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Friday, July 07, 2017

Chop chop time for the Earl of Surrey, Duke of Dogging

I am going to post these poems as I write them, because of the topicality of their subjects. I shall also only leave them up temporarily, during the composition process. I'm thinking of posting no more than 4 at any one time on the blog. And eventually they will all disappear. See here to check for poems from other days... Also note the beginning of this sonnet exploration, Petrarch 3, is still for sale and is the featured post to the right of this column.

This one seems to be the end of part one of the Surrey poems (the translations): the matching 7 are his English poems... 

First draft



Lively Dooms Gather at the First

Clips of Mistress Arundel’s golden showers fast find her
new fast friends, and feed the news feeds with bad form
and calls in dodgy favours from Bo and Go whose windows
you’d skilfully but stupidly broken with stones!

They’ve seen the lot and gather round in Thetford Forest
to cast their seed with others upon her perfect beauties.
Sorry Surrey: she has gone and you’re a gonner. Rear
your ugly head and coat of arms and both will be chopped lordlessly from thee!

So! That’s settled. Suxit! May will not U-turn on this one.
They can have his priory lands in Thorpe; I elect
to have his poems to overdub them with my novel fancies.
I’ve done it before, papering over the cracks with my broadsheet.

Lord have Mercy on my friend’s soul. But this is politics,
and I hover in the background like Bo at an EU photoshoot.

OR:



Lively Dooms Gather at the First

Clips of Mistress Arundel’s golden showers fast find her
fast new friends, and feed the fake news feeds with bad form.
They’ll call in dodgy favours from Bo and Go whose windows
you’d skilfully (but stupidly, my lord) broken with stones!

They’ve seen the lot and gather round in Thetford Forest
to cast their seed with others upon her perfect beauties.
Sorry Surrey: she has gone and you’re a gonner. Rear your head,
your coat of arms: both will be chopped lordlessly from thee!

So! That’s settled. Suxit! No U-turns on this one.
They can have his priory lands in Thorpe; I elect
to have his poems, both the Euro versions and his Britpo ones,
to deface them then with fancies new, mine all mine!

But no, I’m nothing but a whisper unheard in a rustling thicket.
I hover in the background, a blur, like Bo at an EU photoshoot.
Image result for Earl of Surrey Sonnets
Surrey was the most painted man of his time, vain git!
OR



Lively Dooms Gather at the Last

Clips of Mistress Arundel’s golden showers fast find her
fast new friends, and feed the fake news feeds with bad form.
They’ll call in dodgy favours from Bo and Go whose windows
you’d skilfully (but stupidly, my lord) broken with stones!

They’ve seen the lot and gather round in Thetford Forest
to cast their seed with others upon her perfect beauties.
Sorry Surrey: she has gone and you’re a gonner. Rear your head,
your coat of arms: both will be chopped lordlessly from thee!

So! That’s settled. Suxit! No U-turns on this one.
They can have his priory lands in Thorpe; I elect to take
his poems, both the Euro versions and his Britpo ones,
to deface them then with fancies new, mine all mine!

But no, I’m nothing but a whisper unheard in a rustling thicket.
I hover in the background, a blur, like Bo at an EU photo-op.


OR (mildly changed)






Lively Dooms Gather at the First

Clips of Mistress Arundel’s golden showers fast find her
new fast friends, and feed the news feeds with bad form
and calls in dodgy favours from Bo and Go whose windows
you’d skilfully but stupidly broken with stones!

They’ve seen the lot and gather round in Thetford Forest
to cast their seed with others upon her perfect beauties.
Sorry Surrey: she has gone and you’re a gonner. Rear
your ugly head and coat of arms and both will be chopped lordlessly from thee!

So! That’s settled. Suxit! May will not U-turn on this one.
They can have his priory lands in Thorpe; I elect
to have his poems to overdub them with my novel fancies.
I’ve done it before, papering over the cracks with my broadsheet.

Lord have Mercy on my friend’s soul. But this is politics,
and I hover in the background like Bo at an EU photoshoot.



OR:



Lively Dooms Gather at the Last

Clips of Mistress Arundel’s golden showers fast find her
fast new friends, and feed fake news feeds with bad form.
They’ll call in dodgy favours from Bo and Go whose windows
you’d skilfully (but stupidly, my lord) broken with stones!

They’ve seen the lot and gather round in Thetford Forest
to cast their seed, with others, upon her perfect beauties. Sorry
Surrey: she has gone and you’re a gonner. Rear your head,
your coat of arms: both will be chopped lordlessly from thee!

So! That’s settled. Suxit! No U-turns on this one.
They can have his priory lands in Thorpe; I elect to take
his poems, both the knocked off Euro verse and his Britpo ones,
to deface them then with fancies new, mine all mine!

But no, I’m nothing but a whisper in a rustling thicket.
I blur in the background, like Bo at an EU photo-shoot.

7th July 2017