Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Poetry Bus Poem.
The Bus is brim full of diesel and heading out around the world.It's already in Scotland over at Rachel Fox's blog http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RamblingWithRachelFox/~3/pYokpYZ91ng/poetry-bus-poetry-bus-where-are-you.html
Get theeover to there and see the passengers and a link to this weeks challenge, set by Foxo herself, join in why doncha? The departure date is Monday but you can get aboard anytime before then(or even after) It's that kind of a bus,with a timetable from heaven.
Basically we have to choose a (favourite) word and use that for the start/basis of the poem.But that's just a guideline , you have the baton, run with it ,write anything ye like about anything ye like. JUST WRITE!
I don't have a favourite word so I waited for one to drop from the sky.And one bounced out of the poet Paul Muldoon's mouth into Niamh B's ear and onto her blog and into my poem.The word is 'guddle' which apparently is what you do when you tickle a fish to catch it.
The Beautiful South
Guddle me fuddle
We’re all in a muddle
Whispering wound and a blood ,e blood ,e blood.
And a say nothing and a nothing is silence,
And no silence is golden,
And pieces of silver go clink, a-clink ,a-clinkety, clink.
Then lick , a-lick, a lickety-lick the wounds
Clean as a whistle blower blow, a-blow, a-blowing.
What, oh what, are we showing?
A terrible racket
This poetry business.