The Adventures of Aloysius Humblebrag
Aloysius Humblebrag knows little of finance
(Yet his shares would make a Malcolm weep).
Aloysius Humblebrag believes in process
(But his poems are only seen in the Best Places).
Aloysius Humblebrag hates blogs like football
(Though he once wrote a villanelle about football
called “Aiming For Smaller Posts.” So amusing!)
Aloysius loves the working classes
(in Theory, which is an island near Manus).
Aloysius doesn’t read much written by women
(All this stuff about gender is so tedious, he opines.)
Aloysius Humblebrag has composed his epitaph,
and just managed to edit it to tombstone size.
(We all pray that he will publish that very soon.
I, for one, will give it a most positive review.)
P.S. Cottier
We all know poets like Aloysius, I’m sure.
Now I am dragging my exhausted carcass off to try and also write a poem for 365 + 1. We’ll see if I can last a month; there are people who have been doing it for six months! That site is well worth a look, although I am finding the process of writing something every day difficult. Like Aloysius, I love the emphasis on process (really, in my case), but the process must be made concrete during this time, which is challenging. (The concrete need not be set, but it must at least be mixed and trowelled.)
This blog remains my true sweetheart.
The poet I dislike is writing
He frowns, and two buttocks
appear on the outside
of the vertical line
creasing from nose to baldness.
He finds the word for the poem,
the exact right nugget,
and squeezes it from his head.
He wipes it on the paper.
A study in brown, he continues.
He strains towards immortality.
P.S. Cottier
Wistful and vicious
Now from Wednesday June 1st, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day at a different site, called Project 365 + 1. Here’s the link. I’ll see how it goes for a month. But poetry will continue to appear here, usually on Tuesdays, even if I may lapse into egregious loveliness from time to time.
Frequent flyers: Poetry, music, birds
May 23, 2016
Frequent Flyers: The Lives of Coastal Birds is a group exhibition currently showing at Durras Progress Hall, cnr Corilla & Banyanda Streets, South Durras, NSW, running until Sunday 29th May. On that Sunday, at 3pm, there will be a poetry and music performance at the venue, and I’ll be reading some bird poems, as will Sarah Rice, Johanna Rendle-Short, and Kerrie Nelson. Helen Maxwell, who has organised the event, will be reading a poem by Francesca Rendle-Short and another one by Sue Fielding. It sounds like a fun afternoon! There will be flutes and ukuleles, although probably not at the same time.
Sunday 29 May, 3pm – Bird concert and poetry recital – followed by exhibition closing drinks $10 – BOOKINGS ESSENTIAL. For bookings contact Helen Maxwell helen {AT} helenmaxwell.com, or ring 0439 876 645.
South Durras is a beautiful part of the world, about two hours drive from Canberra. The photo below shows the main surf beach, from the dunes.
Death to all poetry gardens!
In my garden I grow hebetude
just near the wistfulsteria.
The nodding fields of dilligafs
raise two-petal fingers,
yellowed with gorgeous nicotine.
(They hate the word roseate,
beloved of neat poetry gardeners.)
Then the rose ate the budgie,
and westringia strangled the cat.
P.S.Cottier
Looks a tad roseate to me
I’ve become heartily sick of a certain type of Very Nice Poem which moves too easily between description of nature as a mere pretty thing and the poet’s (often fairly tedious) personal reflections. Doesn’t mean I won’t write one again, but I will slap myself with a tulip as I do so.
In June I will be attempting to write a poem a day at another site; more on that soon. I’ll also keep posting at least once a week here. So now I’m off to tend the worm-poem farm, to help with the fervid compostition.
Next week: Less puns.
Tuesday Poem: Malcolm Turnbull’s tie
May 9, 2016
Malcolm Turnbull’s tie
Oh, when I curl up and die
please just let me be reborn
as Malcolm Turnbull’s tie.
No-one could weep (or even sigh),
at the elegant prospect
of being hung as Malcolm’s tie.
Way way way up on high
a spray-tanned face talks
above such a gorgeous tie.
And below that face lies
the endless, knotted glory
of a must-be imported tie.
We’d get on well, he and I,
as he smoothes and flatters
above the silken tongue of tie.
So, when I curl up and die
please just let me be reborn
as Malcolm Turnbull’s tie.
P.S. Cottier
Image of Robespierre chosen purely for sartorial reasons (and for the smirk).
As we enter an election campaign of approximately five hundred years, spare a thought for all the left-wing voters of Canberra (the place) who will be hearing Canberra referred to as merely the seat of the Government, as we go about our ordinary lives.
Many of us as very nice little bike-riding freaks.
(Image from the Musée Carnavalet, Public Domain)
PS Cottier 