This is a short piece of narrative prose poetry that I initially scrawled down while very bored at a customer service job. Isn't it sometimes the way that frustration and a complete lack of inspiration can sometimes breed creativity. I know it's only short but any comments would be appreciated.
Whenever I try to write poetry it always just comes out as a bunch of blabbering crap. I hope you like!
“It’s never as bad as it seems”, declared the man with the golf balls for eyes; “Unless you’re an optimist in which case it’s probably far worse.” He stared forward, contemplating his words, before his peripheral vision alerted him to the presence of the ugly girl sat next to him. The ugly girl rolled her ugly eyes towards the man, and he rolled his at her. She picked them up, polished them on her pinafore, and rolled them back. The man with the golf balls for eyes looked at the ugly girl, and found himself lost in her eyes, ugly though they were.
What scares you
the ugly girl whispered, albeit in a whisper that emerged louder than a bellowing Brian Blessed.
Have you ever seen a man wearing shoes on his hands
The ugly girl sat back, lacing her hands over her pinafore, content with her challenge. The man with the golf balls for eyes pondered this for what seemed like an eternity, but was in fact longer, before reaching his meticulously formulated response.
“I once made ‘shoe’ rhyme with ‘Nigeria’.”
The ugly girl did not seem to understand. What’s more, she was becoming uglier by the minute. The man with the golf balls for eyes was running out of time. He decided to approach it from another point of view.
“I once saw a field mouse dressed like a London businessman.”
The ugly girl spent a few moments envisioning such a thing, and then a few moments more. Then she smiled. She smiled with a radiance comparable to nothing, rendering any metaphor or simile decidedly negated and merely patronising. The ugly girl’s smile was the most beautiful thing the man with the golf balls for eyes had ever seen, and when the smile gave way to an endearingly childlike giggle, he began to cry. Initially, just a lone tear made its renegade run down the man’s concaved cheek. Soon, uncontrollable weeping. The girl with the beautiful smile reached an arm around the man’s shoulders, and offered reassuring words in her thunderous whisper.
Rhyming ‘shoe’ with ‘Nigeria’ is the greatest and noblest
thing a man can do
The man with the golf balls for eyes sniffed back further potential eruptions, and met the girl’s gaze. She was still smiling, and the indescribable beauty of this made the man feel as if he were watching a montage of all the most wonderful moments from his life while heading toward a natural and peaceful death. The prettiest sunrise combined with the prettiest sunset. A child’s innocence combined with an old man’s wisdom. Then the girl with the beautiful smile stopped smiling. The man with the golf balls for eyes had never seen someone so ugly. He stood up and left, thinking about rodents in bowler hats.
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Written by gshelme (152 comments posted) 4th October 2007 |
This is possibly the strangest thing I have ever read on GW. That said I really enjoyed it. Not sure it should be in poetry.
I look forward to more.
Gill  |
Look!
Written by Josie (2823 comments posted) 4th October 2007 |
This section of Great Writing is for poetry. |
Look again!
Written by Keller (19 comments posted) 4th October 2007 |
What exactly is the definition of 'poetry' Josie?
The wonderful thing about writing is that it can be formed however you wish, and this seems like some bizarre mal-formed love child of prose and poetry. Some of the imagery is fantastic such as:
'She smiled with a radiance comparable to nothing'
However, I do think you need a clearer idea of which way your headed with it, but never lose this:
Rhyming ‘shoe’ with ‘Nigeria’ is the greatest and noblest
thing a man can do
This piece is a little like bathing in tinned spaghetti: it's thick and suffocating, but none-the-less enjoyable. Perhaps it would be helped by a little more form though? |
Written by Phil (6828 comments posted) 4th October 2007 |
Some great lines in here. Enjoyed it very much. Still rarther raw and formless - but if it was knocked into shape, it might lose its appeal. Difficult line to tread.
As for whether or not it belongs here or not - I'd say it's more lyrical prose than narrative poetry. It doesn't matter that much though - nobody died.
Really interesting piece.
Phil |
Poetry or Short story? AAAARRRRRGGHH!
Written by man_in_the_box (13 comments posted) 5th October 2007 |
| Thanks for the comments guys. After messaging Josie I thought I'd better move this to the short stories section, but these comments (especially Keller's) reminded me that I always considered my short works as a skewed type of poetry. So I may continue to post them here, describing them as 'Lyrical Prose' (cheers Phil). What do people think? |
Written by gutterkitty (362 comments posted) 5th October 2007 |
| This strikes me as a mix between Neil Gaiman and Edward Monkton. Very bizarre, though also well-written. I think I liked it until the end. The end disappointed me and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's just that I was looking for a happy ending. |
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