deepundergroundpoetry.com

Image for the poem The word and Verse                                                       late summer edition  P-1

The word and Verse                                                       late summer edition  P-1

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The word and verse is an independent publication put together
by members of DU for the purposes of entertainment and is in no
way intended to offend or cause outbursts of suicid
e.


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Roald Dahl was a very successful WW2 flying ace and spy for the allies

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From the news desk

sanctorum cacas

There's been much too-ing and fro-ing on the forums 'tween disgruntled members and admin. The disgruntled members were somewhat put out at the heavy handed tactics employed by guardian of the light Dr Jesus L Jackson, who in her dealings with Larry the lambking used holy words to try exorcise him back to the depths of hell. word on the street has it that the  Dr had sought the help of her local priest and they both sat in front of her laptop tossing holy water and shouting "the power of Christ compels you!!

During the course of the forum it transpired that one time member and guardian of the light Jack Heslop had on numerous occasions selflessly placed himself in front of the webstress and taken hits of rotten fruit on her behalf. ...and they say chivalry is dead

we salute you Jack!

In other news, men and women alike were swooned to jelly by the smooth crooning of Pierre the mad when he generously posted his rendition of La Vie En Rose. those of you familiar with Pierre's past singing endeavors will note the inclusion of actual words this time

https://soundcloud.com/coderey/la-vie-en-rose


Curtis made a heartfelt appeal for poets to donate some verses to people that can't string some words together. the appeal was met with stiff opposition by poets who among other things maintained that donating poems would only serve to encourage theft. people that accept donations cannot be trusted, ( not looking at you, JJ) it's only a matter of time before the starving population of Ethiopia come knocking on our doors to raid out fridges and pantries  

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What the hell is happening to the world!

(a brief look at some of the happenings worldwide)

Ukraine has stilled to a tentative peace because the scary Russian invasion has failed. Russian action man president Gladurhere Putin is said to be sulking in his new lavish Crimean Mansion.

Gaza is also enjoying relative peace, but poor Israel is in a sombre mood weighing it's many ones of dead against the small gain of a few thousand acres. I think we're all too aware of the sacrifices that the puny Israel army made to ensure Palestine's aspirations for world domination were thwarted in what must be one of the hardest fought battles this side of the dark ages.

we salute you too, Israel!!

Meanwhile William Wallace died another thousand deaths recently when the majority of Scottish people voted to stay inside the united kingdom. It's alleged that on hearing the news Queen Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, flushed the toilet then went for a ride around the grounds of Balmoral castle. rumour has it that Prince Philip took a shit on one of the native servants as a matter of principle.

There were mixed reactions recently when scientist Dr. Laura Mersini-Houghton from the University of North Carolina proved that black holes don't exist. while announcing  her findings based on a mathematical finished up with the line "and that's why Euan's black hole competition never took off"  

In other news ISIS has mutated!!  yes folks, the trendiest of trendy terror group IS formally known as ISIL and ISIS are attracting more members than Nikki Minge, and dashing around Iraq and Syria in white footwear, pressed black over-cloaks and trendy wristwatches. they are however eager not to offend people with their short movies and so have cut out any blood and gore that might occur when cutting a chaps head off. it's going to be all right though because the coalition of the willing has already started bombing Iraq and Syria so it'll only be tens of years until the world is a safe place again.

we salute you too, coalition of the willing!!

Ebola took a new twist this week with the third confirmed report of a victim coming back to life, yes in what must be the most bizarre story so far it is apparent that the age of the Zombie has indeed begun:

http://bigamericannews.com/2014/09/30/africa-confirms-3rd-ebola-victim-rises-from-the-dead-releases-picture-of-first-ebola-zombie-captured/

and finally, a new Nano flow cell car has been unveiled. the car is fuelled by salt water and has generated much interest from the Emo community who went as far as raising an arm slightly in what may be seen as the most intense expression of jubilee ...like ever

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Fun Fact

The American war of Independence was the only war where both sides fought under the Union jack. the British unsurprisingly flew the flag, but the Americans fought under Washington's grand union flag which had the red and white stripes of today's spangled banner but also had the Union jack where the stars are now  ..what the fuck were you thinking George!!

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A case of desperation

Poor Case28 was accused of being desperate this week after posting his new competition in which he asked for members to tell him about themselves. unfortunately for Case the feminist population were outraged by such a request and a 'male member' wasted no time relaying the feminist's disgust echoed by another female member who uncannily had the "exact same thoughts ..word for word" as the 'fore mentioned member voiced her concerns ..in different words. case though, not one to be put off kept his eye on the ball and continued in his endeavour to bag himself a new mate

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/7331/
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P. L Travers, author of Mary Poppins didn't like the music and hated the film’s weak depiction of the main character

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DU top ten popular poem charts as of friday 10th October

Coming in at number ten Savaja's perception talk about the actuality of knowing nuthin' 'bout nuthin'. At nine Heart of Glass writes Don't break me, warm fluffy romance is alive and kicking. At eight John Feddeler writes about the cemetery road he's walked upon

At seven it's Atakti who muses about tomorrow's shores. At six, five and four it's John Feddler again with his poems Venetian Ecstasy, clandestine, and  love, like a mountain

At three it's Mikimoondancer with  Don't Promise (to never leave me) , at two it's  JohnFeddeler again!! with vagabond's harmony

And at number one it's Mikkimoondancer with her poem  As Good As Our Word.

good stuff Mikkie, we salute you too!! a poet of poets.

