He wheezed coughed and spluttered, couldn’t draw breath,
lost half a lung and the brains from his head.
Unstitched good and proper, out giblets poured,
ripped open by horrors who'd crashed through the door.
His buttons were cracked, blind in both eyes,
fur on his body became paralysed.
He died to make way for the brand shiny new,
that’s how it goes its what some children do.
27 Oct 11
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This is so cute.
Larry, do you also sleep with your teddy?
How could they? How could you let this happen?
I wish to make it clear, Larkus Destructivus, that the RSPCA Airborne Teddies Division is already on your case.
Even as I write, a team of highly trained battle hardened specialists has been despatched from Brize Norton HQ to deal with the aftermath of this latest atrocity.
My own battered bear of seventy nine years has never looked so horrified since the time he caught me checking up on his eBay auction price.
But at any moment soon, the parachutes will soon be opening in the skies above you.
All fallen teddies deserve a burial commensurate with their suffering - and to that end I am also arranging for local builders to erect an appropriately engraved fifty foot high concrete bear shaped obelisk in your front garden, for which planning permission is automatically approved.
And while we're at, it mind that apostrophe in L8.
I think this needs to Finnish on a prayer.
Of course i sleep with my Teddy....he's called Bertie and he tells me stories every single night while we are putting on our night caps and drinking our cocoa
Larry I just wanna bee yow ho Te he dee bear Lark
The ATD'S arrived at tea time yesterday and took Larry away for a spot of re-teddification. Hell be back in time fur breakfast but is not allowed his Honey treats until he truly repents, shaves off his grizzly bits and faces the bear facts.
Benjamin Bear (Next door neighbor to Larry and holder of a week end pass to Yellowstone park)
Finnish on a prayer?...I think the Swedes ought tur nip it in the root
Dear Veggie, you might knead more pro teen in your diet.
Little bastards - the post mortem indicates they strangled him with their bedsocks. You'll pay for this Larkus, an animal loving nation like ours will never allow atrocities such as this to go unpunished.
I've upgraded the survellance levels & am declaring your street a crime scene.
You can rest assured your phone will be tapped, at least until half term is over.
hi larry, i like your teddy poem with the suessy flair. when i was in england i bought a teddy bear from hamley's and it was over 150 GBP which is outrageous for a teddy but i thought of all the things i lost as a child and i didn't give a shit. i gave it to my daughter to keep and pass down; i got my son a Paddington with red wellingtons. :)
if i may offer a small suggestion for your poem i would consider removing the latter half of line 1; 'couldn't draw breath'. It's rather redundant seeing how 'coughed and spluttered' and 'lost half a lung' is the same thing. i also found the paralysed fur a tad stretched for the rhyme. maybe his arms or legs could be paralysed instead? (or missing, haha)...my gram had a german teddy bear who sat in a red wicker rocker and one of his legs was always falling out of its socket.
thanks for the reminiscent read,
off to the pub now, gettin' pissed with yogi.
Greatness is hear but L6 needs a change or chop. paralysed fur was halting but never relieved its self...
Hello, Poet Warrior.
I've just been watching a documentary about a man who fell into an open pit-toilet, in some obscure part of the America. At the end of the hour long movie, the guy was rescued by a neighbour, who used a harnessed mule and rope to pull him out the crap. The guy nearly drowned in the shit, and he was so relieved upon being rescued, that he immediately prayed on his knees to God. It was as if he’d been baptised in shit.
I know that is the kind of cliche that we are all familiar with, but the particular circumstances of this documentary really brought home to me with compelling significance, the importance of plumbing and a good flush toilet.
What has this got to do with poetry you may ask? Everything! In my view, I always try to look for the thing which beats and lives inside the outer body of the poem. The poetry is something that lives almost independently of the words, but which can only exist through the words. Like a person inside a public toilet, who doesn’t have the right amount of change to activate a pay toilet-paper dispenser.
The challenge for us all, is to try and release the creative spark, the notion, the REAL substance that is the 'idea' of the poem. The outer body can be fantastic, but if that inner-self of the poem isn't there it will never live as poetry.
I, like others, don't think you've released the poem yet, the notion of it. It seems to be floundering in the problem of pedestrian language.
Have a think about how film makers create scenes, how they create tension with clips that are not complete but which act as signposts for the viewer, tension builders. I think we poets can learn lessons from this.
Your poem contains some really fearful images, or should I say the original concept does.
We see things in the dark, in the half dark. These are the things that frighten us, just as losing one’s only pair of underpants at the dry-cleaners. Such things are nightmares.
Deforestation is a nightmare if you care about the planet.
Take another careful look at what you’ve written. Does it feel like a cohesive whole? Does it act upon you any differently. Is the fear-seed planted? Does the bite at your anus empower the night-walker? Does the poem attack our imagination? Does the raunchy calendar on the inside of the toilet door stalk the spotty hunter and create synergy? Do we imagine what is about to befall ……….? ...Just wondering? And work-shopping?
Don't let this one go Poet Warrior, I can feel its heartbeat.