At the end of March, our friend Roland of ‘Roland’s Ragbag’ introduced me to ‘Pastiche Poetry’  ROLAND EXPLAINS PASTICHE POETRY . I would visit this link for a proper explanation. As Roland explains it is a fine line between Pastiche and Parody, a line I feel I’ve probably jumped across with both feet, hence I dare not include the word ‘Pastiche’ in the title. In my defence I am just a clown at heart and see humour everywhere, and so I apologise for my uncouth buffoonery.

A pastiche is a work whose style imitates that of another writer or period. Pastiche differs from parody in that it is usually intended as a kind of tribute rather than a satire.


From ‘Auguries of Innocence’

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

From ‘ A Disturbed Mind’

To see a world in a grain of sand
and a heaven in a flower,
hold the soap tight in your hand
when you take a shower’
(I’d like to offer some deep. Multi-layered ‘Hidden Self’ type insight but alas it’s just a warning,
that if you drop the soap you risk banging your head and freezing your arse on the tiles)

From ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’ / ‘Daffodils’

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

From ‘ Gesundheit ‘

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
when all at once I cried out loud,
Alas, I’ve no hay fever pills
as daffodils do so make me sneeze
fluttering their pollen on the breeze.

From ‘She walks in beauty’

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

From ‘ Our Lass’

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
But come the dawn she’s quite a fright
with her heavy bloodshot eyes,
thus grumpy ’til she catches sight
of windows full of cakes and pies..

From ‘If’

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

From ‘ If you can’

If you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men call you Sue,
accepting, of manly features you have few,
If you can date girls, without ever once mating
know you’re lied about, but ignore those lies
Or that you’re hated but still enjoy ice-skating
Yet still look fabulous and flutter your eyes………..
Then you’ll still be a man my son.

From ‘ Twelve Songs – IX ‘

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

From ‘ 1 Poem’

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
we cannot repay the outstanding loan,
silence the kids, everyone act dumb,
just in case the bloody bailiffs come

Let the big un’ cry from the attic overhead,
you can’t have your money, the buggers dead,’
spray paint Grandad’s pigeons so they look like doves,
in case they try take the racing birds he loves.

They’ll come from the North, South, East and the West,
I’ll stall their summons, and they can do their best,
cos from noon,to midnight, I’ll write a protest song,
if they think I’m a push-over, clearly they’re wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one
we’ll flit by moonlight and await the sun;
and live at the seaside in a cottage made of wood,
there they’ll never find us, for we’re too damn good.

From ‘ Song ‘

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

From ‘ Voice’

What have I said, my dearest,
sing no sad song for me;
your dreadful voice hurts my head,
so bad I can no longer see.
Do you enjoy torturing me,
with grating tone and spittle wet
for if you do not cease, remember,
I’ll make sure you don’t forget.



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