Doom amongst the pipes…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s carefully selected colours are: molecule mauve, yoicks yellow, bobbins brown, voluptuous violet, woolly white, and ripple red.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hm, I don’t know if it was something left over from Dulltown 2017 City of Culture or not, but there was, in the city centre yesterday, one of those pan pipe ensembles that blow their pipes along with a very loud thudding thumping pre-recorded drum and bass track. As I approached them I was pleased to notice that the music had just stopped (god, they were loud, it was echoing off the surrounding buildings) and the band were standing around having a well-earned mid-racket break for soft drinks, sandwiches and cigarettes.
Suddenly there came a loud noise bursting through their loudspeakers; it consisted of a string of colourful and ripe expletives delivered in rather coarse drunken English, it was soon joined by a series of cries in another tongue, possibly something native to the Andes.
I looked across to see two pan pipe players, still in their bright costumes, fighting with a scruffy looking grinning individual; they were trying to regain possession of one of their microphones; it was picking up the exchange and broadcasting it clearly to all the passers-by in the square. A good crowd was gathering around; they seemed to be enjoying the fracas more than they had the music, but that’s Dulltown City of Culture for you.
‘Gimme that fucking mic, you mean selfish tooting bastards!…’ Yes, it was Simon Doom, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, he then added, ‘Let me address the throng! My audience! My spoems (spoof poems) are a lot better than your insipid pan pipe shite!…’
After the police turned up and gave him a good talking to, and then let him go, he walked over and handed me a torn handwritten copy of the work he was attempting to communicate:

Trang, trang, trang, trang… Trang!
Carbonitty fruff dalm dalm pugnor, oh!
Bockitty, lom datty-datty clobfugs.
Fackle snage yem yem yem… Vrang…

Brang, brang, brang, brang… Brang?
Chuldrex spuxle lalm lalm snutfags, oh!
Tigwerms, a-lolli-lolli splights.
Fackle snage yom yom yom… Wrang…

Wrang, wrang, wrang, wrang… Wrang!
Cremdick flodger falm falm chummit, oh!
Zoopits, mallage oom-oom grithers.
Fackle snage yim yim yim… Brang…

Vrang, vrang, vrang, vrang… Vrang?
Cesserons vindats nalm nalm bloomoid, oh!
Hopsy, gurthmo alpy-alpy mudoids.
Fackle snage cha cha cha… Trang…

Simon Doom 2018.

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in colours, composition, drama, Dulltown, expletives, Hull.UK., humour, music, poetry, serendipity, style, surrealism, swearing, words, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Doom amongst the pipes…

  1. Jheron Bash says:

    Must say, it’s more interesting than pan pipes!

  2. Sharon Mann says:

    Oh you have a rich imagination Dave!

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