Everyone else's less wonderful poetry thread

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
Can someone explain to me how this got published by Faber?

here's a plastic basket of polyester tulips
plus a heart-shaped card that sings I LOVE YOU
don't recycle them please
be happy with my pound-store presents

I stink I'm pretty sweaty I've been walking
the whole damp night to get here
let me curl around your converse cat-like
and dream of our cherry-days

maybe I could put my head still burning
from the memory of your hubba bubba kisses
onto your broad chest just till I feel a bit better
perhaps grab some shut-eye while you doze off
 

luka

Well-known member
the wider issue is that very few people in the world have a sense of what poetry is or might be.
so you have this kind of vague sentimental dithering taking its place
 

luka

Well-known member
note how flat it is tonally. what is said is so mundane that theres no force, no pressure, to twist and buckle
the language, this is for a number of reasons, partly of course becasue no one has emotions any more
 

luka

Well-known member
Write a poem like the ones in Faber books. Get it printed in the Observer.
Ventriloquism. The tone of voice. Insipid. Neurasthenic. Faintly irritable.
MAKE A NAME FOR YOURSELF.
Begin by talking about poem-
The poem is
A cereal box, out of which, one might pull
A small, plastic toy.
Feel pleased with oneself, sip lemsip.
EKE OUT SLIGHT THEME,
A few lines, don’t try their patience.
End on deflated note,
Parp!
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
It needs to be a sort of wry observation about middle-class life, surely.

My tousled haired son said daddy are you on tik tok?
I looked askance at the ticking tocking grandfather clock
Inherited from Father, still got boxes in the loft
Of his long forgotten stuff, one day I shall hand it on
To my mobile-minded offspring who'll probably sell it
On eBay the next day
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
I see though that being incomprehensible is a sort of middle finger to the banality of the approachable 'thought for the day' style poems Faber apparently now publish.
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
When I read that
Write a poem like the ones in Faber books. Get it printed in the Observer.
Ventriloquism. The tone of voice. Insipid. Neurasthenic. Faintly irritable.
MAKE A NAME FOR YOURSELF.
Begin by talking about poem-
The poem is
A cereal box, out of which, one might pull
A small, plastic toy.

Feel pleased with oneself, sip lemsip.
EKE OUT SLIGHT THEME,
A few lines, don’t try their patience.
End on deflated note,
Parp!
OH I SEE IT'S THIS ONE

Yes this is good, I can see why they didn't like it though.
 

woops

is not like other people
It needs to be a sort of wry observation about middle-class life, surely.

My tousled haired son said daddy are you on tik tok?
I looked askance at the ticking tocking grandfather clock
Inherited from Father, still got boxes in the loft
Of his long forgotten stuff, one day I shall hand it on
To my mobile-minded offspring who'll probably sell it
On eBay the next day
much better than the parody you are parodying
 

craner

Beast of Burden
It needs to be a sort of wry observation about middle-class life, surely.

My tousled haired son said daddy are you on tik tok?
I looked askance at the ticking tocking grandfather clock
Inherited from Father, still got boxes in the loft
Of his long forgotten stuff, one day I shall hand it on
To my mobile-minded offspring who'll probably sell it
On eBay the next day

That sounds like Frank O Hara. The Faber house style is nowhere near as good as that.
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
Remember when I bought that book of poems about Greenfell and Luka laughed at me?

I should write a poem about it
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
IN FUCKING CORNWALL

Nobody surely can dislike Cornwall
or think it a bad place, at all, to fuck.
I went there with a wife and toddler
and had the small child in the room all night
snoring delicately in a travel cot
and, cautious, did no fucking, so am plainly
envious of those who have a lot
of carefree fucking to get out of the way
before they can leave Cornwall and continue
to fuck at home, wherever that may be.
 

woops

is not like other people
IN FUCKING CORNWALL

Nobody surely can dislike Cornwall
or think it a bad place, at all, to fuck.
I went there with a wife and toddler
and had the small child in the room all night
snoring delicately in a travel cot
and, cautious, did no fucking, so am plainly
envious of those who have a lot
of carefree fucking to get out of the way
before they can leave Cornwall and continue
to fuck at home, wherever that may be.
see @catalog @poetix is much closer to the late larkin than @luke could or ever will be
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
note how flat it is tonally. what is said is so mundane that theres no force, no pressure, to twist and buckle
the language, this is for a number of reasons, partly of course becasue no one has emotions any more
I agree with all this of course hence my confusion about it being published.

Presumably someone clever and passionate about poetry had their reasons for publishing it, though.

Or do I presume too much?
 
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