- Jan 2, 2006
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I'm taking freshman Eng112 as a junior in college because I'm a transfer student to this college and my previous ENG credits from my old college didn't transfer because they were... weird.
Well, today the topic was on metaphors in poetry. Oh great. Here was one of the poems:
Holy Cow. What kind of drivel is this? What the heck kind of poetry formatting is this? It's like the "poet" wrote this poo in paragraph format, then just spaced out the paragraph so there's an average of four words per line.
Hey! Armed with this knowledge, I suppose I can make anything into a poem! Just type a paragraph, and then resize it in a web browser! Voila! Poem!
OMG
Oh oh oh, and with some strategic spacing:
I'm now a pwnage poet. Everyone give me money and analyze my stuff for all the deep meanings and discussion questions! OMFG.
:roll:
Well, today the topic was on metaphors in poetry. Oh great. Here was one of the poems:
Erections
Erin Belieu
When first described imperfectly
by my shy mother, I tried to leap
from the moving
car. A response,
I suspect, of not
just terror (although
a kind of terror continues to play
its part), but also a mimetic gesture,
the expression equal
to a body's system of absurd
jokes and dirty stories.
With cockeyed breasts
peculiar as distant cousins,
and already the butt of the body's
frat-boy humor,
I'd begun to pack
a bag, would set off
soon for my separate
country. Now, sometimes,
I admire the surprised engineering:
how a man's body can rise,
squaring off with the weight
of gravity, single-minded,
exposed as the blind
in traffic. It's the body leaping
that I praise, vulnerable
in empty space.
It's mapping the empty
space; a man's life driving
down a foreign road.
Holy Cow. What kind of drivel is this? What the heck kind of poetry formatting is this? It's like the "poet" wrote this poo in paragraph format, then just spaced out the paragraph so there's an average of four words per line.
Hey! Armed with this knowledge, I suppose I can make anything into a poem! Just type a paragraph, and then resize it in a web browser! Voila! Poem!
OMG
Oh oh oh, and with some strategic spacing:
When I first drank
1,3,7-trimethylpurine-
2,6-dione, my brain did a
tumble in my head. A
reaction, I assume, of my
inexperience with the drug.
My mother used to say, ?get
your sleep or you will never
grow tall,? and I can only
precariously predict the
postulate that I have grieved
her, for I am only five inches
tall from my tippity-tip-toes
to my tippity-tip-ears. With
paws as active as
overcharged jackhammers,
I bounce, quite rapidly,
among the viewers of
ATOT (AnandTech Off
Topic), for which this
vichyssoise of verbose
verbiage is aimed, a
response, I contend, to the
actions of the sweet drug on
my synapses. It?s like an
electric shock, uncontrolled
in the air, wrapping its
voltaic fingers energetically
through my wiring. It?s
sweet bitter chocolate;
shaken, not stirred.
I'm now a pwnage poet. Everyone give me money and analyze my stuff for all the deep meanings and discussion questions! OMFG.
:roll: