This Line's The Title

Author's note: We tend to think of poetry a terribly sophisticated medium, but in fact performance poetry is one of the most primal art forms. The words of the Siddharta Gautama, the founder of Buddhism, were preserved in oral form for over three centuries before being written down, memorised in verses by monks and transmitted through recital. Indeed, in ancient socities, a performance poem was often a newspaper, an historical record, and a movie all rolled into one.

Today, performance poetry remains prevalent in primitive cultures where literacy is rare or nonexistent - amongst the people of northern England, for example. I've been studying the conventions of the northern performance poem and, though of course crude by our standards, I believe I've discovered a certain rough-hewn majesty in its feral rhythms.

For a while, it seemed the northern performance poem was under threat, as electricity and opposable thumbs continued their inexorable climb up the map. Fortunately, this trend was reversed when pop group 'The Cheeky Monkeys' decided to adapt the traditions of northern performance poetry for use in popular song.

The following poem attempts to draw upon these traditions. I also believe it's unusual for a poem, in that it consists of instructions on how to write itself - useful should you ever wish to try your hand at this most ancient of art forms.

Select a setting to evoke
Rhyme with the first line that you spoke
Then undercut it with a joke
This line’s the title

Allude to ladies of the night
Describe two drunks then have ‘em fight
Is it coherent? Is it shite
This line’s the title

Insert a gritty witticism
Say a nightclub stinks of jism
Call it social criticism
This line’s the title

Yes, this line’s the chuffing title
No, I haven’t got a job
It’s a poetry recital
Only sometimes I say ‘knob’

Talk bollocks, jerk about a bit
And pass it off as native wit
Is it creative? Is it shit
This line’s the title

Begin to flag towards the end
Don’t give up now, my foul-mouthed friend
No inspiration? Just pretend
This line’s the title

Yeah this line’s the ballbag title
And I’m swearing from the heart
Clichéd scenes of urban blight ‘ll
Turn expletives into art

You heard right, this line’s the title
And it really is a farce
When a hackneyed heap of shite ‘ll
Earn a laugh cos you said ‘arse’

Pregnant chip shop giro dykes,
Mushy coalface whippet strikes,
Nuance? Talent? On your bikes
This line’s the title

Don’t break new ground, just pass the buck
You want insight, you’re out of luck
Something something something fuck
This line’s the title