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Author C. S. Lewis was fucking his dead friend’s mother who was twenty six years his senior

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Book review: The Big Four by Agatha Christie

As any serious reader of hers can tell you, Agatha Christie couldn’t write thrillers. Her area was domestic murders in tidy living-rooms, performed by devious monsters usually acting alone or in pairs. Though she wasn’t a notable prose stylist – publishing at a rate of about one book a year, her writing isn’t very textured – she was a master of plot and caricature, populating ingenious stories with witty little character sketches.

Thrillers, however, were beyond her abilities, even though she tried them at various points throughout her life. Her scope as a storyteller, I think, just wasn’t large enough to encompass governments and secret societies. Couple this with her extreme political naiveté, conservatism and even racism (this book breaks one of Ronald Knox’s “ten commandments” for detective fiction, that no cheap Chinese caricature be used to add superficial atmosphere) and you’re left with possibly her worst novel, The Big Four.

Possibly taking a hint from Sax Rohmer, creator of Asian master-criminal Fu Manchu, the book follows Poirot and his Dr-Watson, Captain Hastings, as they unravel the plans of Li Chang Yen, a mysterious Chinese figure also known as Number Four. He leads the titular Big Four, a quartet of megalomaniacs; Number Two is an American, symbolised by a dollar sign, two stripes and a star (Christie’s Americans always amuse me; for one thing, they all have names like Abe and Elmer, and smoke fat cigars).

Number Three is a Frenchwoman. (Symbolised, I assume, by some onions, a baguette, and a note of surrender.) Number One, however, is a totally unknown master of disguise, present whenever a gruesome murder occurs. There’s lots of murders in this book; so many, in fact, that I half-realised how it was tied together before knowing: it originated as eleven short stories which were then boiled into one narrative.

Sadly, the transparency of this is a major flaw. The individual murders and their investigations are somewhat compelling; for instance, an early case involving a leg of mutton, bloody footprints and some figurines is clever in Christie’s usual sleight-of-hand way. But when presented as one plot, with a supposed mastering force, the novel grows monotonous in the extreme, especially when you realise that said mastering force will never be adequately explained. (We don’t get to know any of the “four” that well.)

Furthermore, Christie’s attempts at thriller-like adventures, in the style of such pulp magazines as Black Hand (which is name-checked here), are just silly. If a scene in a Chinatown basement, riddled with divans, trapdoors, secret exits and chain-smoking Orientals, doesn’t make you wince, you’ve a more credulous heart than I. Christie was probably trying for a Sherlock Holmes-type appeal, but the lack of depth and texture strangles that.

Also, Holmes isn’t Poirot. One can imagine Holmes climbing ivy-caked walls, disguising himself as his twin and jumping off of trains at the last moment. To picture our favourite fat little Belgian doing that, though, is absurd. Christie might as well have cast Miss Marple as Indiana Jones, high-kicking Arabs while her glasses-on-a-chain fly, before rescuing her flowered hat at the last moment. You wonder why this didn’t occur to Christie.

Although, as author Robert Barnard (A Talent to Deceive: An Appreciation of Agatha Christie) observed in his summation of this book, it “was cobbled together at the lowest point in Christie’s life, with the help of her brother-in-law.” Clearly, then, like James Dean wearing leather to church, The Big Four was destined to be bad. Even Mark Gatiss, whose unenviable task it was to adapt it for an episode of David Suchet’s Poirot, called it “an almost unadaptable mess of a book”.

The only way it might have been saved, in my opinion, is if it stayed as eleven short stories, all published in one volume; omitted Poirot and Hastings in favour of, say, Tommy and Tuppence, the married sleuths whom Christie used for some of her thrillers; and revised the ending so that the big four remain shadowy (as well as removing some truly awful James Bond stuff, including, so help me God, a mountain lair with a secret boardroom).

The Big Four is a profoundly terrible book, unworthy of Christie and Poirot. At 160 pages it’s blessedly short, shorter than Christie’s usual length of around 300. If it was any longer it might be unreadable. The characters are stick-figures, the plot makes no sense (really, none, if you think about it, which I don’t advise) and the action-thriller elements howling-ly bad. Christie was a great storyteller – read something like Appointment with Death if you want proof of that – but Robert Ludlum she weren’t.

-Jack Heslop

You can read more of Jack's reviews here:

http://heslopscultcorner.wordpress.com/

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Fun fact:

Some people believe that Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, had sex with her married lover and future husband, poet Percy Bysshe Shelley on her mother's tombstone. What is known is that it was where she declared her love for him, after several secret meetings due to her father's disapproval, during a June night in 1814. Mary would have been seventeen at the time and Percy twenty-two.

Mary, as you might have guessed, was a somewhat strange figure. Between 1819 and 1820 she wrote Mathilda, a controversial novel about a father declaring his love for his own daughter shortly before killing himself. The daughter marries a young poet, but this doesn't help her grief. Some critics consider the novel, in some ways, autobiographical.

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That's all for page one folks, we'll have page two for you as soon as the timelock allows
               
Written by Muggle (The Word And Verse)
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