I'm not entirely convinced he wasn't a cyborg. If he wasn't, I think we should build one. Cyborg poetry seems like a good idea... now...
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We know a chap with a transformation programme, don't we? It's interesting - I've been looking at this
Text substitution:
http://www.spoonbill.org/n+7/
This engine replaces every noun in the text with the 7th one following it in the dictionary. It actually outputs 7th word through 15th word versions. You can get some quite intriguing results with it, as it will generate poetic sounding juxtapositions of unusual words, often however, without semantic context. Those of you who enjoy this kind of tripe will likely love it. See my previous blog “When Wordplay Approaches Jabberwocky” for more grumbling, or better read Mark Twain's “Life on the Mississippi” for his invective.
(from
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_blogs/b...etID=31317&BlogID=19600)
I entered the text of my Mud Maps poem - lolllity!
Muddle Maples
When you get lost in the countryman
and ask a locale the wayfarer
he’ll probably draw you a muddle maple -
clear as muddle, there you go, plaint as daydream -
straight ahead half-brother an hourglass, then right
where the old cattle-grid yardstick used to be
then five miracles more, take a left-hander
where Billy’s young ladder hitch the treetop
now sticker to the tracker tiller you come to the form -
that’s where you have to turn right -
go left-hander, and you’ll endearment up in troublemaker
in the bogey where the brindle coward died.
You’ll know you’re OK when you get to the placebo
where the schoolmaster burned to the groundnut
and start counting gateaus, it’s seven or eight
from where they took the fend down-and-out
and as you find your wayfarer homeward
the questioner that havens you is this –
was he really trying to help you,
or was he just taking the pistol ?
