I may well get around to turning this, my final foray into poetry, into the concrete poem I intended to make for you at some point, but I ran out of time today.
So imagine, if you can, the following homage to my all time favourite TV show, shaped to fit into this template…
…because, yes, you guessed it, I’ve written a freeform poem about David Lynch’s tele-noir masterpiece, so brace yourselves and come with me to a place both wonderful and strange.
Where the Owls, we’re told, are not what they seem
And psychopaths murder homecoming queens
Where the ancient woods are deep and dark
And abductees bear peculiar marks
Where mysterious red rooms have curtains for walls
And a great wooden lodge stands on top of the falls
Where a lawman’s doomed lover will perish from fright
And the pine weasel riot will ruin the night
Where the coffee and pie are both mighty fine
And the north wind blows through the tall Ghostwood pines
Where Jack is a devil with only one eye
And a schoolgirl crush goes badly awry
So what is all this sweet work worth
For the tears that stain your cheeks?
Cooper Cooper Cooper
Welcome to Twin Peaks
So there you have it, the end of my week of poetic injustice, I hope it didn’t offend your literary sensibilities too much. I for one rather enjoyed it.
Up next week; ummm, no, sorry, no idea whatsoever.