Voices
Been a while since I posted. Time for a poem, I think.
Voices
I have some voices in my head
That tell me what to do.
Their names are Jub, and Flib, and Xed,
There’s Grimp and Weeble, too.
One day the voices said to me,
“Hey Johnny, listen close,
You have to make a cup of tea,
And then some buttered toast”.
So off I went to make my drink,
Obedient and dumb,
I never even stopped to think
What harm to me might come.
But ‘cos the tea had been so nice,
The voices gained my trust.
Each day I’d hear from them twice,
Did what they said I must.
But then one fateful day, they said,
“Hey Johnny, listen here:
You must shoot someone in the head,
And we’ll give you some beer.”
I found a gun with perfect ease.
And then a victim, too.
I gave the trigger such a squeeze
It turned my fingers blue.
The fellow’s brains went everywhere,
The room was red as hell.
The took me into special care -
A private padded cell.
Now you might ask me if I rue
The mess that got me here.
And I would say, “Of course I do -
I never got the beer!”
© John Appleton 2010
Edinburgh Fringe 2009
Finally, after ten years of saying, “We have to do Edinburgh Fringe this year,” Nigel and I have finally managed to get there for more than 24 hours. We’ve taken in eight comedy shows, a concert, a poetry reading and a ghost tour. Among the artists we’ve seen have been the Tiger Lillies, Reginald D. Hunter, Rich Hall, Al Murray, Paul Merton and Frank Skinner.
As for the Fringe as a whole, I’ve been very impressed with it. There is so much there to see in all spheres of performance art. Comedy is the main thing, but there is also much in the way of drama (which I might have liked to see more of, had I had the time), music, dance and a little poetry, as aforementioned.
For an event that prides itself on being the world’s biggest arts festival, it would be easy to think that it might be terribly commercialised, with organisers charging top dollar (or pound) for everything. And it is, certainly very commercialised, but affordable nonetheless. The “affordable” tag in this case is used in its most literal sense. After all, anyone can afford free shows (presuming costs of travel and accommodation in Edinburgh can be met). It’s just a shame that the free shows (and possibly the shows dubbed “The £5 Fringe”) are not covered in the main festival events guide. I just hope this isn’t some snobbery on the part of the Fringe organisers.
I would like to take a show up there one day, but such a thing’s a long way away at the moment.
The Zombie King
I’m quite liking the sestina verse form – the same six words (or syllables) are used, in a specific pattern, to end the lines of each stanza, and also have a specific placing in the envoi. It’s like poetic sudoku. Here’s a vague attempt…
The Zombie King
It was a dark and stormy night,
And shuffling in his earthy grave,
The figure of the Zombie King
Was baying for a feast of blood.
The Grand High Priest of all the dead
Would soon arise to seek his prey.
‘Twas weeks since last he’d taken prey;
At last, a storm had come that night.
The wet ground stirred the Evil Dead,
and made them restless in the grave.
And one was hungry for some blood:
It was, of course, the Zombie King.
And on the prowl, the Zombie King
At last had spotted tasty prey.
A pure soul, whose virgin blood
Would be a feast to make his night.
The girl stood by her father’s grave,
And cried, and wished he wasn’t dead.
But now the Lord of all Undead,
The evil, mindless Zombie King,
Crept silently toward the grave,
With eyes set firmly on his prey.
It was to be her final night;
He licked his lips: at last, some blood!
He pounced on her, it chilled her blood.
Her screams amused the living dead,
Whose laughter echoed through the night.
And while she lay there, panicking,
She had one choice: to hope and pray
She wouldn’t die on Daddy’s grave.
He pinned his victim to the grave,
With yellow fangs he drew her blood.
A tasty meal, his virgin prey,
And soon the hapless girl was dead.
A triumph for the Zombie King,
Upon that dark and stormy night.
Back in the grave, the Evil Dead
Were drunk on blood, and hailed their King,
And prayed for more another night.
© John Appleton 2009
Loverse
Inspired somewhat by Stephen Fry in The Ode Less Travelled, when he was discussing the way certain things can rhyme conceptually (like death and winter, lovely imagery there).
Loverse
Do we rhyme, dear, dear,
Do we rhyme, you and me?
Do we form rhyming couplets
In a pretty melody?
Or alliterate, dear,
Or alliterate, we?
Can our consonants comprise
Total tongue-twistery?
Are we feet, dear, dear,
An iamb, or trochee?
Do we make up a dactyl,
Or a pounding spondee?
Are we verse, dear, dear,
Are we fine poetry?
Do our hearts beat in rhythm
When we kiss, you and me?
Yes they do, dear, dear,
‘Cos I love you, you see
And they’ll both beat in rhythm
As long as you love me.
© John Appleton 2009
