note: you may wish to skip this one - it is pretty stupid
This site is copyrighted by Terrell Neuage Hackham South Australia
"ANY HACK CAN DO THAT"
really don't you know
?
falling arms write
terrible
prose
look the way the world
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
makes no sense
sneezing pepparoni the maid carries the basket
open wind
ows
oh she is so
so is she oh
os si ehs ho
what a hoe
shaking in the wind
brreeeeze softly her kiss in the noon day dread
dream-my-dream-with-me
katherine in the shade
susan in the the trees
sandra on the rocks
beware of adjectives
what a wanker he is that writes that
coward on the run
chicken with the runs
i'd like to see his poems
little girly poems they'd be
dreaming of being an amerikkkan
scribbling he do nothing else
break me up dying laughingly
down is in the dawn-down
I I I I i'se going to fell free feel
don't need no poet wanker tellingmehowto write
standing/running/jumping/swinging
take-that-taker
shortfatbaldingrunningawayfreak.
"DO NOT BE COY, EVASIVE, OR SELF-CENSORING, AND DO NOT MAKE JUDGMENTS
ABOUT WHETHER 'they' WILL APPROVE IT"
WHETHER 'they' WILL APPROVE IT"
'they' WILL APPROVE IT"
WILL APPROVE IT"
APPROVE IT"
IT"
they
they
they
they
they
they
well see heer hear here
i would like
but
where are all the funny people
scratch scratch sniff and scratch
the chickens in the barnyard like poet-
professor scratching for
words in the heat hot oh subverting got to subvert 'how you write boy it ain't no ggod you got tl learn to
scribble throw
words at da page make no sense don't be beat jive
be subversive' like contemporary
american poets I am an american but not a poet
just a citizen who wants to write some poems
without being condemned for trying - what a wanker
Pass the tofu please.
i like a good sentence
in my poem
vegetarian poems
for the weak at mind
weak in mind
of mind what mind which mind the american mind
can smell a phony across the sea it don't
go away i better than he
him hi9m h3i4m 2h!im see how stupid
he would say...
9087230-9?mlzcpoi [k90_ n 2\
"now that is a line make sense to me" he write
letter like idiot like ass scratching all over like stupid I can't make out the
sentences - oh silly me maybe it is poetry it is not suppose to make
sense so he fail
me for making sense for reading what I write to know something
not known before
the purpose of poetry
to unsettle a stale mind show it something I tried
didn't succeed give me a real mind...
i don't care
i know i better than he
my girl friend says
"he's a wanker don't no
attention to that
he stupid mate"
I like austraaliaa no child live in poverty ever again here
the lucky country
america will laugh at him thinks
he is a pilgrim john smith or something going to teach the yanks how to write funny
funny it is isn't it? it is!
call him an ozzywanker
my children have no food
no poems
words falling on the floor swept up put in bag
stir-fry words force feed that to that wanker
idiot who thinks he knows poetry
yes that one falling
up
llllllllllllllllllleverything up
3 i090982 = TGB
we-2
now that is ggod poetry
rhym
i can't write like susan howe
yuck
i can't write like shake sphere
he dead
i can't write like trevor code
.
"LIKE BEANS IN A JAR, FOR EACH AND EVERY FACTOR,
THE THOUSANDS OF THEM, AND FURTHER THAN THAT,
IN SPLITTING OFF AND COPYING, CHROMOSOME AFTER CHROMOSOME-LIKE THREAD,
THE SYSTEM OR
PROCESS OR HAND OF GOD QUITE OFTEN GETS IT
WRONG OR THERE'S A FAULT
IN THE REPLICATION, AND IT TURNS OUT WHEN WE THING ABOUT
IT THAT IT'S BETTER. MUCH BETTER..."
wHaT?!
he says write differently
make no sense glad he is not running
the country the world doesn't need him no one needs him so he picks on
us intellectually starved
pass me some verbs
when I was in the South
they call me Yank
when I in austraaaliaa they call
me Yank
my son will play for the new york
yankees when
he grows
the point being
i had sex with pocahontas once never told anyone
saved it for this poem for history to judge put me on
the cover of one of those magazines at the end of the fruit and vegetable
line past the cupcakes
'failed poet has sex with pocahontas'
sometimes i feel but when the whales are about
never do
no what
is this
nothing here
matters
scratch
watch for making sense there
are poets around
put up the sign
"BEWARE POETS ABOUT
BE STUPID HERE"
|
my mother - the fake one - the one who tried to raise me - the first one the real one - i chased her away when i was 3 - she was only 19 like the pop song about some dude cacking it nam-69: i have nam-69 with my girl friend when the night turns cold - i go to sleep amidst mortar fire - before she died ten years in nursing home talking writing like susan howe made up words no one knew what she was saying her writing like chicken scratchings all over the page made up words. i should submit them "ohh these so good - they do things, nothing-things - subvert the language" sorry teach for making sense in my poem for writing stuff that has meaning - i'm not disjointed i have things to say i'm a hero-saint it says so on the internet and he is scared of the Internet - doesn't like the Internet - the Internet boggie is going to get him boo'. |
what a wanker
now we are cooking scrambling i take them all
watch for change
watching?
here we go!
catarrhal benzophenone hamamellidae pseudocoete qyudisa arencaceous
gomdfp
gpoi0er dopa;
ruoqpj[ tepajoijoe
zzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
MOVE OVER SUSIE
SAINT TERRELL IS NOW WRITING
australian poet-hero-saint
I will subvert my fine
poem for a moment. Subvert here. Clip. Cut here mate you are in Australia now. My son Sacha 15.
