Cut-Ups Poetry Experiment. NaPoWriMo #14

NaPoWriMo #14

Cut-Ups Experiment.

Compendium of the ‘i’ 09/04/13.

If giving customers a bed down London’s ice
is Labour’s new energy, the four chimneys broke with the theatre’s grey.

Falklands wand finally to addiction.
There is a timiction helpline special.

In death, you especially imagine a celebri-divide,
I met Margaret where she was detoxed once.

She created the more-vention, went smooth Britain
– contradictions of a human spiral road death.

It was not quite Marilyn McChange,
her fans cheered her, with responsensitivites.

We are in the midst of day and make
a fresh Second World War – Great economic collapseers.

insta-woman
insta-tastrophe

to buy so much failurotunity, she
was stock to be sold.

the national psyche:amily more opaque.
mine to realise that I could.

We could go on Britard.

.

Created via the cut-up method, (I said I would deliver three days ago – but had ideas since). Two pages of the newspaper are divided down the centre, one half of Page A is then placed next to the corresponding half of Page B, creating a composite of the two pages. There you have the contradictions – and arguably the crux – of the whole paper. Some neologisms that surface are inventions that only chance could create. ‘insta-woman’, ‘collapseers’, ‘failurotunity’, ‘celebri-divide’ and ‘psyche:amily’ should already exist, but don’t. They’ve subsequently been pasted into my dictionary.

Thanks go to Mr Gysin and Mr Burroughs.

Goonight.

Fionn Coughlan-Wills.

The Pyramid Scheme

NapoWrimo #5

The Pyramid Scheme

She took a bronze saw
nine feet long,
set with sapphire teeth
to business
carving life into
a Pyramid
of manageable
blocks.
Descending to the largest of jobs,
leading to glitches eventually
larger than life –
top down organising,
placing the smallest
in a pocket of time
five minutes from now. Now
the miniscule,
later the monument.
She began:
scratched her itch,
made a meal of it
left the dog the bones,
put things in order,
settled her affairs,
got the job done,
shattered sugar-glass ceiling,
left him holding the baby,
almost one time met her maker.
Performed the remit of
Serial Note-Taker.
Scrawling every last hiccup into submission
Mason to the stones
around others’ necks
to build
Until
after a whole tome
Centenarian Charleston
beckoned home.
Hung up
the world-worn saw,
reflecting her hair, her eyes, sapphires now the size of amoeba fear,
Set a final gargantuan slab,
the foundation stone
for those to continue
by example. And
Pitched back on heels
to see
.

Venus Callipgye knows.

Fionn Coughlan-Wills.

Stitch That

NaPoWriMo #2 Stitch That.

Stitch That

I’d had a go of it,
he’d hooked me up,
chucked me up,
threw me over for the
femme fatale type.

Had blown my brains out with
tedious conversations on the terabyte,

fed him tripe,
fed me tripe –
had no excuse to cancel the milk that night.

So when he showed up,
all apologetic corduroy
and humility turtleneck
to say we’d had a go of it – he’s sick of it.
I felt obliged to stick him with it – stitch that I’m thinking.

Milk bottle bust, landed on the floor
made the opposite of a chandelier,
took his dead-weight to the crypt of the car,
saw milk, and blood, and bile mix
become ambergris

I had done with him, popped those clogs
shod the funeral loafers and bin bag attire,
to drive the motorway and dump cargo –
baggage, clothes and body – into the river.

And as they say, Officer, I never looked back.
It might be this reason, that I failed to check
my blind spot, cut you up with the motor
– blues and twos – hesitated, then signalled to pull over.

.

For this one, I am greatly indebted to Simon Armitage’s ‘Hitcher’, and Chicago’s ‘We both reached for the Gun’.

See you tomorrow.

Fionn Coughlan-Wills.