Oh Muse! The bargain that you strike is hard,
When you demand that poets keep to rules!
Sometimes our thoughts are undermined and marred,
And all our bright poetic ardour cools,
When you insist on keeping us in check,
With numbered stanza and with counted line!
What mighty thoughts your discipline may wreck!
And how for wordy freedom we may pine!
Between the thought and pen you raise a fence
Which we must straddle should we wish to write,
And all you give to us as recompense
Is the knowledge that our poem's 'in the right'.
Akin to doing crosswords is your rule
And all I want to do is play the fool!
*
---------------------------------------------------------
WITHOUT IT!
My love of words
Often runs away with me.
Give me an idea,
Good or bad,
And I tend to run off at the mouth
Or pen
Or computer.
Take your pick!
I write a phrase
And preen.
Then I write another
And another
And another.
Like a bag of jelly-beans
Tipped up,
The words come spilling out
Until the whole table is full
Of spilt jelly-beans.
People taste a few
And then sicken.
I repeat an idea ad nauseum.
I get flowery
And bowery
And over-powery.
The ideas,
Good or bad,
Jostle to be let out!
What I need is someone
To tell me when to
STOP!
*
-----------------------------------------------------------------
TRAMPLED UNDERFOOT!
In a little suburban street
A mosaic stepped on by many feet.
Trampled upon, a work of art,
Maybe gazed at, at the start,
But now passed by! No admiration!
Someone took pains with this creation,
Looked to Nature to be inspired!
Was with creative passion fired!
After the earthquake*, art was needed.
Beautification plans were heeded.
Mosaics suddenly appeared
When the rubble had been cleared.
Dotted along the pavements see
Examples of the artistry.
But now it's all a bit ho-hum.
People go and people come.
Rushing past to do their shopping,
Never remarking, never stopping.
Only a blogging type like me
Takes the time to stop and see!
*
Beaumont Street, my favourite Newcastle street, was wrecked by an earthquake in 1989. Only 12 people died city-wide, but Beaumont Street had to be re-built.
*
Akin to doing crosswords is your rule
And all I want to do is play the fool!
*
---------------------------------------------------------
WITHOUT IT!
My love of words
Often runs away with me.
Give me an idea,
Good or bad,
And I tend to run off at the mouth
Or pen
Or computer.
Take your pick!
I write a phrase
And preen.
Then I write another
And another
And another.
Like a bag of jelly-beans
Tipped up,
The words come spilling out
Until the whole table is full
Of spilt jelly-beans.
People taste a few
And then sicken.
I repeat an idea ad nauseum.
I get flowery
And bowery
And over-powery.
The ideas,
Good or bad,
Jostle to be let out!
What I need is someone
To tell me when to
STOP!
*
-----------------------------------------------------------------
TRAMPLED UNDERFOOT!
In a little suburban street
A mosaic stepped on by many feet.
Trampled upon, a work of art,
Maybe gazed at, at the start,
But now passed by! No admiration!
Someone took pains with this creation,
Looked to Nature to be inspired!
Was with creative passion fired!
After the earthquake*, art was needed.
Beautification plans were heeded.
Mosaics suddenly appeared
When the rubble had been cleared.
Dotted along the pavements see
Examples of the artistry.
But now it's all a bit ho-hum.
People go and people come.
Rushing past to do their shopping,
Never remarking, never stopping.
Only a blogging type like me
Takes the time to stop and see!
*
Beaumont Street, my favourite Newcastle street, was wrecked by an earthquake in 1989. Only 12 people died city-wide, but Beaumont Street had to be re-built.
*
3 comments:
Thank you for leaving warm comment.
I do believe that words themselves have energy and power. In ancient Japan mysterious spirits were said to reside in words.
I love Trampled Underfoot! An ancient idea beautifully
redeeming an otherwise drab looking pavement and, at the same time, memorializing those who died in a
disaster.
I know little about the rules of poetry, but I know that I love your poems - the flow of the words and the images that they invoke.
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