Unsurprisingly, writing about poetry.
Blood, bones and feathers
Posted 03-12-2011 at 05:17 PM by Marnanel Thurman
Updated 03-12-2011 at 05:26 PM by Marnanel Thurman
Updated 03-12-2011 at 05:26 PM by Marnanel Thurman
I thought I'd write here about my long flirtation with poetry.
My parents, who both worked in London when I was a toddler, would leave me in the care of my grandfather, who would attempt to teach me reams of Scott to pass the time. Meet nurse for a poetic child.
When I grew a little older, perhaps five or so, I found a red school exercise book and entitled it "POEMS BY T. T." It contains entries such as:
What a flutter!
What a butter!
The jam is spreading on.
And Marmite too, and Marmite too.
We will eat it up. Yum yum.
When I was sixteen, I cycled past a dead bird on my road to school. I don't know why, but I decided to write a sonnet about it. So when I came home, I looked up the rules, sat down, and came up with this:
I saw upon the road to school today
Blood, bones and feathers on the tar.
Some little bird had flown down on the way...
And been squashed flat by some enormous car.
Charles Darwin tells us in his famous Theory
How birds and beasts adapt to suit their need,
A Camel in the desert is not weary,
Giraffes from trees as tall as houses feed.
So blackbirds, fearing danger from the sky,
From falcons, hawks and other birds of prey
Fly low in terror. That's the reason why
The car had hit the one I saw today.
So, soon will frightened country ones fly down,
And those that rise, be birds-about-the-town?
I have been practicing ever since; I hope I have improved a little. They do say you have to get a hundred thousand words out before you reach anything good.
Next time: publishing.
My parents, who both worked in London when I was a toddler, would leave me in the care of my grandfather, who would attempt to teach me reams of Scott to pass the time. Meet nurse for a poetic child.
When I grew a little older, perhaps five or so, I found a red school exercise book and entitled it "POEMS BY T. T." It contains entries such as:
What a flutter!
What a butter!
The jam is spreading on.
And Marmite too, and Marmite too.
We will eat it up. Yum yum.
When I was sixteen, I cycled past a dead bird on my road to school. I don't know why, but I decided to write a sonnet about it. So when I came home, I looked up the rules, sat down, and came up with this:
I saw upon the road to school today
Blood, bones and feathers on the tar.
Some little bird had flown down on the way...
And been squashed flat by some enormous car.
Charles Darwin tells us in his famous Theory
How birds and beasts adapt to suit their need,
A Camel in the desert is not weary,
Giraffes from trees as tall as houses feed.
So blackbirds, fearing danger from the sky,
From falcons, hawks and other birds of prey
Fly low in terror. That's the reason why
The car had hit the one I saw today.
So, soon will frightened country ones fly down,
And those that rise, be birds-about-the-town?
I have been practicing ever since; I hope I have improved a little. They do say you have to get a hundred thousand words out before you reach anything good.
Next time: publishing.
Total Comments 1
Comments
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Thank you, Thomas. Interesting topic.Posted 03-13-2011 at 02:12 PM by Ed Shacklee 
