Tag: free verse

That was a woman

The other day I saw a woman in an omnibus
open a satchel and take out a purse,
close the satchel and open the purse,
take out a penny and close the purse,
open the satchel and put in the purse.

Then she gave the penny to the conductor
and took a halfpenny in exchange.

Then she opened the satchel and took out the purse,
closed the satchel and opened the purse,
put in the halfpenny and closed the purse,
opened the satchel and put in the purse,
closed the satchel and locked both ends.

Then she felt to see
if her back hair was all right,
and it was all right,
and she was all right.

From The Windsor Magazine, November 1907, via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Smells Like Team Spirit

1
Mountains are the earth’s muscles.
If your lady friends ever summit
the actual Matterhorn, they’ll think,
“This mountain smells just like
(insert your name)’s armpit.”

2
Is there a better image

than one of those landlords
that live in outer space

and never just “stops by”
to make sure the refrigerator
has been cleaned?

It’s a rhetorical question.

3
You can send your armpits
to where they will smell
like palm trees and sunshine,

the exotic islands of Fiji
walking off into the sunset
with live Komodo shoes.

4
While other men
may choose

to transport
themselves
via minivans, bikes
or filthy taxis,

you choose
to turn invisible,

both hands
raised triumphantly
in the air.

Compiled from phrases found on the Old Spice website. Submitted by Howie Good.

Swiftly

I am going to be a bit of a crush on you
and your lovely email address and
password for the first time today
and get a different thing to do it
for you to the gin bar in the UK who
are you a call on the anti-Russia
LGBT backlash the UK and Ireland
and the other day and night and
I am a beautiful person to person
who is the best address to to
the café now and then you came to
the the the the the the the
the the the the the the the
the the the the the the the

Text created by accepting all the predictive text suggestions made by the Swiftkey typing app, 11th August 2013. Submitted by Marika Rose.

Deep Blue

To my shame, I prefer playing chess
against a computer than a human opponent.
It’s less risky. There is no shame
in defeat. Cheating is not unethical.
Attention to it can be sporadic.
You can simply suspend
a game or start over if
you think you are going to lose.
Even when I am beaten soundly by
a computer opponent, I don’t feel
outwitted; instead I take away a
feeling that my thinking has not become
sufficiently machine-like to compete,
which is more reassuring than anything else.
I get the gratifying feeling
that being lousy at chess is
a mark of my indelible humanity.
This despite the fact that I
am playing computer chess because
I can’t bear the pressure of human interaction.

Taken from En Passant, a blog post published by The New Enquiry, 27th July 2013. Submitted by Marika.

Forty miles

Christ I remember this.
I was living in Leeds
And had the tidiest girlfriend
In York you could imagine.

I used to wake up
On Friday mornings
And put this on;
I was only forty miles away.

What days.
What beautiful proof of God she was.
Beautiful, smiley,
Shapely beauty.

I’ll never forget.

Comment on Youtube video 40 miles by Congress. Submitted by Ben Mellor.

The year of living (dangerously)

It was the year I came out
and had a fling with a gay Maori
the year a friend nearly died of Guillain barre syndrome
the year I met a man who had
a decidedly unsavoury relationship with his dog
the year I saw waterfalls streaming down the sides of Uluru
the year I had a fight with a wild kangaroo
over a $1 box of out of date Pokemon cereal
the year two of my best friends had their lesbian wedding
the year I tried special K (nudge nudge wink wink)
provided by a Welsh drug dealer called Elfed
the year I travelled around with friends in a van
(named bubbles after a local drag queen at the Imperial Hotel
the starting point of Priscilla queen of the desert)
It was all madness but pure gold
Everyone should keep a journal
I’d like to turn it into a book
but no one would believe me

(From comments under Why you really should keep a journal. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi)

What Goes Wrong With Poems

Tom once told me
a poem had to capture
his attention
in the first four lines.

Or perhaps it wasn’t four.
Perhaps it was within
the first twenty words.
Or perhaps I can’t remember
precisely what he said
and am wilfully recreating
the memory.

But I am sure he spoke
about our shared expectation
that poetry (Poetry),
that finest form of writing,

should do something
dynamic early on.

(From What goes wrong with poems. Submitted by Angi Holden)