As my fellow Bards are well aware, the long term goal of my Artistic endeavors has been to expose and laud the extraordinary in the ordinary. To fashion for my viewer/reader a way in which to see the world we bypass everyday for its beauty that has become mundane by overexposure.
Lately, I have been attempting to seriously compose in traditional poetic forms. (Well, my own interpretation of Broad Scots anyway...) Much to my own chagrin, I have been jaggedly successful.
In an attempt to lighten up, return to praising the mundane, and poke fun at myself, I decided to write a poem about walking the dog.
Mae wee Dug "Deut".After all what could be more commonplace than walking the dog right?
Trained:
Quhaniver A tak tha dug for o danner a Train cumah
The dug yit lakes tae smel tha butherbickers
an rin frae tha fluther byes throo tha clover
He alatime draggin measel til he poops.
Tha dug will no poop til thars no fank aboot.
He maen be tol ower an ower "ga-poop!" ga-poop!" "ga-poop!"
whyles he ina meanstime tangles hisel ina weeds,
an a train iz passin whilst he iz pissin wee's
A thin he dosena caa fra tha sound o his ain grunts
He's vary guid et dez'entaglin hae's ainself
A marvel ah hae's ability tah doo soo
whilst nae steppin inia poop!
Quhn he's daen, hae daen the "Hoppy Dug Danse!"
Scratches an ripps frae tha groun ta mak hi spoot.
"Hoppy Dug!" Hoppy Dug!" I say
"Nae sheit Dafty!" he gien bak.
An'a Train go bye.
Translation:
Trained:
Whenever I take the dog for a walk, a train comes.
The dog likes to smell the buttercups,
and chase butterflies through the clover.
He always drags me until he poops.
The dog will not poop until everything is just right.
He must be told repeatedly "Go Poop!" Go Poop!" "Go Poop!'
while he in the meantime entangles himself in the weeds.
and a train is passing while he is passing pee.
I think he doesn't like the sound of his own grunts.
He is quite adept at disentanglement.
I marvel at his ability to extract himself
without stepping in the poop.
Then he does the "Happy Poops Dance!"
he scratches and rips up the ground to mark his spot.
"Happy Dog!" Happy Dog!" I say.
"No Shit Stupid!" he responds.
And a Train goes bye.
Happy Fourth!
obeedude 04/july/07
