My odyssey is almost at an end
This self inflicted challenge almost done
What have I learned in these last hundred days?
Has doing this made me a better poet?
How many people have I irritated?
And do I still like making up sestinas?

Before this I had written three sestinas
And every time I thought they’d never end
But people liked them, were not irritated.
They weren’t to hard, I seemed to get them done
With ease, but did that make me a real poet?
What if I did it for 100 days?

I’d meant to set a schedule up for days
For daily writing, it could be sestinas
Or anything: I’d work at being a poet
But I would get distracted in the end:
My daily writing just did not get done
And left me petulant and irritated.

So maybe I was mostly irritated
When well, exactly nine and ninety days
Ago, I said “Right, that is it. I’m done
With easy targets, 100 sestinas!
I’ll see this project through right to the end
And then I’ll be a bloody expert poet!”

But has it helped me be a better poet?
I’ve learned that even when I’m irritated
Or tired, or busy, even at the end
Of all my patience, I can fill my days
With keywords, keep on pumping out sestinas,
And even if it’s crap, be glad it’s done.

And what else has this mad adventure done?
Well, I’ve not wondered if I was a poet:
I’ve been too busy writing these sestinas!
And though I know sometimes I’ve irritated
My wife, and had my dull and dismal days,
I’m kind of sorry this is at an end.

Now my sestinas are so nearly done.
One left, and then the end. Am I a poet?
Or have I irritated you for days?

What can I do to be original?
What themes in poetry have not been done
To death? What stories haven’t yet been told
Or anyway, which ones still have some wear
In them? How can I keep my poems fresh?
It’s really hard to not repeat myself!

And when I think i’ve thought of it myself
I often find it’s unoriginal
That centuries ago, it was a fresh
Idea, but now the bloody thing’s been done
So many times it makes me want to swear
It has been painted, written, sung and told.

But there must still be stories to be told,
Some plotlines I can have all to myself!
They’re somewhere in me, certainly, but where?
How will I know when I’m original
And when derivative? If it’s been done
Then can I change it into something fresh?

It’s so important, now, to keep it fresh:
For readers get bored quickly, so I’m told,
If they suspect that your ideas been done
They’ll walk away and leave you to yourself
The pressure’s on to be original
That’s what makes stars like Lady GaGa wear

A meatdress, which is lots of fun to wear
But, like my poetry, will not stay fresh
But better stink and be original
Than decorous and classical but old
News. So do not sabotage yourself:
And play it safe with something that’s been done.

As BNL once sang, it’s all been done:
And now I think about it, that is where
I got this idea from. I’ve conned myself
I thought that this Sestina would be fresh
But meta writer’s block is really old.
So I have failed to be original.

I think, myself, that everything’s been done.
Nothing original is anywhere:
To keep them fresh, old themes must be retold.

Sometimes I really wish I was a Tory
And saw the world so clearly in my mind.
I wish I could believe the simple story
That says that with a bit of daily grind
The poor and needy can become successful
My liberal sensibility’s so stressful!

I find seeing the bigger picture stressful.
It would be easier to be a tory.
If hard work’s all you need to be successful,
Then slogging out my heart I wouldn’t mind,
Knowing I’ll be rewarded for my grind
And have a happy ending to my story.

So why do I suspect it’s just a story?
Why are these public service cuts so stressful?
Why do I get the feeling they will grind
The poor into the dirt? Is that the Tory
Ethos? They don’t think the poor can mind
Because only the lazy aren’t successful.

But it is easy to become successful
If yours is a prep school and Eton story.
I see how it might never cross your mind
That being underprivileged is stressful
If I was rich, perhaps I’d be a Tory
believing my success came through hard grind

When I’d not even ever had to grind
My fresh-made morning coffee, so successful
Was the sense of privilege which, as a Tory,
Became the only palatable story.
And any other worldview would be stressful:
To think my wealth was luck would blow my mind!

Some days I really think I wouldn’t mind
Abandoning my roots and daily grind
Being a trendy lefty is so stressful!
If I could be posh, thick and quite successful,
And scoff over champagne at tragic stories
Of public sector cuts, I’d be a Tory.

It’s stressful, but I think I know my mind:
I’ll never be a Tory, though the grind
Is hard, it’s unsuccessful, that old story…

So apparently antiporn group Object dislike other forms of feminism, and expect new members to “learn” from
them, rather than debate or bring in other ideas. Ooh, Kinky!

I used to think I was a feminist.
I thought that women should have equal rights
And that society was run by men
And women’s work was not appreciated
Enough, and so I wanted to object
At inequality based on my body.

I thought I had the right to show my body
Or cover up: that as a feminist
The choice was mine and no-one could object
But no, this view is bad for equal rights
Apparently it’s not appreciated
If I’m objectified by Evil Men.

Or worse still, if I act like Evil Men –
And feast my eyes on other women’s bodies –
For flesh is not to be appreciated
By me or anyone. It isn’t feminist
You can’t be sexy and have equal rights
Because you’re being treated as an object.

Well, that is what I have been told by Object:
I shouldn’t look at women. Nor should men.
And no doubt those brave feminists are right,
So, when I like to look at women’s bodies,
I am a very naughty feminist.
So punish me! I have appreciated

The female form, and I’d appreciate it
If I could be brought into line by Object
So firm and strict, oh please, talk feminist
To me! Oh tell me it’s the fault of men!
Yes! punish me for lusting after bodies!
I love it when you take away my rights

And make me think like you, for who needs rights?
Why should sex workers be appreciated
For all their work? They disrespect their bodies,
So we can too! That’s what I learned from Object:
The home of dominatrix feminists!

It seems I have no choice, but who needs rights?
I’m feminist and unappreciated!
I’ll “learn” from Object: never trust the men.