A Collection of Poems

Tristan Tzara's Dadaist Poem style:

Notre Dame de Paris:

Paris, Phoebus, beheld this,
The poet became an architect.
Submerged, pagoda, on his knees,
A great needlework tapestry.
Magnificent, grooved, but little affected,
A tower of Babel

Trying the Jabberwocky style:

In the Land of Polswump

In the land of Polswump, where Praggledrats roam,

And Lolthy-lollies dance in the bluthering foam,

There lived a phlibbit named Bulumbum Bew,

With a wolky hat and took snurfeloo.

He skipped through the sunlight with a glummy-gloo,

Chasing the Praggledrats up in the tree,

Singing zing-zang-zong and a huggle-hoo,

Celladore howled to the moon’s soft bloo.

But one fateful day, in a blungling squall,

A Lolthy-lolly came to call,

With a snarl and a snort, it approached with glee,

Bulumbum trembled, oh how could it be?

With a kiddle and a friddle, he stood his ground,

And bravely fought with his Klound,

With a gark and a rark, the beast did flee,

Bulumbum saved the land of Polswump, you see.

Reflection:

This poem was kind of hard but not really. I couldn’t figure out a good way to just start writing, so I wrote a normal poem at first with normal names, verbs and adjectives, and then just started replacing them with what I felt was right. I then started to think about specific sounds that would indicate what a thing would be like - for example, lolthy-lolly sounds slippery, so I put that in instead of fish (though how a fish knocks on a door I have no idea). Snurfeloo stood for snuff since snuff sounded alike. Klound was a frying pan since frying pans make the klound sound when one strikes it. Well, in all, it was a fun activity but also challenging in the way that I had to think about the sounds and how my story would go.

Derived from the poem America by Allen Ginsberg.

History, You and Me

History, I’ve given you all and now I’m done.

Lost two dollars and twenty-seven cents on April 7th.

I can’t stand my own handwriting.

History, when will we end the strife?

Go talk to yourself with your Part C and Source questions.

I don’t feel Kennedy, don’t bother me.

I won’t write my Test till I’m on my right couch.

History, when will you be Wilson?

When will you Gorbachev?

When will you look at yourself through the Castro?

When will you be worthy of your million words?

History, why are your libraries full of Hitler?

History, when will you send your Ho Chi Minh to me?

I’m sick of your B’s.

When can I go into the Prague Spring and buy what I need with my notes?

History, after all, it is you and I who are bonded, not you and low marks.

Your Imre Nagy is too much for me.

You made me want to be a Truman.

There must be some other way to end this.

My friend is in custody, I don’t think she’ll come back, it’s

Because of you.

Are you being serious or is this some form of Ebert? I’m trying to come to Versailles.

I refuse to give up my hair.

History, stop pushing, I know what I’m writing.

History, the Little Boys and Fat Men are falling.

I haven’t read for months, every day somebody gets a full mark.

History, I feel sentimental about the sweet days we had before the tests.

History, I used to be a genius when I was a kid, I’m not

Dubček.

I kick in the rear every chance I get.

I sit on my couch for days on end and stare at the pieces of Brezhnev in

the closet.

When I go to the toilet, I get lost and never get found.

My mind is made up, there’s going to be a Mussolini.

You should have seen me reading some Eisenhower.

My Ngo Dinh Diem thinks I’m perfectly right.

I won’t say the right answer.

I have Rákosi and Nixon.

Nixon, I still haven’t told you what you did to Khrushchev after

he came over from Stalin.

I’m MacArthuring you.

Are you going to let your mind be run by Kim Il Sung?

I’m obsessed by night.

I read it every day.

Its cover stares at me every time I Syngman Ree.

I read it in the 38th Parallel of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

It’s always telling me about North and South. North and South are serious.

North and South are serious. Everybody’s serious but East and West.

It occurs to me that I am Clemenceau.

Flarf Poetry:
Stop and Pay Attention

Stop and pay attention -

This is indeed a gift from the angels.

If it is imminent danger information,

Act quickly. If it's a feeling, stop your……

"Kiss of death" means God Himself

took their souls instead of

Angel of Death.

The Talmud there says that 6 were not …

A state of unease or generalised

Dissatisfaction with life. The opposite of

Euphoria.

Examine where you are now.

Identify aspects you enjoy.

Change your perspective.

Identify your passions and talents.

Let curiosity lead you.

Embrace the unknown.

Wind is the movement of air caused by the

Uneven heating of the Earth by the sun and the

Earth’s rotation. It ranges from light

Breezes to natural hazards such as

Hurricanes and

Tornadoes.

Who saw the wind? Neither me nor you:

But when the leaves die trembling, The wind is cutting through.

Qui a vu le vent? Ni moi ni toi :

Mais quand les feuilles meurent en tremblant, le vent nous tue.

Priests perform sacred rituals and act as

Intermediaries between humans and other

Gods: they are experts in rituals and have special knowledge of

Worship techniques.