Muse |
Muse |
Iron filings have a tendency to run. Sandy; they go to see, Fuss and feathers, all in one. Reach the gathering in time, Rise and fall with the tide. Move on now, follow the line. Speckles in snow, Amber in eyes, Gone at sunset, back at sunrise. Combed and ready to crow, With a beard, sing: It draws in like a magnet, what a show! Originally written January 2012, age 16
0 Comments
All pladedge goes to pot, The faffith efur is lost. “Clattop,” goes the clock, Its eowy is in maletok. “Hakket-hakket, hakkat-hakkat,” The smub man is neromas, Watching the qubob as it climbs The tsattle to the jimblime. It takes everlasol efur to try, To even begin the almon mellorwy, Eessee the qubob, they would succicle, And fosdrol over whether to enqirricle. Where does the poddlewich come from? To toreeparry the almothon. Come back to the past, It is the almossiplom to last. Ask, to every stranger qubob, “seccus?” Only to receive a stinging swattle, plus, A rude return to the smube time, The “Clattop” of the jimblime. Hear the little metal sing high, And hear a lettle kettle sigh, No need to wonder why, Just watch the qubob as it climbs. All pladedge goes to pot, The faffith efur is lost. “Clattop,” goes the clock, Its eowy is in maletok. Key: Nonsense words and their meanings: Now read the poem again; does your interpretation change? Pladedge - Overly organised Faffith - Over thinking Efur - Pointless effort Clattop - Clunking noise Eowy - quiet singing Maletok - not really a tune (random sounds) Hakket/Hakkat - Coughing Smub - absent smugness Smube - contented smugness Neromas - Somewhere nearby, sitting down Qubob - Long-legged spider-like animal Tsattle - Swinging clock pendulum Jimblime - Clock face Everlasol - Everlasting ever so much Almon - challenging Almothon - long-lasting difficult challenge Almossiplom - Impossible problem Mellowrwy - difficult task Eessee - Whoever sees Succicle - Tinkling laugh/giggle Fosdrol - Internally debate Enquirricle - Enquire in disbelief Poddlewich - Odd idea/thought Toreeparry - To consider attempting at Seccuss - What gender are you? (Question) Swattle - Smack/Swat Lettle - Kindly borrowed Originally written in 2011, age 15
Grit. Like spit. But with a roar, a rumble. Inside a yellow tub it hides. I bet its thirsty, being full of salt. A rough crystalline mix, Like that sand scrub you can get, For your face. Particles in your pours, Particles of yours, they snore Inside that submarine. It has surfaced by sleeping, dreaming With its lid closed shut. A wide smile protrudes its features. Its chin, a hand clef. Easy feed hole. Or hold. Shovel in that pasty, cake. "I like it crumbly", it says. That's my grit. That's my spit. Bits to bite the ice. Originally written in 2012, age 16
|
AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
Categories
All
Archives
June 2022
|