pulp poetry

If you have read my other blog posts, you will have stumbled across this thing. The feedback I got for those limericks was so good that posting more of my silly poetry was going to be a certainty. I’d planned it anyway, but now I don’t even have a choice.

I’ve been a fan of the movie Pulp Fiction since the first time I’d seen it, whenever that was. You can read the adventure of trying to track down a DVD of it here. A friend of mine whom I found in this internet thingy is an even more die-hard Tarantino – and of course Pulp Fiction – fan, so many conversations were peppered with quotes from Butch, Mia, Marsellus, Vince, Jules, the Wolf and all the other colourful characters in the movie. What’s more, she also enjoyed when I came forth with some silly limerick or haiku I’d made up on the spot or inserted into a story, product review or something like that.

So I decided to come up with a surprise for her, which I later even turned into a hardcopy present. I recounted the events from Pulp Fiction in form of an epic poem, each verse being a limerick.

To do that I sat down with the VHS tape I got on ebay, my laptop and watched the whole movie, writing down the order of things happening, bits of dialogue, things I wanted to use.

I can tell you, it’s really hard and it took me two sessions with a long pause inbetween to finish this monster, but I’m insanely proud of it. Considering the reaction I got from my friend it was totally worth it.

Now don’t go looking for perfect rhymes and don’t even get started on the meter, just enjoy the ride.

Here goes nothing:

Opening titles

A soft, moist, shapeless mass of matter
Names a feature film that has some splatter
Besides some drugs
a bunch of thugs
The movie features lots of funny chatter

Prologue

Two robbers having coffee in a diner
Discuss what robb’ry targets could be finer
Liquor store’s to risky
Bunny’s feeling frisky
So they decide to rob said diner

Jules asks Vinnie in the car:
Can you smoke hashish in a bar?
In Amsterdam
It’s so much fun
The cops can’t search you , so bizarre

The metric system’s Europe’s funniest thing
A quarterpound makes no bell ring
Is there a proper
Name for Whopper?
I didn’t go to Burger King

The burger is a breakfast’s cornerstone
Jules frightens Brett right to the Bone
He drinks some Sprite
Vince doesn’t bite
To Brett the metric system is well known

“Was your concentration broken?
English, motherfucker, is it spoken?”
Bullets fly
People die
In the cupboard is the looked-for token

Vincent and Mia

When Vincent shows at Mia’s home,
She snorts some coke before they’re gone
He has a drink
And time to think
Before they head out for the night to roam

The twist contest is pretty hot
The girl insists they take a shot
Vince has to dance
They take the chance
And win a trophy on the spot

As the night comes to an end
Mia puts to our contempt
An overdose
Up her nose
And Vincent drives her to his friend

They try to revive the near-dead lady
Their prospects seem rather shady
A shot to the heart
The circuit’s central part
Manages to jumpstart the above-mentioned lady

The Gold Watch

“When you kill a man, how does feel it?”
Butch’s opponent fell dead when he got hit.
“I’m American, honey”
Butch thinks of the money
“Our names don’t really mean shit”

“From giving me pleasure the oral way?”
Fabienne want’s to know the reason why,
Butch’s rip was cracked.
When all is wrapped,
“Any time of the day is a good time for pie!”

To find the watch is Butches quest
If he left without he never would rest
He finds it at home
but he is not alone
And riddles with holes Vince Vega’s chest

The following events include some gay rape
But Butch and Marcellus escape
They settle their bill
Butch will keep still
And tell no-one he came a tad late

“Whose motorcycle is this?”
“A chopper it is!”
Belonging to Zed
Zed who is dead
So there’s no need to tell you who Zed really is

The Bonnie Situation

It might be divine intervention
But it wasn’t Vince Vega’s intention
Maybe a bump
Triggered the thump
And splattered a head into each dimension

Jimmie is not quite amused
’bout his house being abused
The coffee is good
But there’s lots of blood
And as “dead nigger storage” the garage is used

When all is done, they go to dine
They look fairly clean but not very fine
Out of the mess
Wolf helped, god bless
“Must be one charming motherfucker of a swine!”

And the circle came to a close
When Yolanda and Ringo rose
To rob the diner
They thought was finer
But all they got was a bloody red nose

Roll credits

 

And here’s this week’s picture for www.52photosproject.com, the prompt being “crooked line”.

That is all.

hand_crookedlines

a few crooked lines I collected over the years

3 thoughts on pulp poetry

  1. Pingback road trip poetry | Olli Crusoe Dot Net

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