Landscape poem

Landscape poem

The landscape

The landscape was fucked off – the hills and trees and letter box and shit

The weather was fucked off too – the clouds looked pissed, it was probably gonna rain etc

The whole poem full of landscape descriptions and landscape symbols was so bored with itself, if it could, it would’ve gouged its own eyes out so it didn’t have to read itself.

The character

I’m the main character, so maybe I should talk about myself

And y’know, unless this is a memoir, it’s a bit self-indulgent (or some shit like that)

And y’know, there are people who disapprove of confessional poems, or worse, poetry as therapy!

They can’t stand slam poetry, that’s for sure. If they’re forced to sit through it they’d roll their eyes or squinch their already thin lips and tuck their starched hankies into their suit pockets and say something about it being too emotional

And as for rap, well…

So, maybe this a story poem, like a narrative or something, maybe it could be flash fiction even

In the end, some old white guy with a starched hankie is gonna decide that for me.

The White guy

If he’s reading this maybe I should change things up

So, now I’m in the south of France following in the steps of Catherine Mansfield, or staying in her house and writing

Ha!

Who gets to go to there with a 16 year old daughter, who would hate it over there and do my head in cos I don’t have a husband or anything, who could, like, paint the landscape and look after her before and after school while I wrote about the landscape

As if my girl would even go to a French school - What about Polyfest Mum and kapa haka and my boyfriend and my friends, and all of these white people over here? I hate you, Mum, screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmm!

I’m not even into Catherine Mansfield (with a K), I’m not sposed to say this cos of being a writer in this country, but yeah, she doesn’t do it for me at all.

All that fucken landscape. Jesus!