Monday, March 30, 2009

An Denis Peel

An Apology.
The Lime Festival has created a strong reputation for performances of the spoken word which we have all contributed to at past festivals. But, alas, today I come to you totally free of inspiration and so can only offer you my apology.
I apologize to the traditional limers of this land. To the politically correct amongst us who may find this offensive I say… sorry. For I have been a busy man, what with an election last weekend, for which I say sorry, Laurie, and work and all.
But my biggest enemy in all of this has been the English language. As I try to teach maths to students trying to learn English I see looks of horror on their faces as verbs suddenly become nouns, and words that sound the same but are spelt differently, and words that are spelt differently but sound the same.
So, in my panic ridden state last night as the Lime Festival loomed I turned to the last refuge of the desperate: POETRY…. I am very sorry, sorry that this poem is rhymeless and almost completely limeless. I’ll just find my poetry voice, sorry Leonard.

Hearing Double.

I cried a thousand tears
Of your wedding cake
With mud
I pared a pair of pears
Into quarters of an hour
That’s thirty minutes south
Of the cape you wore that day.
I stood watch upon your wrist
As the tied knot undone by this
Threaded its way to the sea D E F
Gee it’s getting light

As the water empties out
For a duck beneath the waves of thought.
I’m hearing words that mean
The median strip that divides my mind
Into tables and chairs the meeting
Of the ways and means to the end post
Script for two panadol
And a good lie through your teeth
Then squeeze a lime to stone
Or in kilograms 12.81 for breakfast
And for that I make no apology.

Denis Peel (sorry).

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