Savannah The Brown as seen on YouTube
It's truly incredible, the numbers of young women who are making a decent living out of making YouTube videos where all they do is talk to the camera. Incredible! Pick any genre that millennials might be interested in and there they are: women who like talking about books, women who like talking about poetry, women who like talking about gardening, women who like talking about science... You'll never reach the end.
It's perhaps not surprising that there are legions of young women trying their hand at creating content but what IS amazing is the amount of traffic they get! While I am languishing in nowhere land struggling to get 100 views they are easily garnering upwards of 100k. 1,000 times more and for what? Are they providing useful information or original works of art. No! They are only talking to the camera, proffering their opinions and waffling on. That's what people want? Why?
Anyway, I came across the young American/English poet and philosopher: Savannah Brown who has a number of poetry books already published and successful YouTube and Patreon channels. I found her to be intelligent and poetic but rather confused and probably crazy. It's fine! I support the right of all poets to write about whatever they like, in whatever style they like, whether it appeals to me or not.
While I was contemplating adding a comment to one of her videos I got the idea for this poem. It uses my "gimmerick" format which I believe I may have invented. It uses the meter of the last 3 lines of a limerick which it repeats once to form a 6 line verse or thrice to form a 12 line verse. The first 2 lines of each sub-verse rhyme and so do the last lines of each sub verse. Send me an email if you can prove that someone else used this format first...
Disclaimer: This poem is intended to be quirky, rhythmic and humourous. Its content is purely opinion, guesswork and fantasy, put together for artistic effect and should not be construed as fact. It is not intended as an attack on Savannah Brown, although it no doubt conveys my disrespect for "modern poetry"; a disrespect that you may find in other pieces on this website that have nothing to do with Ms Brown. For what it's worth: I have nothing against Sav Brown and I wish her well in her career. If she wants to write a similar piece with me as the brunt I will not complain so long as she doesn't invent some revolting crime and present it as fact.
Savannah the Brown,
was wearing a frown;
her poem was not worth a dime.
She found it a shame,
that the lines were so lame,
though she rewrote them time after time.
"What can I do
with this piece of word-stew?
To publish this would be a crime."
But for all that she tried,
emoted and cried,
she couldn't make anything rhyme.
---
Savannah the Brown,
was drilling straight down,
through her consciousness, looking for pain.
And the more that she drilled,
the more that she thrilled,
at the mess that she found in her brain.
The more that she played,
the more mess she made,
while her common sense ran down the drain,
Til her doctor said: "Lass,
You're a nice piece of ass,
but I'm sorry to say: You're insane!"
---
Savannah the Brown,
was acting the clown,
attempting to philosophise.
She talked about life,
the trouble and strife,
and the dread of impending demise.
But she turned up her nose,
at life's cons and its pros;
A spoilt young brat in disguise.
"It's heaven and hell,
the ghost in the shell.
Being born is surely unwise."
---
Savannah the Brown,
went straight off to town,
after Penguin published her work.
"I don't muck about:
I just open the spout,
and write it!" She said with a smirk.
"I mean no offence,
if it doesn't make sense.
I'm allowed; it's my personal quirk."
"For reason they say,
you can't trust anyway:
That's the deconstructionist's perk."
---
Savannah the Brown,
had got it all down:
How to squeeze the millennial sap.
Her phrases were swell,
and her followers fell,
into her grandiloquent trap.
So she made hay,
as five hundred k,
subscribed to her poetry app.
And no one on Earth,
dared question the worth,
of her meaningless, postmodern crap.
Warren Mars - August 2024