Poetry #too.

 

Good to see I've corrupted you, Rust! (Pun pardoned, I hope)  You've got a great feel for rhythm and rhyme - both are qualities that tend to be viewed with caution by a lot of contemporary poets, alas. You ought to check out the sort of thing that's been inspiring my work of late if you like what I'm doing. See if you can find any work by Tristan Tzara or Richard Huelsenbeck. I'd also recommend you find some of Olchar E. Lindsann's work (he's a poet and performance artist I've been collaborating with a great deal recently) but it's not too easy to find online.

 

As for meaning and messages... sometimes they happen, sometimes not. Normally only with my short stories - I can't help but seem to make some sort of loose point when I start chucking characters and situations around. My poetry is really just for sounds and amusement. A Society Function does have a theme of sorts, i.e. food and drink, but it's really just being used as a springboard for words and ideas. Mind you, I've nothing against poetry with ideas... as long as it's good.

 

I'll have to listen to more latter KC stuff, I don't know the song your talking about.

 

 

 

 

Wonderful rythm and it would make a great song.

 

Was there an overall message or reason for any of the things you did in your poem?

 

Now the threads are side by side and you (and others) may check how much you have evolved since then...

I just wrote this on the spot, I'm trying to somewhat immatate the poetry during Hawkwind's Space Ritual album. I guess I could use more practice.

 

Twenty days to a year, plus the nineteen fifty's fear.

Grimly sailing, as your maker steals weapons and gear.

Sirens to call you ship to a stall,

Capture, crusade, invade,

To afraid to defend the raid.

To tall together, must surrender to the better.

Electronic letter predicting laser weather.

 

Alien tentacle, evolution's pinnacle.

Sense of humor sours a drippy dipping hole.

Sharp end pole, life stole, to prevent growing old.

Ruthless brutes, tales tell of shuttles that shoot.

They grab a hold of a race occupying gold.

Sticky mold is their weapen of choice.

Sell a seller, buy his teller, it's all fortold by Helter Skelter.

 

Space is deep,

Canible vines defy time, devouring worshipers of the shrine.

Rocks full of jagged teeth ocupied by helpless victims.

Showing symptoms of the plague,

Collapse by the end of the day.

Sticky jungles crawl on your flesh as you decay.

Infestation has no patience for desolate stations.

This is about a squirrel getting food before he dies.

 

Furry puffy tail, slimy snail squirrell,
Open shut a nut for that wrapped present pearl.

Swirl as you chew, average acorn but new.

Curled claws penetrate your pecan stew.

Swallow a few, follow the trail for another or two.

Big game, food's tame. It's a shame you can't share your fame.

Munch, catch a cocunut crunch. Grab a bunch for a late night lunch.

Or, on the rush take as much grunge, porcupine needle punch.

Hibernate when it's cold the most,

High pitched paint on your white fence post.

Scurry to bury your food in a hurry.

He won't worry, cars cant hurt.

Long lawn grass to gaze, before graves graze your crackling mange.

Leafless tree, means time to sleep.

Food he keeps, his storage stays steep.