Sam Miguel Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 I invented Neo-Extreme Poetry several years ago, and am the only writer of its kind in Britain today. I am aiming to get a publishable collection together and would welcome any comments. Here are a couple to start off with. The Awakening. O lonely owl O boistrous goat 'neath thine eyes the dripping throat ...of time the bloodstained snarling clock deranged and dizzy crows the ****. Gerbils Gerbils tumbling like water into the void of space so distant ...so silent drawn towards a distant star far ...far away. Gerbils sipping ice-cold drinks by a pool on the edge of time itself fading ...fading so fast. Into a distant Galaxy so bright ...so light and Gerbils eat their sandwiches peacefully. I wish I was a Gerbil. What do you reckon to them? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tango2 Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 How about this sam, Hearts and flowers, roses,thorns. Soft as silk,springtime fawns Waterfalls,dew drops, everything. autum,winter awaiting spring. Sharpened silver, death and life, tears of salt, golden knife. not quite as extreme but not bad me thinks Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sam Miguel Posted February 7, 2004 Author Share Posted February 7, 2004 Ah, now we're talking! That's an excellent example of neo-seventies bubble-stop verse. Just the right amount of superlative syntax - and it scans beautifully well. However, I would be tempted to include the definite article at the beginning of the last line in the final stanza, just to 'bend the words around the corner', so to speak. Yes, very nice. This is one I wrote for my wife before we were married. It is now a proud part of my Long-Late-Autumn Collection of 1984. Suenos (Dreams) Paper, please! - my friend so small Your brother's grubby and he's tall He's signed his cheese-pot Smoked his wheels And gargled gladly with his peas. So listen , friend, to me take note Don't turn this way - don't let life float Splice the mildew Quake your beak And thread your truffles once a week. It still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end after all these years. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tango2 Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 Oh Sam my man,that is just pure class. You must give me some pointers. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sam Miguel Posted February 7, 2004 Author Share Posted February 7, 2004 Well, thank you kindly, Tango. I feel belittled by your sympaticality. I would suggest to you, as I do all my students, that you amble around Fargate one Sunday afternoon until you see what you are looking for. Just smell those colours around you, you'll see what I mean when you get there. Make many notes with words in your mind and then, after numerous hours of ambling, when you are once more in your abode, transfer them to paper and make them sing, and sing out loud! Make them tell the eternal story. Make them shout at the buildings and trees. But most of all, make them caress the very crust of life itself. Ah, I can hear a rainbow! I am off down to Fargate now to conjure up some more work. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
max Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 Seeing the title of this thread I assumed the poetry was composed under extreme conditions, in a similar way to extreme ironing. For instance, jumping out of an aeroplane and before the parachute opens: Don't push The light, so much The ground, so close My house, so near This cord, my lifeline Safe at last Or swimming with sharks: Fish Why me Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tango2 Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 Noooooooo,Sam its only saturdayand its very windy. Gusts aloft,sucking the life from the skies and grasping to the trees. Clawing at our every sense,kneading the air around us with blustery fingers and blowing arms. Though deprived of pleasure it carries on,it stays the king of light and natures charms. So dont go out its windy Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sam Miguel Posted February 7, 2004 Author Share Posted February 7, 2004 Heed, I do your warning, Tango. Thoughtful, indeed it was of you to remind me of the gusty conditions on the other side of my meagre walls. O to be home! But, alas! I did manage to conjure up a draft of something which I believe in all seriosity will eventualiate into an important piece of contempory prose. It is, I announce, beneath. Untitled So very much I gazed that sky brusque dragons blinded ghostly scene whilst bathed in moonshine - flakes burn dry so very much that filfth washed clean. So hardly ever shoals glide free 'pon and through life's briny soup tragic, logic, darkness be so hardly ever swims the loop. Not ever was that swirling mist that spiralled deftly t'wards thy door took heed of life's clenched ugly fist not ever was the grimy floor. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sidla Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 I had a vision of extreme poetry being similar to extreme ironing before I opened this thread. I'm dissapointed. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tango2 Posted February 7, 2004 Share Posted February 7, 2004 Glad it was of some help to you sam,I like to warn people when the weather is in anticipation of being slight of brisk. I did,however fail to inform you of, Swirling demons,grasping out towards our very inner selfness clawing inwardly at your soul. Heartless manifestations,wreeping your fruits of conciousness your minds eye be their goal. Salvation be thy only dream,wishing,wanting,loathing seek out your desire Though walking on to lower plinth searching,earthen folds hearts of wind and breath of frozen fire. Moral,dont forget your brolley. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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