Monday, 3 March 2008

The Poet Laureate Of Oxford!

While other cities and towns such as Birmingham and Warwick are busily appointing their own Poet Laureates, I noticed that Oxford (the city with the largest number of writers-per-square-mile in Britain), has been woefully remiss about keeping up with the times.

Having missed out on Poet-In-Residence of Oxford Bus Company, I have therefore decided to redress this shameful civic oversight by appointing myself; Poet Laureate of Oxford.

Henceforth you shall address me as 'Your Worshipful Odemistress of Oxenford City'. Courtesy curtsey lessons will be available in the Town Hall - to be announced by the Town Crier.

So if any of you other local poets want it, you'll have to fight me for it - quills at dawn! Hand-to-hand Haiku's! But I warn you, ink will be shed.

Mwah ha ha ha!

They'll never take me alive!

Now, where can I buy a white long-haired cat and an evil OdeJob henchman?

On the subject of Laureates, Gloucestershire Poet Laureate & top poetry slam champion Peter Wyton has written an excellent poem for another Laura of his acquaintance (another???? Can there be such an outrage?) - evidently with kindred world dominational aspirations, which I reproduce below with his kind permission.

A LAUREATE FOR LAURAS

Every Laura ought to have a Laureate. They owe it to their name.
And they’ll proclaim their Laura-ness this way.
Starting today, the League of Lauras will employ a Corps of Boys
Who’ll glorify, from cradle to all-night rave,
The extra-special aura of every Laura on the planet
From Andorra to Zamora, signorina or senora, each troubadour will chronicle
His Laura’s life from maidenhood to wife or paramour.
He’ll celebrate her slightest trait because there’s so much more
To Lauras, they’re impulsively impetuous, voluptuous and valorous
And mischievously humorous or so their toy-boys chorus. If the old conquistadores
Had chanced upon a continent of Lauras just west of the Azores,
Who’s to say they’d not have stayed and lost all interest in the notion
Of transiting the ocean to discover all those North and South Americas
Full of…Ericas! If you’ve savoured being favoured by a Laura,
You’ll be aware that she won’t care, if you strike up a good rapport with her,
Indulging in a tug-of-war in Baltimore, or sailing off to Singapore aboard
An Albercore, or doing a marathon for charity upon a penny-farthing bike.
She’ll hike up Everest for you if she thinks that’s what you’ll like.
That’s how it is with Lauras, once they’re for you they will utterly adore you,
Yet, when their seed of love is planted, you must not take them for granted.
The Laura you ignore will kick you out the bedroom door
Before your feet can touch the floor, but if you compare her, say,
To the aurora borealis, she’ll promote you to the A-list
Of her ‘kiss-me-please’ celebrities. You may even be permitted,
If your face has really fitted, to unpeel her like a peach
On some desert island beach. And then you’ll find your Laura
Sun-worshipping on her back and in the words of Cilla Black,
You’ll see a lorra, lorra, morra Laura than you’ve ever seen before.
In case your natural euphoria at this point gets the better of you don’t forget
That Laura’s Laureate will be squatting right beside you
On a deck-chair or a lilo with a very bland expression and a notebook in his hand.
And he’s not rooting for you, what he’s going to do is score you!
If he holds up 9.9, that’s fine, but should you dive below a 5,
You bet your Laura will abhor you and her laureate will have some terse verse on Romantic etiquette, along the lines of STOP! You’re not a bull. She’s not a china shop.
That’s Laura. I implore you to employ finesse. You must caress her
To impress her. Think Dresden shepherdess, not sumo wrestler,
Oh, for goodness sake, you masculine mistake,
MOVE OVER.

© Peter Wyton

6 comments:

Rol Hirst said...

Your Worshipful Odemistress of Oxenford City... here was me about to pick you up on the Oddjob typo, before realising the pun. D'oh!

And Peter's poem - how's that for exhausting the rhyming dictionary?

Reluctant Blogger said...

Now be careful you don't trip over in that robe - I know what you are like!

I suppose I need to retreat, bowing low and making sure I don't turn my back and offend you.

The Sagittarian said...

I thought that was your title anyway!! Humble grovelling to you.

Steve said...

Dear Worshipful Odemistress of Oxenford City, will you be wearing your pink pyjamas at official functions?

The Poet Laura-eate said...

Thanks muchly for the bowing and scraping folks.

Aren't blogs just the best for World Domination?

It's all gone quite to my head!

I'll have to put on my pink pyjamas and go have a lie down.

PS: Think yourselves lucky I'm not a 'Serious Poet' - apparently they expect genuflection and the Day after the Queen's birthday as well.

Lady Language said...

Dearest Worshipful Odemistress of Oxenford City...the crown is quite becoming and I am envious of the sash .