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A Poem

Discussion in 'Religion and Lighthearted Discussion' started by Wildo7, Apr 9, 2009.

  1. Wildo7

    Wildo7 Totally Full of It

    Oct 1, 2007
    Likes Received:
    +49 / 16 / -3


    Inner North London, top floor flat
    All white walls, white carpet, white cat,
    Rice Paper partitions
    Modern art and ambition
    The host’s a physician,
    Lovely bloke, has his own practice
    His girlfriend’s an actress
    An old mate from home
    And they’re always great fun.
    So to dinner we’ve come.

    The 5th guest is an unknown,
    The hosts have just thrown
    Us together for a favour
    because this girl’s just arrived from Australia
    And has moved to North London
    And she’s the sister of someone
    Or has some connection.

    As we make introductions
    I’m struck by her beauty
    She’s irrefutably fair
    With dark eyes and dark hair
    But as she sits
    I admit I’m a little bit wary
    because I notice the tip of the wing of a fairy
    Tattooed on that popular area
    Just above the derrière
    And when she says “I’m Sagittarien”
    I confess a pigeonhole starts to form
    And is immediately filled with pigeon
    When she says her name is Storm.

    Chatter is initially bright and light hearted
    But it’s not long before Storm gets started:
    “You can’t know anything,
    Knowledge is merely opinion”
    She opines, over her Cabernet Sauvignon
    Vis a vis
    Some unhippily
    Empirical comment by me

    “Not a good start” I think
    We’re only on pre-dinner drinks
    And across the room, my wife
    Widens her eyes
    Silently begs me, Be Nice
    A matrimonial warning
    Not worth ignoring
    So I resist the urge to ask Storm
    Whether knowledge is so loose-weave
    Of a morning
    When deciding whether to leave
    Her apartment by the front door
    Or a window on the second floor.

    The food is delicious and Storm,
    Whilst avoiding all meat
    Happily sits and eats
    While the good doctor, slightly pissedly
    Holds court on some anachronistic aspect of medical history
    When Storm suddenly she insists
    “But the human body is a mystery!
    Science just falls in a hole
    When it tries to explain the the nature of the soul.”

    My hostess throws me a glance
    She, like my wife, knows there’s a chance
    That I’ll be off on one of my rants
    But my lips are sealed.
    I just want to enjoy my meal
    And although Storm is starting to get my goat
    I have no intention of rocking the boat,
    Although it’s becoming a bit of a wrestle
    Because - like her meteorological namesake -
    Storm has no such concerns for our vessel:

    “Pharmaceutical companies are the enemy
    They promote drug dependency
    At the cost of the natural remedies
    That are all our bodies need
    They are immoral and driven by greed.
    Why take drugs
    When herbs can solve it?
    Why use chemicals
    When homeopathic solvents
    Can resolve it?
    It’s time we all return-to-live
    With natural medical alternatives.”

    And try as hard as I like,
    A small crack appears
    In my diplomacy-dike.
    “By definition”, I begin
    “Alternative Medicine”, I continue
    “Has either not been proved to work,
    Or been proved not to work.
    You know what they call “alternative medicine”
    That’s been proved to work?

    “So you don’t believe
    In ANY Natural remedies?”

    “On the contrary actually:
    Before we came to tea,
    I took a natural remedy
    Derived from the bark of a willow tree
    A painkiller that’s virtually side-effect free
    It’s got a weird name,
    Darling, what was it again?
    Which I paid about a buck for
    Down at my local drugstore.

    The debate briefly abates
    As our hosts collects plates
    but as they return with desserts
    Storm pertly asserts,

    “Shakespeare said it first:
    There are more things in heaven and earth
    Than exist in your philosophy…
    Science is just how we’re trained to look at reality,
    It can’t explain love or spirituality.
    How does science explain psychics?
    Auras; the afterlife; the power of prayer?”

    I’m becoming aware
    That I’m staring,
    I’m like a rabbit suddenly trapped
    In the blinding headlights of vacuous crap.
    Maybe it’s the Hamlet she just misquothed
    Or the eighth glass of wine I just quaffed
    But my diplomacy dike groans
    And the arsehole held back by its stones
    Can be held back no more:

    “Look , Storm, I don’t mean to bore you
    But there’s no such thing as an aura!
    Reading Auras is like reading minds
    Or star-signs or tea-leaves or meridian lines
    These people aren’t plying a skill,
    They are either lying or mentally ill.
    Same goes for those who claim to hear God’s demands
    And Spiritual healers who think they have magic hands.

    By the way,
    Why is it OK
    For people to pretend they can talk to the dead?
    Is it not totally ****ed in the head
    Lying to some crying woman whose child has died
    And telling her you’re in touch with the other side?
    That’s just fundamentally sick
    Do we need to clarify that there’s no such thing as a psychic?
    What, are we ******* 2?
    Do we actually think that Horton Heard a Who?
    Do we still think that Santa brings us gifts?
    That Michael Jackson hasn’t had facelifts?
    Are we still so stunned by circus tricks
    That we think that the dead would
    Wanna talk to pricks
    Like John Edwards?

