Galimathias Musicum – 13th July 2025

He’s a loose liver, a great blusterer1
Building a life out of pieces gathered in secret.
Gradually becoming a disaster, his signature
He’s a man made of many departures.

At an all-you-can-eat festival of bad decisions
Only a maniac would slice cheese with a chainsaw
Cosplaying poverty, becoming marginally less useless
Words are only understood when you stop thinking about them2

We need to understand that we are already living with the monsters
Forming a complicated cake of dissolved civilisations
A concrete monument made out of nonsense
A fake perfume of cum scented compliments

1I read this line in a book, I think, but didn’t take note when I saved it for use later.
2This line is from a Substack article, which, again, I forgot to take note of

This hybrid cento came together after collecting a bunch of phrases (mostly linked in the poem) and then applying them to the GloPoWriMo Day 5 prompt: write a poem inspired by musical notation and words from a provided list (found at the link). I went with the following:
“gradually becoming a disaster”
Death metal symphony
nonsense, monument, concrete, departures


I was stuck for a title until I dug around a bit and found this from Mozart, the meaning of which is:
Galimathias“: A pseudo-Latin term derived from French galimatias (meaning nonsense or gibberish).
Musicum“: Latin for “musical.”
Together: Roughly translates to “Musical Nonsense” or “A Musical Hodgepodge.

This seemed entirely appropriate.

And though the resulting Suno AI song is very straightforward and nothing like a hodgepodge, I think that it’s quite enjoyable. Please give it a listen below.

30th Jul 2025 – Shared with dVerse Poetics – Music, Play on

I Have No Art – 12th July 2025

Written (after the fact) for the GloPoWriMo Day 4 prompt: write your own poem about living with a piece of art.

Now, I have no art on my walls,
nothing at which to stare and contemplate
its meaning;


All the flashy screens beg attention
diverting my thoughts,
more mundane;

In simpler times, a painting was all.

Yet, over there, a student’s picture
– I requested her to paint my cats;

And glued to the wall, another friend’s
attempt at writing a comic about Chinese rock music.

Band stickers adorn the cupboards
and my favourite 30-year-old poster hangs tattily
above the rows and rows of CDs,
themselves, providing a wall of colourful design.

So, I guess there is art on my walls,
scattershot and thoughtless,
each little piece contributing to the library of my life;


a mirror without glass.

Definitions – 11th July 2025

I’m not a poet, but I write
to put these thoughts down on paper,
I’m no hero, but I will fight
for influence in this caper;

I’m not a real artist either
perhaps I’m swimming at the edge,
With faith but not a believer,
it’s only to myself I pledge;

Not really a teacher as such,
a student only when I please;
I say too little, say too much,
an expert without expertise;

I’m no writer, only writing
to fill up these empty pages;
No influence nor exciting,
no actor upon the stages;

I have no musical talents
always screeching into the void;
It’s an act I cannot balance,
never upset but just annoyed;

Am I a poet? You decide;
I don’t really care either way;
All too easily classified
I am or I’m not what you say.

Written for the GloPoWriMo Day 3 prompt: write a poem that obliquely explains why you are a poet and not some other kind of artist – or, if you think of yourself as more of a musician or painter (or school bus driver or scuba diver or expert on medieval Maltese banking) – explain why you are that and not something else!
I’m not so oblique though!

Life Is Jazz – 9th July 2025

Written for the GloPoWriMo Day 2 prompt: Write a poem that directly addresses someone, and that includes a made-up word, an odd/unusual simile, a statement of “fact,” and something that seems out of place in time. Inspired by a piece of writing by David Elikwu.

Hey, Mister Saxomaphone,

hoot me a honk, and so right the wrong;

All the broken melodies,

reinvented

will create my song.



As perfect as a dirty corner

wherein lies the history of this room,

swept away by all your basses;

Mister Saxomaphone meet Thunderbroom!

A dizzy release of tension

but miles made me a kind of blue,

with a loosened grip of the sticks

the dischord births the cool.


A novelty of noise, your random riffs

brought my jazz to life, formed this punk

Mister Saxomaphone, I made my own song

from the power of your funk.

A New Declaration – 4th July 2025

Fifty secessions recommended
for restoration of human rights;
Enslavement to be suspended,
and fifty second-amendment rewrites;

The cowboy boots too small,
the experiment always failing;
There’s freedom for none at all
when the fascists are prevailing;

The right to food not guaranteed
make felons form for looting;
The chaos increasing with speed,
shuttering doors after each shooting;

A tremendous, wonderful thing to see;
a rise and fall so fast;
Selling off the foundations for free,
there’s no way it could ever last;

So fifty secessions needed;
those with virtue, step into the light;
Once the divisions have succeeded,
a second chance to get it right.

Inspired by my own comment on this post at stopdraggingthepanda.