Tuesday, 13 March 2007

The Tyler

Tyles! Tyles! Small and bright,
That cover bathroom floors at night.
Having my nocturnal wee,
I contemplate thy symmetry.

Each small tyle, he is a square.
Beside another, they're a pair.
But try to count him, one by one,
He'll trick you, this dread polygon.

Long I sit on toilet white,
Counting tyles through the night.
Nine squares, you know, are three by three,
And thus the tyles go multiply.

Though I count them one and all,
When they fetch against the wall,
The units of this bathroom graph
Are broken by the wall in half.

Thus my count, it baffled be.
This, the bane of midnight wee.
She who the tyles doth contemplate
Will thus be left disconsolate.

- Wilhelmina Blake

7 comments:

Karen said...

Applauds (and quietly wonders if it isn't high time to crack open that bottle of Pimm's- or whether we don't already owe Ms. Blake's output to Pimm's).

Does Chez Harlot boast any 'Shakespeherian' appliances or fixtures we should also know about, particularly in sonnet form?

TimT said...

Maybe a Shakespearian stereo, jangling all day and all night with the Zounds of Zilence?

alexis said...

Hm. Now there's a challenge. Perhaps I have a Shakespeherian Rag somewhere about my waste land. Speaking of waste, and Shakespeherian Rags, and bathrooms, T.S.Eliot is an anagram for "toilets".

Karen, the Pimm's is still corked. These effusions are the result of frantic procrastination over Blake Lecture #2, rather than excesses of the demon drink.

Karen said...

For some strange reason it has never dawned on me that T. S. Eliot is an anagram for toilet. Thank you for that. I will treasure it always.

Am very keen to see your Shakespeherian rag, although I may follow up by challenging you to write a sestina on your letter box.

I have a very nerdy Simon and Garfunkel fetish, so my stereo jangles accordingly often.

wool spaniel said...

For grout's sake, let us sit upon the loo
And tell sad hours about tiles and things:
Note some have been dislodged; some crack'd in two;
Some water round the gaps they fail to close;
Some broken at the corners; some creeping mildewed;
All mouldy.

alexis said...

Richard II will never be the same again! You're brilliant, wool spaniel. I hope you get it from my side of the family.

Also hope that wee wool-spaniel-pup of yours had a fine old birthday yesterday.

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