Cyclops in Art Shop

The Cyclops sizes up various styles and size of frame

He thought the
Desert Grey mount
Went nicely with
The Ionian Black frame
And the shop assistant
Told him that he
Had a very good eye.

home page next poem

post poem on facebook post poem on twitter mix pinterest

Poem Study Notes:

This is a poem based around a single, simple pun. It's not a particularly brilliant pun, nor is it a particularly brilliant poem. However, that is not to say that some of the greatest poems ever written are not short poems, based around a single, simple, silly pun: Look no further than Spike Milligan's '2B or Not 2B', which is this poet's favourite poem. Personally I don't find it possible to enjoy reading Shakespeare. I find that the effort required to breach the historical barrier outweighs any pleasure you are ultimately able to extract. However, like millions of others, as a teenager, I was slapped around the head repeatedly by montonous, humorourless, stressed, bored English teachers trying to force me to enjoy Shakey at a time when, through tender age and undeveloped world view, I was simply unable to get anything at all out of it and the ultimate result was that it was programmed into me never to be able to read 'the bard' with any open mind.

So, I'm not a Shakey fan (that's Shakespeare, not Shakin' Stevens). However, the ultimate torture for me over the years has been that in the vaguely academic, vaguely literary, rather pretentious circles which I sometimes inhabit, any expression of anything other than complete respect and devotion to every Shakey syllable is seen as blasphemy; and when I first read '2B or Not 2B', not only did I leap for joy at discovering the best pun ever, but somehow the poem provided catharsis for all those years of suppressed-Shakey-indifference...Someone in a position of (cultural, artistic) authority had finally said to me: 'It's ok to dis' Shakespeare.'

Well excuse the rant. As for the above poem about a Cyclops, will it's ok, isn't it ... Could be worse.

home page next poem