    Storm to her credit despite my derision
    Keeps firing off clichés with startling precision
    Like a sniper using bollocks for ammunition

    “You’re so sure of your position
    But you’re just closed-minded
    I think you’ll find
    Your faith in Science and Tests
    Is just as blind
    As the faith of any fundamentalist”

    “Hm that’s a good point, let me think for a bit
    Oh wait, my mistake, it’s absolute bull****.
    Science adjusts it’s beliefs based on what’s observed
    Faith is the denial of observation so that Belief can be preserved.
    If you show me
    That, say, homeopathy works,
    Then I will change my mind
    I’ll spin on a ******* dime
    I’ll be embarrassed as hell,
    But I will run through the streets yelling
    It’s a miracle! Take physics and bin it!
    Water has memory!
    And while it’s memory of a long lost drop of onion juice is Infinite
    It somehow forgets all the poo it’s had in it!

    You show me that it works and how it works
    And when I’ve recovered from the shock
    I will take a compass and carve Fancy That on the side of my ****.”

    Everyones just staring at me now,
    But I’m pretty pissed and I’ve dug this far down,
    So I figure, in for penny, in for a pound:

    “Life is full of mysteries, yeah
    But there are answers out there
    And they won’t be found
    By people sitting around
    Looking serious
    And saying isn’t life mysterious?
    Let’s sit here and hope
    Let’s call up the ******* Pope
    Let’s go watch Oprah
    Interview Deepak Chopra

    If you’re going to watch tele, you should watch Scooby Doo.
    That show was so cool
    because every time there’s a church with a ghoul
    Or a ghost in a school
    They looked beneath the mask and what was inside?
    The ******* janitor or the dude who runs the waterslide.
    Throughout history
    Every mystery
    EVER solved has turned out to be
    Not Magic.

    Does the idea that there might be truth
    Frighten you?
    Does the idea that one afternoon
    On Wiki-*******-pedia might enlighten you
    Frighten you?
    Does the notion that there may not be a supernatural
    So blow your hippy noodle
    That you would rather just stand in the fog
    Of your inability to Google?

    Isn’t this enough?
    Just this world?
    Just this beautiful, complex
    Wonderfully unfathomable world?
    How does it so fail to hold our attention
    That we have to diminish it with the invention
    Of cheap, man-made Myths and Monsters?
    If you’re so into Shakespeare
    Lend me your ear:
    “To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
    To throw perfume on the violet… is just ******* silly”
    Or something like that.
    Or what about Satchmo?!
    I see trees of Green,
    Red roses too,
    And fine, if you wish to
    Glorify Krishna and Vishnu
    In a post-colonial, condescending
    Bottled-up and labeled kind of way
    That’s ok.
    But here’s what gives me a hard-on:
    I am a tiny, insignificant, ignorant lump of carbon.
    I have one life, and it is short
    And unimportant…
    But thanks to recent scientific advances
    I get to live twice as long as my great great great great uncles and auntses.
    Twice as long to live this life of mine
    Twice as long to love this wife of mine
    Twice as many years of friends and wine
    Of sharing curries and getting ****ty
    With good-looking hippies
    With fairies on their spines
    And butterflies on their titties.

    And if perchance I have offended
    Think but this and all is mended:
    We’d as well be 10 minutes back in time,
    For all the chance you’ll change your mind.

    - Tim Minchin
  2. PatsFanInVa

    PatsFanInVa PatsFans.com Supporter PatsFans.com Supporter

    Mar 19, 2006
    Likes Received:
    +1,347 / 16 / -9

    Is this the second or third time you've posted this admittedly mildly amusing, if metrically, well, inept poem here? I have no problem with the poem's contents mind you... it's funny enough... but the rambling self-indulgence in line length and metrical clunkiness make it positively annoying a second or third time.

    I get it. The guy doesn't like hippy-dippy quasi-religion anymore than fire and brimstone churchy religion. It's just not that good as a poem, W.

  3. James Madison

    James Madison Rookie

    Sep 9, 2009
    Likes Received:
    +0 / 0 / -0

    With a beat that would be a good rap song. ^^
  4. Wildo7

    Wildo7 Totally Full of It

    Oct 1, 2007
    Likes Received:
    +49 / 16 / -3

    The poem's central point is the not the feeling of the narrator, but the arguments he presents.

    It's just an entertaining anecdote that highlights some of the central arguments against superstition (whether objective or subjective;)). Easy to digest, entertaining and to the point, at least so I thought.

    Harping on vague structural criticisms as an undermining feature of a comedic narrative poem is fairly lame (and somewhat transparent) IMO.

    P.S. I posted it twice. Once in the middle of a poli thread and once in the religion forum. I think you can spare me some latitude in re-posting such repetitive dross amidst the highly intellectual debates that go on here in the ivy league of teh internets.

    Maybe you can better get your head around the disastrous self-indulgence of the form by hearing it performed live:

    Last edited: Sep 9, 2009

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