Love/Hate with Poetry

I wrote a post on how I worry about writ­ing poetry but I canned it. Let the work speak, or at least death rattle, for itself: Lies our body tells us.

The gist of the post was that I worry about put­ting too much of myself in my writ­ing or giv­ing too much away about my thoughts and feel­ings. I’m much more com­fort­able with light-hearted tales of frivolity.

That’s all.

No wait it totally isn’t! I’ve been going through the site adding header images cus­tom­ised for indi­vidual pages. The image at the top here should now be a charm­ing, hand-drawn title. So far, everything under the ‘Humour’ drop­down has its own header image. More to come!

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See how the metaphor continues in the title?

The descrip­tion for the page was bet­ter, so I’ll copy it for the post because that’s what shows up in Face­book. Don’t know what that means? Edu­cate yourself!

This poem has the word blood in and talks about life in a shal­low way thus it should be sung over bad gui­tar music and pos­sibly screamed into a micro­phone, but I don’t have those things so here it is as black text on a white back­ground. That’s almost as good, right?

Wait, I haven’t linked the poem yet. What should I title the poem, please?

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A Beautiful Collection of Summer Songs

I wrote these Sum­mer Songs (not really songs) sat on a hot bus, and I feel they per­fectly cap­ture the feel­ing of Bri­tain in the sum­mer of 2012, which las­ted from May 24th to May 26th.

In a year when the Dia­mond Jubilee and the Olympics are tak­ing place, the spirit of cel­eb­ra­tion and togeth­er­ness per­meates every dis­tinct layer of our society.

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This Is How I Want To Live

I spoke to a real live poet once who made a liv­ing off pub­lish­ing things. He said that he actu­ally wanted to write nov­els and short stor­ies, but star­ted writ­ing poetry because it was easy. With that in mind, I hammered out Out In Space over lunch­time. Now to start liv­ing off the rev­enue that will surely pour in.

Addi­tion­ally, I found out last night that some people have orna­mental sinks. They look exactly like sinks except that after you’ve used them, some­body tells you that the drain is filled in and the con­tents aren’t going to dis­ap­pear down the plughole.

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And Here We Deviate From the Heroic Epic

It turns out that the Sailor is no Odys­seus after all in The Sailor’s Tale: Chapter Five — The Tower.

If I ever do a fully reworked ver­sion of this, I will write sec­tions like this to be longer, better-paced and more subtle. As it is, I’m post­ing it in a form very sim­ilar to the ori­ginal, which was writ­ten by a twenty-year-old and shows.

Not that twenty-year-olds can’t do all those things already, of course. It’s just that I didn’t. Maybe the twenty-year-olds of today do all those things reg­u­larly, between three square meals and plenty of exer­cise. This last para­graph is just a des­per­ate attempt to win back the twenty-year-old demo­graphic which I have come to rely upon for the suc­cess of this blog.

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The Driver and Good News!

Well, news at least. Pos­sibly not even that. All I can really be sure of is that The Driver is now avail­able in the poetry sec­tion, and even that may change. All things are in a con­stant state of flux, you see.

The news that may not be news (we’re into quantum-reporting here) is that Fin­ger­words now has a twit­ter account. You can fol­low @Fingerwords on Twit­ter right now to keep up to date with all the latest Schroedinger’s News. I should men­tion this is thanks to a kind Amer­ican woman giv­ing up the name.

If that doesn’t sound appeal­ing then there’s also the Fin­ger­words Face­book Page which you can ‘Like’. That will res­ult in updates from that page appear­ing in your news feed. The same thing hap­pens if you click the ‘Like’ but­ton on the right of this page.

You can also sub­scribe to email updates on the right (though cer­tain overzeal­ous spam fil­ters are delet­ing them) or use the Fin­ger­words RSS feed.

The num­ber of ways of keep­ing up to date with this blog now rivals the amount of con­tent on it.

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My Own Contribution to that Friday Feeling

I see this poem as the cap­tur­ing of the thoughts and feel­ings that must surely flow around the world every Friday.

This is a prime example of how two people can see the same thing and have hugely dif­fer­ent ideas about it. Rebecca Black and I both looked at Fri­day, and where as she cre­ated a ter­rible pop song cel­eb­rat­ing it, I wrote a poem titled TGIF.

I don’t neces­sar­ily think that either one is bet­ter than the other; they are just very different.

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