So, poetry eh? It's a bugger. The other day I was going to not spend any money, so why did I go into the book shop? And why to the poetry section? These are questions which may never be answered, at least not in this world, though perhaps in some kind of Star Trek future where we can all ask Q anything we want, except he laughs at our quibbles in that annoying omnipotent way of his. Where's old baldy when you need him eh? Of course the end of this tale is rather dull, it all comes down to the fact that I emerged from said shop with a copy of 'The Message' (4 pounds 95p, all good bookshops), and very nearly a copy of 'The Book Of Love' by Roddy Lumsden, although I hit myself a lot so as not to spend money I don't have, which is a bad thing. Especially as I'd already purchased 'Saturday Afternoons and Wednesday Tea-Times' by Gil Stutters. Heartily recommended, it's a wonderful addition to any bookshelf or kitchen floor. So I'll steal the Poetry Parrot for a bit, and give you the pleasure of some of the man's finest work. Most are quite short, which for me only adds to their emotional potency. Prepare to be enthralled... Damn Sexy I watched her for a while And thought of writing her a letter Proclaiming that her eyes were like points of light in heaven But her arse was even better Rambling Leaning, I leant on a brown fence post The fence post of my dreams Wrapped up in all futures past time Presently A woodland creature stirs, cacophonous In it's fluffy silence It's haven of tree, my perpetual nightmare It's smallness echoes my own size, inversely. On Being A Potato Imagining the forcing earth Ambitious stalks crawling ever sunward Passing me, in my unchanging gloom No, this would not do The time would be the real finisher Although the opposite end, it would still Feel the same What would Poe have said, I wonder? Love nor Money What is love? Said the farmer to the merchant banker. Love is money, for both make the world go round Said he, in his city wisdom Ah, but did not Superman also make the world go round And backwards? Spake the farmer No, love is a new tractor, a red one. You're right, said the banker. The tears are welling as I type. But I'll recover just enough to give you the next in my occassional series (bet you never thought I'd continue it, did you? Oh, ye of little faith...) of "What People Used To Eat." And I don't care if no-one enjoyed the last one. This one's far worse. "What People Used To Eat: During The 1978 World Cup" John Buchanan of Stirling says "Oh aye, 1978. (Sings) We're on the march wi Ally's Army, we're gon to the Argentine! Oh aye, that was a great laugh, great times. The first match we played Peru, so we all ate marmalade. Truckloads of the fucking stuff. Even now I can only have honey or jam on my toast. Mention jaffas and half of me 'll be over your shoes less time than it takes for Scotland to be eliminated. Iran were next, but we couldn't think of anything to eat from there, so we just ate curries seeing as they look a bit Indian. Well, some of them anyways... The last game was against Holland, so naturally enough we all stuffed ourselves full of tulip bacon. Well, we tried to, but couldn't find any tulip bacon in Argentina, so we had to eat actual tulips out the local flower shop. They're not bad if you dump loads of salt on them. Looking back maybe we should have gone for cheese. We could have been eating sausages and pasta as well if Jonny Rep had just miss-kicked that one fae 35 yards, but we probably would have done ourselves serious damage. Anthony Reid of Essex recalls "The 1978 World Cup? I just ate what I usually ate, which was egg and chips. I'ts lucky we never qualified otherwise I'd have been eating Argentinian muck. We still laughed at the Jockos though." Starry:

Almost makes me want to get married meself. But white is SO not my colour.

And Stephin Merrit is still gay. Which reminds me, I want to buy 69 Love Songs but I have no money. This REALLY annoys me. I've just realised I have no Monet either, which is what I just wrote before changing it. Actually I might have a book at home, which ruins a bad joke. Why do people keep calling 'Winter Wooskie' 'Winter Wooksie'? Is it just to annoy me? Shit, I've just worked out what it is! The first 3 notes are 8 Miles High by The Byrds. Has someone already said this? Oh, and since I nicked the Poetry Parrot I should send it to someone, so my co-pilot Kevan Cooke is getting it, since he usually steals my ideas anyway... B&S on TOTP eh? I can barely contain myself. I hope they've got their dance routine worked out. If Struan doesn't wear his silver trousers I want my licence fee back. I'd better not get a life before Friday, otherwise I might have to go out. Alasdair xx (Once a c*nt, always a c*nt) +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "peculiarly deranged fanbase" "frighteningly named +-+ +-+ Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+