My new take on old poetry
She asked, with a deadpan delivery, “what are words worth?” She, of course, being Philomena Cunk, my new preferred comedic character from YT. As seen on the Beeb. I don’t really know for sure. An act, but a great one. I stand convinced that this is how history should be taught.
Why this? Well, I have had some dreams that find me reciting poetry. Proper stuff, with lines and stanzas, straight out of a reader from grammar school. Think “Ancient Mariner” or “Kiblai Khan”. I can’t fact check my efforts, because dreams are ethereal, but it sounded right. With rhymes and meter. All the things I used to see and forget.
But, did I? Is the brain like an expensive recorder, with magnetic tape that doesn’t fade away to noise after a suitable lapse of time. I would love to test this further, if only to reduce my discomfort. School grade literature.
And I have no idea what might have triggered the recall. Nothing I’ve read recently for sure. Or heard. My audio channel is set to endless iterations of battery installation.
Worse, I don’t have the batteries. By the time I do, I’ll have to review those videos, because some things are too important to leave to imperfect recall.
Obviously, I have too much free time. The result of little money, and a fear of falling on the ice. Winter risks. I went out this morning to put the blue bags back my the road. Try two. I didn’t fall, but that is because I have mental images involving penguins. Also, I do slow very well.
