that day,
That fateful day,
Not too long now to go,
I’ll write on you,
More poems on you,
And I hope that you will know:
I appreciate it.
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