7 result(s) tagged “Poetry”

This is the short take,
because the longer version
will take many days.

On Saturday night,
The Dark Knight’s eager patrons
were damned attentive.

Stunning politeness
— no cell phones, no chattering —
spoke volumes sans sound.

Yet, while absorbing,
the movie is troublesome,
lesser than Begins.

Sick sick sick movies.
Eat some people, fuck the dead.
It’s time for haiku!

Are you Ravenous?
Do you see the potency
That human meat gives?

Guy Pearce, his cheekbones,
Gold-rush cannibalism —
What’s there not to like?

I have no problem
choosing films of morbid love
from our Netflix queue.

Trouble Every Day
on the recommendation
of The House Next Door.

A film of few words,
buzzing with a quiet dread,
demands haiku squared.

To slake your thirst for Culture Snob poetry, as well as the interactive, I have crafted multiple options for haiku based on Lynne Stopkewich’s 1996 movie Kissed.

If you’ve never seen it or heard of it, I think you’ll get the gist pretty quickly. And if you’re a little rusty on the specifications of haiku, it’s a line of five syllables followed by a line of seven syllables and then another line of five.

Please offer finished poems — or more line alternatives — in the comments.

Just in case you’re wondering, I’m still alive, although you’d never know it from this Web site.

For those of you whose existence feels meaningless without my wisdom, I’ll run through all the movies I’ve watched recently but won’t be writing essays about. (You’ll still be lacking wisdom, but something is better than nothing, right?)

You might think it’s dismissive to dispense with these seven labors of love in 17 syllables apiece, and you’d be correct. And you might wonder how Balthazar Getty shows up in two of these movies, and it’s an excellent question to which I have no answer.

In response to a call for movie-related haiku, I submitted the following on Robert Altman’s The Player:

The pitch, in 10 words:
Griffin Mill kills the writer,
and he steals his girl.

At the request of my wife — who is irritated that Red Sox Haiku isn’t updated more frequently — I offer this poetry gem, written in crayon by us over beer one night:

A curse that ne’er was
has finally been banished.
Thank you, young Theo.