[Opsimath: one who starts late in life.]
I twist and twist and twist for yards
then leap like those in leotards
down on the grass, limbs all splayed wide.
At last I’m crossing the divide.
Folk ask, “Who is that psychopath?”
“Don’t worry, he’s an opsimath,”
my flatmate answers, full of pride.
At last I’m crossing the divide.
“Why can he not keep to the path?
And why this upturned aftermath?”
they wonder, but I start to glide.
At last I’m crossing the divide.
“Look out!” I cry. They smile at me.
“No, really!” and I smack a tree,
not letting this bad luck defy
me though. I have to fructify!
My kneecap’s yelling homicide.
At last I’m crossing the divide.
I sweat on, bleeding and unwashed.
Dogs chase me and are nearly squashed.
Their owners glare on the hillockside.
At last I’m crossing the divide.
My record’s four, then this I fix
to five, then eight, then twenty-six,
that’s one for every year I’ve sighed.
At long last I’ve crossed the divide.
I cackle like an opsimath
although I need an osteopath.
My flatmate claps. He’s dewy-eyed.
At long last I’ve crossed the divide.
Comments
littleditty | September 11, 2008 - 15:47
They say 28 is a very good year for beginnings - it's Saturn doncha know? Returns every seven years to the same alignment with other planets etc of your birthchart - *stop smirking* - here is a (mis?)quote: 'give me a boy until he is seven an i will show you the man' - so what's this poem about mac?! i was just reading a Hey Saturn prosey poem thingy of mine - i may post it, i like your keep-on-going-on rhymes in this...tyNick xx
Macjoyce | September 11, 2008 - 17:42
[puts on Welsh accent] Hello there, my lovely! [puts it off again]
The form here is called kyrielle. It repeats lines. What's the poem about? Well, it's obviously about something I learnt to do at the age of 26. There are enough clues as to what it is. No, it's not using the toilet without a safety seat.
I'm 28 now and yes, it does seem a good year for beginnings. Things have certainly improved a lot on 27. So I'm not smirking at your hippy mystic theory at all. 21 was quite a beginningful year as well, that was when I really started to write poetry. You wouldn't think I'd respect mystical things, would you? You'd think I was just a foul-mouthed crude flatulent Cockney bastard. But I've actually visited a clairvoyant. Twice.
www.myspace.com/norwichfacetransplant