Street of Crocodiles
Stephen Quay, Timothy Quay
- Memories from a void.
Little Otik, by Jan Svankmajer
An empty table, survived by its legs, seems to be asking for its pegs. A rusty window, glass removed on its frame, unbreakable when it came. A man, out-aged by his neightbors, puts away some empty diapers. A street, where no crocodiles live.
There Once Was a Dog
- Humans in the wilderness.
Great Expectations, by David Lean
Wandering in a desert, Freezing like a dirt, Scrambling to revert. Come upon in the wind, A dog, leg spurting, Have your last lunch, pinned. Wondering in a desert, Freeing doesn't hurt, Only to see, The dog with its tail thinned, Back from a place, heard.
- The world built upon its own measures.
The Lego Movie, by Phil Lord, Chris Miller
Flip the tchou, Pan the kloo, Jump on the hloo. Blou the flou, Glou the Nrou, Flou the Plou. It pous to fous goo, It tious to coo and hoo. A- And it goos tchou-tchou like tlooth.
Der Fuehrer's Face
War Parody/Political Sarcasm
The Great Dictator, by Charlie Chaplin
Sunday afternoon, It appears to be safe crossing the street, Until the man with the beard, Comes upon his feet. The bird fleets, The cat tweaks, The kid pleads. Sunday afternoon, Now safer to cross the street, For the man with the beard, Is just looking for somewhere to eat.
El hotel eléctrico
Segundo de Chomón
- Check in, no check out.
It moves, Like lovers, From tops to bottoms. It spins, Like dancers, From hips to buttons. It flows, Like singers, From throat to totems. This is the place to hit, From springs to autumns.
Hen Is His Wife
(Ego zhena kuritsa)
- I married an egg.
A hair was blown through a whisper, Floating and spinning, Dancing like a flicker. A woman steps on the hair, And demands her husband, That he pulls his hair and swear. The husband gently pulls the hair, from under the wife's slipper, Stuffs in his mouth and swear - "Oh, my dear love, I would rather have eggs than an affair."
- The magic that has no tricks.
Family Comedy/TV Series
Wallace and Gromit series, by Nick Park
P I C K N I C K The magick is classick
- The frame of the mind is the canvas that absorbs the paint of nature.
A pencil on a stencil, Rests itself through the rain. The downpour drains a parasol, Unseen on the paint. A painter in the winter, Just wakes himself to the stain. The color draws a splinter, Fading in the rain. A day without the shutter, Makes a ruin Drouin, from there, the pencil dances in the rain.
- Post-modern living.
Living Breathing Touching Feeling Smelling Indulging Giving Relaxing Standing Still and Looking Chill What a day!
The Great Train Robbery
Edwin S. Porter
- First narrative.
White Heat, by Raoul Walsh
March! Up! Eat the Spurs! Spur the shirts! Run! Till you lie down!