Many moons ago, like, at least 103, I thought myself to be a particularly astute (and wounded) poet. I never had a beret, though. I really wanted one, or possibly a news boy cap, but I had to make do with painting an old brown hat that I bought for 25¢ at an op shop. I painted it black, of course. In retrospect, that was probably way more poetic than buying a beret, but I used what was leftover from painting my bedroom furniture, resulting in a far crustier cap than years of wear could acheive.
However, newly armed with this slight shadow over my eyes and thus suitably darkening my world view, I made many an observation such as was befitting a jaded, angsty teenager. The reason I bring this up is because I’ve since done away with most of my poetry scribblings. I have, however saved a few gems soley for the purpose of what I consider to be my duty in the name of public service. Here, now, are 9 (as if I’m going to conform to standard and choose 10, pfft) lovingly hand-picked lines free for all to use in any way you see fit; use them as prompts for your own musings, point and laugh at them, or pick and choose any combination for all you fierce, intense and spiritually deep people out there that are struggling with band names, song, story, book or album titles.
In no particular order, and with clarification to boot. Oh, and on the odd chance anyone does use one, please leave a comment to let me know how and – more importantly – why, but in a thoroughly derisive manner – my ego insists that these are the some of the most masterful lines ever written and I think it would be super-awesome to prove it right and insult it at the same time ;)).
Eleven Thousand Monuments To Time
First line of a poem that was – in part – about the Apostle of the Algaü, who amongst other things is the patron saint against caterpillars. That’s right, against those super cute fuzzy little critters. Though the words are ambiguous enough on their own, if you also use my context you can say you’re named after the concepts and philosophies involving “change” and those that seek to deny others from blossoming into their true selves – you can say it with an ominous tone and a hint of mystery and everyone will marvel at how deep you are; at least that’s what I always used to think.
Deformed Spirits Scream in a Hurricane Twist
Oh yeah, that one’s a beauty! Can you believe I was only 15 when I came up with that? Stuffed if I know now what it was about, the rest of the poem seems to be referring to love, or perhaps more likely the common teenage affliction – not getting what you want when you want it, which is always NOW. No, scratch that, it was about real agony, pain and suffering.
No Whores to Beg Your Pleasure
Wow, was I ever edgy and controversial. This one was all about the violence done to self through the sheer power of thought, like, on a completely apocalyptic scale. There’s some truth in there somewhere, probably, but it’s all lost in ridiculousness. Poetic ridiculouseness, though.
She Has As Many Evils As Me
Ever felt like you were on the outside looking in? OMG, me too! Except I was looking at myself, and then got confused to the point where I was convinced I was the evil twin sister, so I was way more unique and, you guessed it, poetic. 😉
Your Uncontrolled Spasms Say It All
I’m not kidding about this one, it’s the 3rd-to-last line in a poem I called Snow White. It appears to about alcohol addiction. Or something.
How Can I Receive Another Awakening?
I can just hear the refrain now, “I wanna know-ow-ow, won’t you tell meeeeee”. Actually, the poem this line came from is all about how you’ll be remembered after you die. Unlike many other angsty teens, I focussed on the real heavy issues like death n’ stuff. Did I mention I was deep?
The Snake Killed Our Souls But We Never Died
More intense death…stuff, coloured by a huge Jim Morrison obsession. Though, looking at it now, all I can think is, phallic imagery much? 😮 Say no more.
F*cking Out In The Garden Provides No Interest
Yeah, toning this one down a “notch” so as not to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities, ’cause part of being a poet is thoughtfulness and sensitivity. That way society is all like surprised when you confront them with things that make them uncomfortable. This one was all about the obsessive nature of lust and how other, more important things can get lost from view. At least, that’s what I’m saying now.
Her Brother Cut His Carpet Fringe Too Short
Umm… I really don’t know what I was thinking there. I tried to make something up that sounded feasible, but failed. A few lines after that is “then he returned, and found his hair bald“. This gives me no insight whatsoever.
So there you have it. Do I inspire you? I must surely assume so. Take these fine examples of poetic prowess and make them your own. Speak them with hushed, reverent tones that serve to indicate their multi-faceted layers of deep and meaningful philosophies. Clutch scraps of paper with them written on it in your tight fists and hold it to your chest, then pound that fist on a table to emphasise their intensity and power. If that doean’t work, sigh, tip your beret over your eyes and say “nobody understands me“.