When a young lady named Ria
Said, “sir, is your love sincere?”.
I said, “you are pretty
And I am quite witty.
But I’ve never been called sincere!”.
Sincerity
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Author Archives: K Morris Poet
“My Madonna” by Robert W. Service
I recently took down from my bookcase Robert Service’s “The Spell of the Yukon”. Amongst the poems contained in that book is “My Madonna”, and reading it reminded me of this article, hence the reblog. Kevin
In “My Madonna”, by Robert W. Service, the narrator describes how he “hailed” a prostitute “from the street” and painted her portrait. Having added a halo to the original painting, the poet/narrator sells the portrait, which now hangs in a church” Where you and all may see”.
It is merely my interpretation, but the line “ And I sold her and took my fee”, suggests to me a connection between the subject of the painting (a prostitute) and the poet (over and above the obvious fact that he painted her portrait). Both are selling something. In the case of the “Madonna” this is sex, while the poet is selling the prostitute’s painting and, in a sense the girl herself.
You can find the poem here, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46644/my-madonna
For The Love Of Poetry
Yesterday, I came across an article by Melik Kaylan entitled “For the Love of Poetry”, https://www.forbes.com/2009/04/06/memorize-poetry-education-opinions-columnists-thomas-hardy.html.
Kaylan offers a spirited defence of traditional (rhyming) poetry, and of the benefits flowing from memorising it.
I vividly recollect learning Alfred Noyes’s poem “The Highwayman as a child, and reciting it to an audience, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43187/the-highwayman. Noyes’s poem has a wonderful rhythm and I can still recall large chunks of “The Highwayman”.
I believe that being introduced to relatively simple (rhyming) poetry as a young boy kindled in me my love of the art. Had I been faced with free verse poetry at the same age, I am not sure that my love of poetry would have developed as it has.
There is (as I’ve said here before) much great free verse poetry. However my personal preference is for poetry that rhymes, or has some kind of meter to it. I also remain a traditionalist in that I agree with Kaylan as regards the benefits of memorising poetry.
As always, I would be interested in the views of my readers.
Kevin
Whilst Walking Through A Very Thick Mist
Whilst walking through a very thick mist
I met with my friend the anthologist.
He said “take a look
At this fine poetry book”.
But I couldn’t see through the mist!
On Glancing Under My Large Double Bed
On glancing under my large double bed
I found a young lady in red.
Her name it is Lou
And she’s mislaid a shoe.
So I’m helping Lou under my bed.
“The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb” by Robert William Service
The below extract is taken from “The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb, a satirical and witty poem by Robert William Service:
“Where Lenin lies the red flag flies, and the rat-grey workers wait
To tread the gloom of Lenin’s Tomb, where the Comrade lies in state.
With lagging pace they scan his face, so weary yet so firm;
For years a score they’ve laboured sore to save him from the worm.
The Kremlin walls are grimly grey, but Lenin’s Tomb is red,
And pilgrims from the Sour Lands say: “He sleeps and is not dead. ”
To read the poem in it’s entirety please visit, https://mypoeticside.com/show-classic-poem-26448.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Service may have been just a tiny bit unwelcome in the former Soviet Union after having penned “The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb”. But I can’t for the life of me imagine why that might be!
When A Young Lady Dancing In A Field
When a young lady dancing in a field
Said, “all men to my charms must yield”,
I said, “that’s all very well
But, dear madam, can you tell
Me how to reach that town called Sheffield?”.
When Older Men
When older men
Dream of sinning
With young women,
Many a lass
Does contemptuously laugh.
But, if a man has money,
That self-same lass
May call him “my sweet honey”,
And smile while
The money lasts!
My Stay in a Luxurious Hotel
When I entered a luxurious hotel room
And savoured the sweet scent of perfume,
I said, “my dear
What brings you here?”.
She said, “this is my hotel room!”.
Lost, Amidst Numberless, Fallen Leaves
Lost,
Amidst numberless, fallen leaves
The poet sees
The cost
Of it all.
Nymphs play in Autumn’s sun.
Winter must come.
And the poet sees
Half-forgotten leaves,
Whirled by passion’s passing breeze.
K Morris - Poet 