POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek

[keithgood838]

I hope my forum friends will tolerate
this revised poem, which comes with warmest
wishes for a wonderful Christmas:

CLASSIC CHRISTMAS

The epic of epics boasts no arresting opening line.
A baby boy born to parents deprived of wherewithal:
in midwinter, in a stable, in Herod-ruled Palestine.
From a kernel of beatific love, this inauspicious birth
develops into the most phenomenal
biographical narrative ever related on Earth.
Commencing with infanticide by royal proclamation,
it picks up pace with a succession
of mind-numbing miracles,
climaxes in self-sacrificing crucifixion
and culminates in an ending undreamed of in fiction.

A sequel to this collection of celestial chronicles
is a felicitous twelve-day festival
that puts a smile on the world's face,
whips away winter's long-night pall,
and plants goodwill in the hearts of the human race.

Why cannot we resolve to own
the masterpiece, and not rely on the library loan?

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

May I take this opportunity to wish Marian,
happily recovering from illness, and all my forum friends
a healthy and happy 2012.
The following are the opening lines of a poem
published 100 years ago by Christopher House:

THE MAN AT THE GATE OF THE YEAR

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
'Give me a light that I may tread softly into the unknown.'
He replied: 'Go out into the darkness, and put your hand
into the hand of God. That shall be better than any light
and safer than a known way.'
So I went forth, and finding the hand of God,
trod gladly into the night ...

ROAD-FORK FORTUNES

Presenting his commercial prospectus,
high-profile Time breezily announces
unknowable good times for the year ahead:
'I see your wish list contents are on track to us,'
while he hides away the small print of dread.

Invoking Auld Lang Syne as we sing
our way over Time's liable-to-mist hill,
we banish thoughts of Nemesis;
instead we assume bounteous Tyche will bring
her largesse to keep us contented still.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

PUNCTUATION PROTEST

So Waterstone's plan to fire their apostrophe,
provoking a predictable flow of invective
from the grammarians' union: the
Apostrophe Protection Society.
But there is no reason for the purists' alarm;
the firm (supporters of The Singer's Singer)
employs a plural instead of a possessive,
and the language comes to no linguistic harm.

Keith Good

[mariana44]

That apostophe was always unneccessary--you do not see it in shops like Boots, Harrods, etc etc etc.

[keithgood838]

It would seem a bit remiss to let this auspicious
day pass without posting something by the Scottish
bard. The following may be appropriate since money
is the 'burning' issue of the day:

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANKNOTE

Was worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o' my woe and grief!
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass!
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided thro' thy curs'd restriction.
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile
Amid his hapless victim's spoil,
And for thy potence vain have wuss'd
To crush the villain in the dust.
For lack o' thee I leave this much-loved shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.

Robert Burns

[keithgood838]

Talk about earworms, all day today I've been crooning,
humming or whistling I Can't Stop Loving You, prompted
by Matt's version of the song. I think his individual intonation
fits the euphony of the lyric irresistibly. I hope my fellow
forumites will indulge me in my effort to cure my delicious addiction:

MATT MONRO, I CAN'T STOP HEARING YOU
(With apologies to Wayne Waddington & Tony Bickerton)

I keep hearing your unique vocal sound;
I'm walking up and down the streets of my home town;
I hear again like it used to be:
that Delius-like moment comes back once more to me.

I can't stop hearing you,
can't stop wanting to,
can't stop now that you've made me part of you;
I've heard some people say
I'm listening my life away,
but what else can I do -
I can't stop hearing you.

Your face I see in my memory,
I close my eyes and then you're performing again,
I'm in your thrall like I used to be,
I open my eyes and then I'm on my own again.

Repeat chorus ...

Thanks folks, I think that's done the trick.

[keithgood838]

Charles Dickens is renowned for his timeless
fiction, which is as relevant today as when he wrote it.
However, he is not known for his verse writing,
a taste of which seems appropriate on the occasion
of the bicentenary of his birth. Perhaps the contrasting
downbeat ending hereof reflects every father's chronic
anxiety about his daughter's wellbeing:

LUCY'S SONG

How beautiful at eventide
To see the twilight shadows pale,
Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,
O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale!

How soft is nature's calm repose
When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep;
The gentlest wind more gently blows,
As if to soothe her in her sleep!

The gay morn breaks,
Mists roll away,
All Nature awakes
To glorious day.
In my breast alone
Dark shadows remain;
The peace it has known
It can never regain.

CHARLES DICKENS (1812-1870)

[keithgood838]

LOVING LIGHTSHOW

A huge mass of heart-shaped,
electrically-charged particles,
like an interflora solar delivery,
is heading Earthward and is due
to arrive on the Feast of St Valentine.
To add to the lightsome pageantry,
the aurora borealis will be visible
in Britain and most of Europe -
surely a awesomely spiritual sign?

[keithgood838]

Francis Ledwidge is a less prominent Irish poet
whose work deserves more exposure. He was
born in Slane, Co. Meath in 1887 and, alas, was
killed in the battle of Ypres in 1917. I propose
to post another of his springtime-inspired verses
later in the year:

SPRING LOVE

I saw her coming through the flowery grass,
Round her swift ankles butterfly and bee
Blent loud and silent ways; I saw her pass
Where foam-bows shivered on the sunny sea.

Then came the swallow crowding up the dawn,
And cuckoo-echoes filled the dewy south.
I left my love upon a hill, alone,
My last kiss burning on her lovely mouth.

Francis Ledwidge (1887-1917)

[Lena & Harry Smith]

Lovely Keith, beautiful words.

[ROBERT M.]

Lovely

[keithgood838]

Hi L&H and Robert; glad you were moved
by Francis Ledwidge's poetry.
While we identify with the following lines,
we may contemplate the 'rosebud of a song'
by you-know-who.

DAWN

Quiet miles of golden sky,
And in my head a sudden flower;
I want to clap my hands and cry
For Beauty in her secret bower.

Quiet golden miles of dawn -
Smiling all the east along;
And in my heart nigh fully blown,
A little rosebud of a song.

Francis Ledwidge (1887-1917)

[Lena & Harry Smith]

Again, very nice Keith Thank you. !!

[Rob H]

Heres a funny one from my childhood, when we lived in Gibraltar. I was given Walter as a nickname at school and my brother's was camel.....our surname being Humphries!!


There was a boy called Walter
who came from the Isle of Malta
one day in the ring
he stepped on a spring
and bounced all the way to Gibraltar

[keithgood838]

Nice one Rob, it's refreshing to see someone
other than yours truly contributing verse
to this thread.
My late friend, Eric Baker, was a prolific writer
of limericks - he referred to them as Bakerics.
Here's one:

DISCOVERY DELIRIUM

When Archimedes roared 'Eureka',
Few heard, for he had no loudspeaker,
So he leapt from the bath
And running down the path
Became the original streaker.

Eric Baker