My nayme is bird
And wen it’s Yule
And Swedish snow
Lies cold and cruel
I look for seeds
With many friends
But food is scarce
Where flock descends
But then we hear
Of ancient rite
We leave the trees
We all take flight
If fire not
Its end promote?
We do the deed.
We eat the goat.
Tags:
#Gävlebocken #poetry #i lik the bred meme #Christmas #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
My naym is pome / and lo my form is fix’d
Tho peepel say / that structure is a jail
I am my best / when formats are not mix’d
Wen poits play / subversions often fail
Stik out their toung / to rebel with no cause
At ruls and norms / In ignorance they call:
My words are free / Defying lit’rate laws
To lik the forms / brings ruin on us all
A sonnet I / the noblest lit’rate verse
And ruls me bind / to paths that Shakespeare paved
Iambic fot / allusions well dispersed
On my behind / I stately sit and wave
You think me tame /
Fenced-in and penned / bespelled
I bide my time /
I twist the end / like hell
* “lik” should be read as “lick”, not “like”. In general, the initial section on each line should be read sort of phonetically.
Written for World Poetry Day, March 21, 2018. When I had this idea earlier today, I thought it was the worst, most faux hip pretentious idea for a shallow demonstration of empty wordsmithing skill in poetry ever. So I had to try to write it. I mean, how often do you get to fuse the iambic dimeter of bredlik – one of the newest and most exciting verse forms – with the stately iambic pentameter of the classic sonnet?
I picked up a worm, and it wrote something in my hand with a tiny pencil. Unfortunately it was too small to read. An autograph? A spell? An angry note?
Ooh! Thank you for this valuable contribution to the field of worm linguistics and/or art. It is still unclear to me if it’s meant as a rude message to me, if it’s just putting its tag there, or something else. Further research is needed!
I think the idea of it being a penis is anthropomorphism. I mean, the worm doesn’t have a penis itself, nor proper eyes with which to see one. No, I’m afraid this is something far more interesting: a self-portrait. You have been touched by an aesthetic annelid, and now your life will never be the same.
Brinens and Things 