Poetry and dance

Now, here are two of the "arts" that haven't had the Cakesniffer treatment just yet. Maybe it's because I really can't suss them out.

All I get is a reaction, and that reaction is not good. That reaction is: subarachnoid haematoma

Perhaps I need poetry explaining to me, not poems, but the entire concept itself. If you want to say something, just fucking say it. Don't piss about with whatever it is (iambic pentameters??) that leave things open to interpretation, just spit it out and get on with it, for Christ's sake. By leaving things open to interpretation, you're automatically inviting a load of namby-pamby, arty-farty, up their own arse, goatee-bearded, pointy-nosed critics to come in and try to analyse each line of prose; to climb into the words and be with them; to wear the poem. WANK!

A pome, by Cakesniffer:

Safari park
Stately home
Shopping
Saturdays
Spent with you

....
Nope, nothing there. Can't do it. It must be my scientific mind.

How about a haiku?

Ass full of pork fat
Wobbles like a jelly mold
Mouth is flapping too

This was Stan's ode to Cartman

How do people actually enjoy this crap?


Dance
Dance, then, wherever you may be. I am the Lord of the Dance, said He.

Yeah, right.

I don't get it, I do not get it. And around the globe, little girls dream of being ballerinas. They long for an anorexic existence, being constantly punished by women with big sticks like Lydia Grant from Fame (I want to live forever, in a leotard, with thrush). All to express themselves through the Dahnce, dahling.

I really don't understand what people get out of such a performance, or do they just go because they enjoy the music?

"Hey Tina, I've got two £100 tickets for the Royal Ballet, would you like to come?"

"Hrrrrm, let me think about that. NO!"

I'd really rather die than go to see dance in ANY form. Or any performance art for that matter, including poetry recitals.

Dance and poetry, I'm almost crying at the thought.

No, no, no!