Showing posts with label alliteration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alliteration. Show all posts

Saturday, 11 April 2026

9 - Maximal Drama!

#NaPoWriMo Day 9 and, owing to ill health and another day of sleeping for what turned out to be 14 hours(!), I’m catching up a little frantically today, knowing how difficult it gets if you let it slip and keep saying “Oh, I can catch up – it’ll be fine! So, given an interesting combination to work with by my Prompt-o-matic Spreadsheetatron™, I’ve been writing a piece of alliterative verse inspired by Max Devrient. Yeah, I hadn’t heard of him either, and it took getting an automated translation of the German Wikipedia page, which is (unsurprisingly) packed far more with information, to find out enough to make this piece, where I decided that “alliterative” in this instance meant “all the words have to begin with either M or D”. (If you’re keen to find out more about this fascinating chap, this page is quite the treasure trove, including some delightful photos I wasn’t sure if I had the rights to use!)

Remember that, if you’re a subscriber to my Patreon, you can hear a recording of this piece (and the eight preceding it) there. The link to the relevant post is here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/maximal-drama-155321764


My mother made me
delve deep, destiny’s
metric demonstrated.

Disappointments dog
men mirroring me.
Dented masks; dull drips.

Dynamic mastery
marries, denied divorce,
making do, multiplying.

Deflected, movies magnify
my dramatic definition,
monk making much money.

Deep down, darkness
deals death; daughters
dispense desperate doom.

Diverted, my midwinter
directs, monarchs match
my merits dutifully.

Döbling decorated,
my moniker delineates
driving. Magnificent!

An early photo in black and white shows a white, male actor with short, dark, straight hair peeking out from the hood of his chainmail armour. He is glaring at the camera, pouting slightly under a magnificent - and almost certainly false - moustache that curves up towards his hidden ears. His outfit is further enlivened with a dark, velvety-looking cloak, two sashes, and a massive sword, on the pommel of which he's resting his crossed hands.
Max Devrient as “Zawisch” in Grillparzer's “King Ottokar’s Fortune and End” at the Vienna Burgtheater, courtesy of Wikipedia

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

#21 Do Ye Ken John Thorn?

So I've been reading about Norse poetry forms. Probably safest to say that this is "inspired" by them (and some rune theories) than strictly any one old form...

***

Fourth night finds this fellow
Bellowing brutishly:
"Give me glasses to gulp!
Wenches to woo wetly!
Heavy heads to hammer!"

She sheds her shift, sighing
Wonders why work wears thin,
Men mere miasmic meat,
Girls giggling glib ghosts,
Cretins curtain corners.

The thickened throng thins out
Hearing hollers ahead
Leaves lingering louts late
Exposed, everts her eyes
Catches catcalling clod.

"Oi, oi! Oi! Oi! Oi-oi!"
Fellow flails fetchingly
"Cor!" he crows, calls "Crumpet!"
Approaches avidly
Bounds, bobs, beckons blowjobs.

Finally: a fair fight
Jeering jizz-gesturer,
Lolloping lickspittle
One warning to withdraw:
"No, nitwit - now naff off."

He, hopping, hardly hears
Leers like a lackwit loon
Reaches to rap her rump
Thundering, thumps, threshing;
Ground grinds the gormless git

Clog clips his cloaca
"No, no, no, no, no, no!
Try touching temptation
With awe, witless wanker.
Respect our responses."

Ponders pragmatism:
"Always ask, you arsehole."
Strides off, satisfied, smiles.
He humbly hobbles homewards,
Mends manners, mind, and more.