Poetry, Polemic
Fried mushrooms and whole tomatoes are obscenely tasty. And scrambled eggs aren’t as disgusting as I thought they would be. I have a new favourite breakfast.
And getting an H1 in Creative Writing will require some kind of tutor bribe. My best effort, an exquisitely wrought poem, deft, cynical, and erudite, only received an H3. I cannot describe how perfect this poem was. One of the stanzas was “However, soon we settled in, / and splintered off, each one alone. / I then got lost, to my chagrin, / in some imposing Post-Grad zone”. The next one was “I managed to escape there, though, / with cunning eye and First-Year wit. / I then went to a pub to grow / my drinking muscles, bit by bit.” A sublimer narrative has never graced Melburnian ears. And I only got an H3! Evidently the Antipodean taste is of sappy self-important free-verse depicting emetic Neighbours-esque scenes, manifested in laughably unsophisticated language with mind-bludgeoningly distorted Aussie vowels, coupled with Maccas stains on the manuscript and the satisfying knowledge that the author owns a panoply of fluero t-shirts. BLEH
Oh, and Lapsang Souchong tea is now a substitute for water.
Hey, I thought that was pretty darn clever. But then, there’s a reason why I’m not doing Creative Writing. 🙂
Aside from the fact that you admit to owning fluoro t-shirts (a sin in my book), hear-hear, that poem was marvelous! Sadly, it seems the person who marked your work appears to have no appreciation for talent like yours.
I never said that I have fluero t-shirts… I’m saying that the public here seems to like poems written by people who own lots of them.
I only wear fluero socks. They’re better for shuffling in.
Oh and thank you both for your appreciation. 🙂