Sonnet IX

I alluded to the pedophile bike way back when, so now I will finally actually write a sonnet about it. The bike I am now using was Brad's ex-girlfriend's when she visited last summer. Maryn is about half my size, though, and apparently likes her bikes to be small, too. We refer to it as the pedophile bike because it looks like it should be ridden by an eight year old. Jessica pointed out that all it needs are those little streamers coming off of the handles to complete the whole theme. But, it works, and strangely enough, no one seems to want to steal it.

Jabberwocky 1

On bike with wheels the size of two hedgehogs
I'm quick as crawlies high on opium.
Three "gears" I shift, observers all agog;
No bursts of speed, nor any respite, come.

Whilst slogging over High Street I observe
The many pairs of eyes all looking on
In question or pity, I can't be sure.
Did I eat cake, or she drink some potion?

Although we appear a curious pair
I cannot deny our special friendship
As bravely over Queen's Lane she does bear
Me past mad coaches to go on train trips.

I can't believe when her chain was unclapped
No carpenters attempted a kidnap.

1. Lewis Carroll, author of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, both supposedly written for a little girl, attended Christ Church college in Oxford, like Jessica, and he was a don there.

Sonnet VIII

This weekend I attended the V Festival at Hylands Park, a two day long concert with IMO a really cool line-up. The acts I saw: Orson, The Cardigans, Keane, Beck, Radiohead, Fatboy Slim, the Dandy Warhols, Gomez, Matisyahu, Starsailor, Morrissey, Groove Armada, and a little bit of the Divine Comedy, Paolo Nutini, The Charlatans, The Feeling, The Delays. And we danced some to DJ's as well. Yes, so, I was really tired at the end of said weekend. Pictures will be posted shortly - just have to get them from Joe, the only one of us who brought his camera. Some things I learned:

1. Beck and Morrissey are just inherently, innately cool in their beings. Beck's act involved marionettes dressed like him and his band on a little stage that did the exact act they did and had a very funny video montage of said puppets "behind the scenes" at the V Festival. What is funnier than puppets propositioning women and visiting port-a-potties? Morrissey was dressed all in black and his band in all white suits without shirts. That is hot. And his backdrop was a huge picture of Oscar Wilde.
   
2. Wellies are the bomb and give you a bizarre sense of well-being when playing in mud. They also make you a really good dancer.
3. Virgin is made up of evil marketing geniuses that can bleed you dry of all your money and you will smile and ask for more. Examples: a "parking pass" that comes with your very expensive festival tickets but then - surprise - turns out to require a 10 quid payment when you arrive; a festival lineup and venue that are very lengthy and confusing but, again, no publication of said lineup or map of venue is made available to you without another 10 quid investment from you. However, these Virgin people are not operational geniuses by any means, and this festival, if experienced by Kumar Rajaram, would inspire a flurry of overhead projections with process maps and various qeueing possibilities.
4. People are filthy animals when isolated for a couple days with only port-a-potties and various mind altering substances on which to subsist. And I would like to give a quick shoutout to the guy who urinated next to me while we were standing around waiting for Radiohead to start, our chav-ish football hooligan neighbors who blasted radio 1 at ungodly hours of the morning, and the overly amorous couple in the tent next to us. Thanks for making the festival even more memorable.

Endymion (For Music)1

We pitched our tents on high lands. Clouds pour'd down
So we did shower pounds upon the shop
And Cosy Camper's funky wellies found;
Gazebo, chairs, and ponchos were our crop.

We whet palates with Red Bull, vodka, beer;
Thus fortified we sailed o'er waves of grain
And entered harbors beat by deep waves clear;
The diverse sounds, rhythmic, entrancing, rained.

Ears Beckoned by puppets with humor dry
And pipes blew keen notes deep from iron lungs.
Tents sheltered sparks that when stoked did flame high;
hymns fanned, and Dirty Harry, touch of sun.2

We hung it up, the DJ, hats, V Fest;
To bathe post days long revelry is bless't.

1. Wilde's poem alludes to that of Keats.
2. These two lines refer to the Puma stage, which was housed in a big circus tent and was where we saw Matisyahu, Fatboy Slim (who ended with a cool mash-up of the Gorrillaz song Dirty Harry and his Praise You), and Groove Armada.

Sonnet VII

Everyone keeps asking me about my internship. I just can't imagine why. At any rate, I thought I would work up to a sonnet about simplehuman with one about my daily drive to simplehuman's office in Goring-On-Thames, a cute sleepy little village in south Oxfordshire. Picturesque, certainly. Bustling metropolis, certainly not. Each day we tend to see some repeating characters whilst riding along in Brad's BMW, like the roadkill that seems quite prolific in England or the guy on his motorcycle wearing all his high visibility (aka day-glo) gear that is so popular in this country. There is a trio of silver Mercedes' that sit parked in our parking lot that are owned by the Peruvian Connection people (no joke, that is the name of their business; I guess they didn't even want to try to dispel the sketchiness). Across the street is Jan-Marie bakery where we eat often since there is not much choice. And of course, Golden Balls roundabout. Brits just seem to have a good sense of humor, don't they?

The BavarianMotorWorkotica

With morn's curtain I don my day's costume.
Our chariot alights for Goring town
And slowly characters their marks assume.
The scene is set by Golden Balls turn 'round.

The divo takes the stage on his white steed,
His high vis vest aglow in sun's bright wash.
Next Road Kill One and Two, no lines to read.
The fox and hound's direction: "Just look squash'd."

The final act takes place on quaint small paths;
The silver Benz perform our journey's taps.
Facade of Jan-Marie, who'll break our fast,
Appears as over cobblestones we clap.

The jasmine takes its bow in gentle breeze.
Thus ends the matinee; next, Zoo Story.

Sonnet V

So this timeI wanted to introduce you to where I live - the Littlemore section of Oxford. I live in St. George's Manor (pictured), which sounds fancy (and is very nice - I swear) but used to be a mental hospital. Again, I must request you refrain from the obvious quips that are probably popping into your mind right now. Not surprisingly, there is still a working mental hospital across the street. In fact, just before I got here, one night Brad was awakened by one of the residents from across the street smashing the windshields of all of the cars in our parking lot with a blunt object. When that got tiresome, he came in the propped open main door of the complex (needless to say, it isn't left propped open anymore). He happened to come right up to our flat and sat there trying to bash in the front door. Jessica slept through the whole thing. And, as a note, I have been trying to run more here so the jogging path I usually follow is the towpath along the Thames. So here is a sonnet about Littlemore. And I hope it is not perceived as flip or callous about the very serious and soul-wrenching reality of mental illness because it is not at all meant to be offensive. It is just a sort of literary trope if you will spurred by my location.

The Faerie Queene

The Manor of St. George, this title's true?
The Madness of King George a name more apt,
For sirs we have: Quixote-like he slew,
But dragons slain in vain - all have hubcaps.

The facing hospital, our manor's twin
is known for fare - try friday's fish and chips. 1
I think the fish must purr in whispers thin;
"The pub will clear your mind," declare their lips. 2

Alas, I find I too fall under spells
When jogging down the path through fields so lush.
I see the sprites - they leap across bluebells,
by cows, down streams, up locks, in golden brush.

I think one reverie upon these shores
Would drive any to dream a little more.

1. One of Jess's friends told us to go have lunch in the hospital's cafeteria on Friday for fish and chips. He said its really tasty.
2. One time Jess had rounds in the hospital and later on she saw one of the patients at the pub down the street.