The Larnimans

[ray miller]

Dinosaurs dug themselves into the rocks
but the Larnimans, though they have come
from a globe far off, grown unbearably hot,
are here now - and they're missing their Mum.

The Larnimans dwelt on a distant planet,
somewhat tinier in dimension;
big fish in the pond they used to inhabit,
here their size has escaped your attention.

One eye that glows like burning coal
is all of which they are possessed;
behind the bend of the toilet bowl
is where they construct their nest.

"What colour are they?" you may wish to say,
but perhaps are too timid to ask.
Their tireless wings are a gloomy grey,
their bodies striped brown and black.

They emerge in the dark and the quiet,
being a shy and retiring species
who devour a most singular diet
consisting of urine and faeces.

So if during the night you must visit
the loo and you hear something queer,
don't wake us enquiring "Who is it?"
It's the Larnimans, silly! They're here!

Before you dispatch one with violence
remember how far he has come
across all of the starry silence,
recall he is missing his Mum.

Contrariwise, how will your bottom
relax in a comfortable pose
when knowing(you won't have forgotten)
beneath you a single eye glows?

To resolve the dilemma, act quickly
and shine on the creature a light;
it makes Larnimans feel weak and sickly,
puts an end to unflagging flight.

Then using your fingers lightly
taking care not to lacerate,
envelop his four limbs adroitly,
pop him back in.... Oh, too late!

Did I not mention the poison?
The effect it will have on your form?
Your flesh is beginning to tighten,
your eyes have converged and grow warm.

You've a hankering for your mother,
you wait for the waste to descend.
I'm afraid you shall not recover,
you are going, are gone round the bend....

It was their favourite bedtime story,
"'Course we know they're not real!", they said.
But they'd wake me every morning
crying "Daddy, we've wet the bed!"

[camus]

"there was the epic that ran almost uninterruptedly through the whole of 1923 - the epic of the Larnimans"

Of course there was!

A poem of child like proportions ( in an Edward Lear/JCC kinda way) whilst sneaking a little Dylan quote in there.

Your stuff is always highly entertaining. Crys out to be performed!

nice one
Kris

[ray miller]

Thanks Kris, perform it I will. Where's the Dylan quote? That miserly, sour-faced bastard will have me paying royalties!

[camus]

"One eye that glows like burning coal"

From "Tangled up in Blue":

And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burning coal
Pourin' off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you,
Tangled up in blue.

I once wrote a line that was word for word exactly the same as an Ian Dury Lyric:

"Shall I mourn your decline with some Thunderbird wine"

Here is the poem:

viewtopic.php?f=3&t=369&hilit=Shall+I+m ... rbird+wine

Pisser!

[ray miller]

And I know that song so well! I honestly never knew I'd got it from there.

That's a great poem of yours, Cornershop Cocktails, and only one response! Did you not realise then, that you'd imitated Ian Dury?

[camus]

Did you not realise then, that you'd imitated Ian Dury?

I honestly didn't, it was quite bizarre when I read the lyric. I picked up his auotobiog from somewhere, read it, and there was the line.

I'll never get away with it, but tis the truth.

[David]

January 2005. Bloody hell, that was back at the dawn of time.

I like the Larnimans a lot, but did they have to live in a toilet? I thought that whole toilet connection was a bit twee and Pam Ayresey - and I don't care if she's never written a poem about a toilet in her life - I just think the Larnimans deserve better.

Cheers

David

[ray miller]

David - you may as well ask does the sky have to be blue. The Larnimans live in the toilet. That is their fate. Nowt to do with me.No point in blaming the cistern, either.

[Ros]

No Idea what a Larniman is, Ray, but I'm a bit concerned about the punctuation here. Have you thought about adding an octothorpe, or possibly a hemi-colon? I mention this only for your own good. Wouldn't want anyone else picking up on it, eh?

Ros

[Helen Bywater]

I once wrote a line that was word for word exactly the same as an Ian Dury Lyric:

"Shall I mourn your decline with some Thunderbird wine"

That is so weird! My jaw just dropped open in amazement as I read that. Two or three hours ago, I suddenly sang the lines:

"Shall I mourn your decline with some Thunderbird wine and a black handkerchief"

I wondered why those words suddenly come into my head, as I probably haven't heard that song for years. How bizarre.

I like the poem, Ray. Great fun - it reminded me of Edward Lear, too. It also brought to mind an unsettling (literally) experience I had at a festival once, when some prankster reached under the partition of the portable toilets and grabbed my buttock - a highly risky occupation calling for careful timing!

[ray miller]

Ros - don't be so ridiculous.

Helen - prankster! That's a very polite epithet.I can think of a lot of other names.

[Helen Bywater]

That's probably not the word I used at the time.