Try to write a poem without reference to humans

FinsburyParkCarrots

Blummin' edit facility. I thought I was being all clever, arranging those quote boxes. :rolleyes:

Ms. Haiku

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

Which is precisely why we don't know if they'd use pronouns or not. The entire premise of writing in the English language anthropomorphises animal consciousness, irrespective of whether you represent it in an impressionistic pidgin, or like Proust.

Well, another thing to think about then is to place complete human experience on inanimate objects i.e., a picnic table. That may become too sloppy and really bollocksing up the yingyang.

FinsburyParkCarrots

In my Jungian unconscious,
I was, before a table
a tree, whose fruit was scrumptious
and very much eat-able.

Before I was an apple tree,
whose leaves in wild winds wave,
I was a Mrs Endersby,
a-buried in a grave.

Before I was the said deceased,
whose death was quite a harrow,
I was her poison, one diseased
and poisonous old marrow.

When I grew up, a happy marrow
There would be this fly
Who'd lick my dimples, green and narrow:
Yes, that fly was I.

When I was that bluebottle
I'd fly, so far and free:
But once I flew, too fast, full throttle
Splatting in a tree.

So if your table leg has got
these strange, bluebottle stains
this is my consciousness, a knot
of tree-veg-fly remains.

FinsburyParkCarrots

In my Jungian unconscious,
I was, before a table
a tree, whose fruit was scrumptious
and very much eat-able.

Before I was an apple tree,
whose leaves in wild winds wave,
I was a Mrs Endersby,
a-buried in a grave.

Before I was the said deceased,
whose death was quite a harrow,
I was her poison, one diseased
and murderous old marrow.

When I grew up, a happy marrow
There would be this fly
Who'd lick my dimples, green and narrow:
Aye, that fly was I.

When I was that bluebottle
I'd fly, so far and free:
But once I flew, too fast, full throttle
Splatting in a tree.

So if your table leg has got
these strange, bluebottle stains
this is my consciousness, a knot
of tree-veg-fly remains.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Whether Mrs Endersby counts as human, depends upon your opinion, and whether you are Mr Endersby, champion marrow-grower, or not.

Bu2

Ivy-covered trees
Swans gliding on lakes
Opal sky sunsets
Over the Sound

Windy sandy dunes
The crying of the gulls
White sails against the blue
The blue of the Sound

Old brick mansions
Colonial estates
Emerald green lawns
Overlooking the Sound

Ms. Haiku

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

In my Jungian unconscious,
I was, before a table
a tree, whose fruit was scrumptious
and very much eat-able.

Before I was an apple tree,
whose leaves in wild winds wave,
I was a Mrs Endersby,
a-buried in a grave.

Before I was the said deceased,
whose death was quite a harrow,
I was her poison, one diseased
and murderous old marrow.

When I grew up, a happy marrow
There would be this fly
Who'd lick my dimples, green and narrow:
Aye, that fly was I.

When I was that bluebottle
I'd fly, so far and free:
But once I flew, too fast, full throttle
Splatting in a tree.

So if your table leg has got
these strange, bluebottle stains
this is my consciousness, a knot
of tree-veg-fly remains.

You funny man, Fins!

Jamal

Alone, a tree
sucks up the rain
to withstand the winds
its destiny