here's a little excercise i tried a couple of years ago that i just rediscovered. it's called a sestina, and normally it is a form which is artificial and hard to master. i tried to do one using the most un-poetic words i could find...
writers? wankers!
a sestina is bogus
only ponces like sonnets
haikus are for hippies
tripping on zen grass
rod mckuen can kiss my ass
all poets are wankers
forms are for wankers
who's creativity is bogus
i use poetry books to wipe my ass
geriatric people write sonnets
whilst tanning in tall grass
they all once were hippies
writing by old hippies
is rhetoric from new-age wankers
smoked up with sweet grass
so easily termed 'bogus'
many love sick sonnets
are wafted from one lonely ass
heaney was one such stuffy ass
with irish sorrow like sad hippies
writers said he was good at sonnets
but they were all tosspots and wankers
a nobel laureate is decidedly bogus
when a poem is bare toes in tall grass
i've stared at clouds and slept on grass
trekked up mountains on the back of an ass
but feelgood platitudes make poetry bogus
like a cliche mantra of throwback hippies
poetic sentiments that belch from wankers
are best in greeting cards and sonnets
some think poetry is best placed in sonnets
nestled in meadow green grass
prompting pure emotions from smug wankers
or a pose from a playboy-perfect ass
but it's all cliches from hippies
making all such forms bogus
any poetic wankers can sit on their ass
smoke grass like hippies
and write sestinas and sonnets as poems, bogus.
24/7/02
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