Tenth grade. Australia. The clever country - the President of
this island once said
so. "So" We've been all different since. This is copied from
his assignment for english he was
told to resubmit it. Gee just like dad
here is the
final few sentences - the first are too confusing - though he would call it poetry...
"...The door swungopen and she came stomping out screaming at it. "ungbuwungtoomingong" slap!! It smacked her across the face. "Shut up bitch I brought you a muthafucking burrito so chill dat shit." She snatched the burrito and ran back inside"
I said to Sacha
"good on ya -
my poetry teacher would love that it makes no sense and is basically
stupid go rewrite it". He was mad at me for a week for my reaction
I called him a Howe clone a Howe Clown a Howe clone clown with mad-clown-disease.
I know no I don't know.
I am missing the point the boat
the spacecraft I like to be
crucified again and again it feels so good. My girl friend says
yes it is sad he is dying being crucified and all but he is well hung isn't he?"
I like big words
americayankeeapple-pie deadmums make bad mothers
yankee doodle
dandy wrote a poem made sense teach failed him now he sings 'home on the range' in the outback cries all day his mother wanted
him to succeed she dead so long but she wades waits through weighed
words
wait!
"2. Doggerel,
jingle, or ballad material, like that mass
of amateur bush poetry, mainly written by city-dwelling hacks in the
period of late nineteenth century nationalism.
It's embarrassingly..."
when I was a child I thought
like a child now
that I am grown I have put away childish things because I
growing up is such an amateurish
sport when I walk the sky opens up
clouds spell my name
alone in the outback
my son yells
"go back to seaworld"
he says it all the time
saying it is better than my lines
he is 12
what does a 12 year old
woodchucks in the bush?
there is no way the tourists will climb out of their shadow
each species
dying one by one the poet
is next extinct poets what a relief
feed me differently who
what where when why the journalist so eerie fear feels good
embarrassingly so
showed his photo to my
12 year and said "this is the one who thinks my writing sucks" - he looks - laughs says
"he's ugly"
so poetic
words fall easily
from the young
so honest
stick up for dad
I stuck up for my mother so she left me doesn't
bother me. I'm a better mother than my mother
would ever have been.
humbly I seek perfection
decay I see all over near me I am so far away
I would heal the world
but why should I? People would still write poems.
luckie for him I am not angry to
night
writing these sentimental verses so
fine with beer and I
have had such a bad week.
my mother E-Mailed me once. 1952. I was five. "I am leaving in one hour for the motherland. I can't help you. When you grow up learn how to write poems. Watch out for short fat balding people who tell you your poems are beat that you don't know what to do with words - sorry I can't raise you son - I was hoping for a poet - you're going to be nothing but a wanker - living in austraaaliaaa - we don't need your type in our family. P.S put some flowers on my grave if you ever get back to the motherland. mom"
<p>
christians raised me.
from the dead
my father the fake one a methodist minister I taught him
there was no God and I was Him.
poet-saint-hero
insert here.
tell him you will always love him you will never leave him
shovels please last night as I got home
all so different the world in ashes salvation out the window
quietly I screamed into the past's poet's ear
"free me free me"
thunder earthquakes last days four horsewoman
fixed signs scorpio taurus leo
aquarius all along the watch tower
looking out at the early morning terror
I use to feel so inspired
now I have met you
love is so free you are the answer
world's end
you make me feel like a natural
now now now what was wrong you changed so easily
like overnight each kiss
tomorrow so right
shawn kemp 32 points
gary patten 16 assists
mickel jordon 35 points
scotty pippin 10 points
so long these poems
without you here I have
to rewrite everything 30 pages of poems the others were so good
but they were too intelligent to be academic of quality wait for me wait I will
be done soon I will be free I will touch the sky the traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
"and I will set my jealousy against
thee, and they shall deal furiously
with thee: they shall take away
thy nose and thine ears;
and thy remnant shall fall by the sword: they shall take thy
sons and thy daughters; and thy residue
shall be devoured by the fire."
first you spread your
limbo feet then
you call my name
in the mist
must
you breath while I am writing?
I have these dreams every night
world in ashes
decaying poets calling for me to join them
I tell them "I am no poet - I have proof _
I failed a poetry course at university"
I tell my cousin - a Harvard
professor in English -
"my poet instructor failed me" he enquires
"how can you fail poetry?"
"how can anyone fail poetry?"
but I have succeeded where no other person ever has
.
I am a national treasure.
Thank you austraaaliaaa.
copyright Terrell Neuage 1997 Hackham South Australia
copyright terrell neuage April 23, 1996 Hackham South Australia
Monday,20 April 1998
1:22:18 PM
new series of picture-poems (June 27, 1998) begin
here
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"©" Terrell Adsit-Neuage.
"©" Terrell Adsit-Neuage.
