I Bet Jack Buchanan Would Like To Be You

[Oskar]

A face that shuffled up charades through lines learned
and ironed in across the local heath

unravelling in skeins of giddy aunts
unmanned
on rambling trains of happenstance.

Scruff crumpled cock roosting on a fence
gobbling oohs and aahs through tongue wiped teeth

that teased the lucky bag to spill
a spangled fantastic for the ladies and gentlemen.

[Oskar]

Appallingly bad last line. Don't know where I'm going with it. In need of something fresh and surprising! A pointer in the right direction would be appreciated.

happenstance also waits anxiously on death row.

Cheers.

[Crustyman]

Reprieve "happenstance". In the context it's the only possible word.
For the rest, the verbs need strengthening: possibly even bringing the whole thing into a continuous present.
As a suggestion:

That face shuffles charades through hard lines learned
and ironed in across the local heath; unravels
skeins of giddy aunts unmanned
on rambling trains of happenstance.

Scruff crumpled cock roosts on a fence,
gobbles its oohs and aahs through tongue-wiped teeth

that tease your lucky-bags, spills spangled
fantasies. Oh yes! for the ladies and gentlemen.

Apologies. It's hateful when someone does a rewrite. Slap my wrist.

[twoleftfeet]

I'm struggling with bits of this , Oskar.

Ironed IN across?

Scruff crumpled cock roosts on a fence,
is brilliant, plus (although the link is accidental) it sounds so hot and kinda spurry

on rambling trains of happenstance.
- is also top-notch.

that teased the lucky bag to spill
a spangled fantastic..
- I know I'm missing something, but can you have "fantastic" as a noun?

I'm seeing double-entendre everywhere (e.g. iron/gobble/unmanned) - should I?

We've had TC, now FH. Obviously you're sticking to the greats - whose next - Les Dawson?
No? Please yourself!

I'll see if I can find a link to Frankie's best joke (saves me writing it out)

Nice one
Geoff

[Oskar]

Reprieve "happenstance". In the context it's the only possible word.
For the rest, the verbs need strengthening: possibly even bringing the whole thing into a continuous present.
As a suggestion:

That face shuffles charades through hard lines learned
and ironed in across the local heath; unravels
skeins of giddy aunts unmanned
on rambling trains of happenstance.

Scruff crumpled cock roosts on a fence,
gobbles its oohs and aahs through tongue-wiped teeth

that tease your lucky-bags, spills spangled
fantasies. Oh yes! for the ladies and gentlemen.

Apologies. It's hateful when someone does a rewrite. Slap my wrist.

Who was that masked man?

No need to apologise at all. I thank you for giving this your attention. I quite like what you have done. It's more of a cohesive read, although the poem remains an ugly bird! Cheers

Geoff

I think I should have left this one chained to a radiator.

Ironed IN across?

It's there to reinforce the idea of FH looking unkempt, even in a lounge suit. It's also supposed to emphasise the effort he took to learn the lines in his routines. He apparently did a lot of walking around in parks and fields in order to drum it all into his head. That was his story anyway!

that teased the lucky bag to spill
a spangled fantastic..
- I know I'm missing something, but can you have "fantastic" as a noun?

I don't think you're missing much. That's the problem. I had the phrase some kinda wonderful flying around in my head and wanted something like it. Can I have "fantastic" as a noun? Yes, I can and I have. It's a little off-road, which I like. Unfortunately,the whole thing continues to stall badly. I like the picture that goes with it though. Think I'll keep that and throw away the rest, or maybe just keep Ruprecht the monkey boy swinging on his tyre until I can find some inspiration from somewhere. I can't seem to finish poems in the way I'd like to anymore. I've got some others that I'm also unable to kill off. They just lie there on the page, taunting me. The swines! Oh well, back to the note pad. Maybe I should take a stroll around the park and talk to the trees. No, tried that one already. I could always put the bloody thing in a bag with a load of bricks and dump it in the nearest boating lake. Hmmmm, tempting.

Cheers.

[twoleftfeet]

Don't bin it, Oskar - it's far too good to be scrapped.

I remember you saying you wanted the TC poem to show him warts and all, and I presume you are doing the same here
with Frankie (if I'm inferring the double-entendres correctly).
Subjectively, I'm not comfortable with that kind of treatment if only because I like to be left with something to admire in my heroes - call me sentimental (leave out "senti" if you must). This takes nothing away from your poem, of course.


Frankie told this story of how he was making a long string of public appearances - opening supermarkets etc.
It got to the stage where he got to the "gig" not knowing or caring where it was or why he was there.
On this particular gig, he was late - he leaped out of the car, went straight on stage and told a joke about Robinson Crusoe
and his faithful dog, Fido:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a storm that lasted weeks on the island. Robinson's crops were destroyed, his food supplies were washed away, and he couldn't fish. Faced with starvation, and with tears in his eyes, Robinson shot and ate his dog.
He even made soup from the bones, until all that was left was one leg bone.
"What a shame", thought Robinson, "Fido would have loved this.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joke over. Not a titter.
Frankie looked around - he was at a RSPCA gig..

[Oskar]

Geoff

I haven't given up on this one yet. A couple of decent lines might just change things.

Frankie told this story of how he was making a long string of public appearances - opening supermarkets etc.
It got to the stage where he got to the "gig" not knowing or caring where it was or why he was there.
On this particular gig, he was late - he leaped out of the car, went straight on stage and told a joke about Robinson Crusoe
and his faithful dog, Fido:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a storm that lasted weeks on the island. Robinson's crops were destroyed, his food supplies were washed away, and he couldn't fish. Faced with starvation, and with tears in his eyes, Robinson shot and ate his dog.
He even made soup from the bones, until all that was left was one leg bone.
"What a shame", thought Robinson, "Fido would have loved this.

Now that's funny!

Here's a very small fragment of a story written for Frankie by Eric Sykes. It concerns travelling from Manchester to London by air in a very old aeroplane -

It took ages to take off... in fact we went as far as Birmingham by road.

Cheers

[David]

Now look here missus - what's the Jack Buchanan connection? I need to know. No, really, I need to know.

Yes, I could google it, but where's the interaction in that?

Anyway, so far, liking the first five lines a lot. And the last one.

Cheers

David

[Oskar]

David

Eric Sykes, who knew FH better than most, said -

Frank's trouble was that he always wanted to be posh. He wanted to be Jack Buchanan (a suave British actor and singer), and I'd say to him,

I bet Jack Buchanan would like to be you. You have a responsibility to the people who love what you're doing. You're lumbered with it. You don't decide to be a comic, the public decides for you. You want to be an actor. They want you to be a comedian. Don't despise it.

N.B. I'm slowly working my way through Eric Sykes's autobiography, If I Don't Write It, Nobody Else Will. Excellent title! He's one of my comedy heroes.

I continue to struggle with this one. It hasn't slipped under the radar but I want the rest of it to be up to the standard of the first few lines.

Cheers

[David]

Now that just shows the virtues of independent reading. I googled it, and came up with nothing. Good to know that some things remain beyond the reach of Google.