Post by spitjock on May 24, 2012 18:36:08 GMT -5
Hi,
I am neither poet, nor anything near. I do have a rather archaic slant to my prose style, and am somewhat prone to being over-wordy, and too lazy to look up correct synonyms for invented words. And I make horrid compound sentences and other glaring grammatical errors. On occasion, I do this knowingly.
I like how certain arrangements of words sit together, or how a phrase can roll off the tongue of the inner voice, but of poetry I know so little, save this: I am no poet.
Alarmingly however, frivolous bits of doggerel rhyme come to me unbidden. If they amuse me, I keep them. Here is one such, some thirty minutes work:
McGonagall's Travails
It irks me, if the truth be told,
How all these whining critics scold.
I would attest, were I so bold,
They could not tell horse dung from gold!
It pains me, as this new page turns,
My every line, the public spurns,
My fingers ache, my stomach churns,
Yet work I still, in shade of Burns!
Perhaps I lack some basic wit,
For I can make no sense of it,
The meter works, the rhymes all fit,
Yet none applaud my tale, now writ!
And so, gentle reader or harsh critic as you see fit, has anyone any remark to make, for good or ill? My original question still stands: Did I waste my time? Did I waste your time? I know I'm no John Hegley, but if this kind of thing is simply not welcome here, I'd appreciate someone letting me know.
I have posted other things, under the same name, of similar awfulness. Some deal with adult themes in puerile fashion, but I sincerely wish to offend no-one. So again please, if it's not welcome tell me so and I'll remove them.
Thank you for your time.
SpitJock
I am neither poet, nor anything near. I do have a rather archaic slant to my prose style, and am somewhat prone to being over-wordy, and too lazy to look up correct synonyms for invented words. And I make horrid compound sentences and other glaring grammatical errors. On occasion, I do this knowingly.
I like how certain arrangements of words sit together, or how a phrase can roll off the tongue of the inner voice, but of poetry I know so little, save this: I am no poet.
Alarmingly however, frivolous bits of doggerel rhyme come to me unbidden. If they amuse me, I keep them. Here is one such, some thirty minutes work:
McGonagall's Travails
It irks me, if the truth be told,
How all these whining critics scold.
I would attest, were I so bold,
They could not tell horse dung from gold!
It pains me, as this new page turns,
My every line, the public spurns,
My fingers ache, my stomach churns,
Yet work I still, in shade of Burns!
Perhaps I lack some basic wit,
For I can make no sense of it,
The meter works, the rhymes all fit,
Yet none applaud my tale, now writ!
And so, gentle reader or harsh critic as you see fit, has anyone any remark to make, for good or ill? My original question still stands: Did I waste my time? Did I waste your time? I know I'm no John Hegley, but if this kind of thing is simply not welcome here, I'd appreciate someone letting me know.
I have posted other things, under the same name, of similar awfulness. Some deal with adult themes in puerile fashion, but I sincerely wish to offend no-one. So again please, if it's not welcome tell me so and I'll remove them.
Thank you for your time.
SpitJock
