POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek

[keithgood838]

For Lena & Harry:

THE LUDDITE'S LAMENT

The technology is flawless,
it works wonderfully as such,
but dispiritingly soulless
to folk who prize the personal touch;
to me the price of progress
can, at times, seem to be a bit much.

Keith

[Lena & Harry Smith]

Very true,
Our thoughts wander back Keith. when calls were divine.
And now all we hear is,.. please stay on line.
Your call is important is what we are told,
Someone will be with you don't hang up please hold.

specially if a rope is nearby.

[keithgood838]

RHYMING COUPLETEERS

Nice humorous narrative verse,
dear Lena & Harry;
I will make poets of you yet,
if here you will tarry.

Keith

[keithgood838]

THE UNWORDY WINNER
(courtesy of Global Language Monitor)

So the big literacy race has been run,
and the crown of the one millionth entrant
to the lexical arena has been won
by a 'word' (Web 2.0) taking all of us for a ride.
Claiming the most appearances on the web,
as a 'ringer' it should be disqualified.
It breasted the tape before contenders
sexting, chiconomics and greenwashing,
words that medalled meanings muster,
in contrast to the pretender-king,
that Web 2.0 imposter.

Keith


Note. Web 2.0: the next generation
of worldwide web products.
Sexting: sending email or text with sexual content.
Chiconomics: maintaining fashion sense
despite the constraints of the credit crunch.
Greenwashing: rebranding an old product
as environmentally friendly.

[keithgood838]

Whenever I listen to Matt's evocative interpretation of
The Green Leaves of Summer, I am transported back to
my idyllic childhood in West Cork. 'Twas so good to be young then,
to be close to the earth.'
Although a townie, I lived on an urban island set in
an agricultural sea. Fruit-picking was an enjoyable
and gainful outdoor activity.
Threshings, however, were the creme de la creme of
the open air life. Everyone rallied round whichever farmer
was saving his crops. Bundles of loose stalks were fed into
the mouth of a noisy, stationary, mechanical monster
and bags of seeds emerged from the opposite end -
if you'll forgive the inelegant phrase. (Nowadays the whole
garnering procedure is conducted by a lone operator driving
a combine harvester 'among the fields of gold' - that's progress!)
When all was safely gathered in an evening of music, singing,
dancing and reciting followed lubricated by barrels of porter
and other beverages.
Another of Matt's meaningful recordings redolent of country life
is Skylark. Aptly both of these themes are featured in the following
two poems by Christina Rossetti:

A GREEN CORNFIELD

The earth was green, the sky was blue:
I saw and heard one sunny morn
A skylark hang between the two,
A singing speck above the corn.

A stage below, in gay accord,
While butterflies danced on the wing,
And still the singing skylark soared,
And silent sank and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green
To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
Somewhere among the million stalks.

And as I paused to hear his song
While swift the sunny moments slid,
Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
And listened longer than I did.

SUMMER

Rushes in a watery place,
And reeds in a hollow;
A soaring skylark in the sky,
A darting swallow;
And where pale blossom used to hang
Ripe fruit to follow.

Christina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)

Keith

[mariana44]

Keith, your recollections of "threshing " in West Cork, are very similar to the "Hop Picking" days in this part of Kent---"Hop-picking" was like an annual holiday for the Eastenders of London, and I have heard many stories from George of the good times that everone had--picking the hops by day--at night eating sausages etc cooked on an open fire, accompanied by a sing-song--a trip to the nearest pub for a drink or two, then the whole family huddled up for the night in one of the "Hoppers Huts"--some of which are still around--but not used now, as of course, like the "Threshing" is all done by machine now. Most of the Oast-Houses are now converted to living accomodation--at a hefty price. and in fact, I have 3 just opposite my back gate.

And as mentioned before, George loved the poems of Chistina Rossetti.

[keithgood838]

Thanks for your reminiscences, Marian(a).
Christina Rossetti was a great poet;
why not post a favourite of George's
in his memory? I can think of one very
appropriate one.
Keith

[mariana44]

I will check out my book of poems to see what would be suitable.

[keithgood838]

ONE DAY in MANILA


Through the perilous seas

of sang and sung,

Matt keeps his ship afloat;

and with masterly ease,

from the cruise is wrung

each pleasure-perfect note.


Keith Good

[mariana44]

Keith, I wonder which of Christina Rosetti's poems that you had in mind.

I know his two favourites were "Remember" and "Song", both of which were included in his funeral service.

[keithgood838]

Marian(a), I had Remember in mind although there is
little to choose between it and Song; they are both brilliant.
Did you like my Matt in Manila piece?
Keith

PS Many happy returns; we here in Barnet
are celebrating a birthday, too. My wife's.
'Birds of a feather.'

[keithgood838]

NO-FLY ZONE

Like a foe hell-bent on agitation,
the fly buzzed round the presidential head;
in an act of quick-fire immolation
that White House interloper soon lay dead.

Keith

[mariana44]

Keith---yes I liked your "Matt in Manila" piece-as I like everything you do.

I think"Remember" and "Song" are 2 of Christina Rosettis most well known poems.

And here's wishing a Happy birthday to your wife--another Gemini !

[keithgood838]

Thanks, Marian(a)
Sometimes I think I got two wives
for the price of one.
UPHILL is another favourite Rossetti of mine,
whose theme is totally unrelated to the foregoing
sentence.
Keith

[keithgood838]

This poem was written not with tongue in cheek,
but with hand very much on heart:

AMERICA

I love thine inland seas,
Thy groves of giant trees,
Thy rolling plains;
Thy rivers' mighty sweep,
Thy mystic canyons deep,
Thy mountains wild and steep,
All thy domains;

Thy silver Eastern strands,
Thy Golden gate that stands
Wide to the West;
Thy flowery Southland fair,
Thy sweet and chrystal air,
O land beyond compare,
I love thee best!

Henry van Dyke (1852 - 1933)