The hands are almost at half-past.
Will the clock last
The hour?
A sudden shock
Can stop
The clock
At …
And what of that?
For clocks
Are like flies,
One dies
But the great tick tock
Continues on,
Though one is gone.
Sunlight and shade
A girl made
With tresses brown
As Autumn’s gown.
I lay me down
Upon the forest’s ground
And lost myself there.
But oh despair
For when I awoke
And her name spoke
She was no longer there.
I am a fool
To think my mistress cruel.
Her beauty is beyond art
But lose not your heart
To her
For there is no heart to lose
In return
And as surely as the earth does turn
There is no love to return.
Alert: Risque humour below:
Everyone has their thing
Or most people do,
Whether it be a high-heel shoe
Or string,
Most people have their thing.
Alert!
The prim secretary, in her conservative skirt
And the sober executive, in his crisp white shirt,
All have their kink,
The chains that clink,
The Fluffy handcuff
And other such stuff.
Yes I think
That everyone has their kink.
But it simply won’t do
To dwell on the stiletto shoe
For I am a bore
And my thoughts are pure.
I enjoyed Laura Routh’s poem “The Leaves Are Falling Down”, https://owlinthewood.com/blog/2018/5/19/first-poem-the-leaves-are-falling-down. For me, the poem isn’t merely about the forest ageing and the coming of Autumn, it also speaks of the harmful effect humans often have on the natural world.
This is a beautiful poem and is (along with “On Wenlock Edge”) my favourite Housman poem.
‘Tell me not here, it needs not saying’ is one of the most famous poems from A. E. Housman’s second volume, Last Poems (1922). In this poem, which comes near the end of the collection, Housman reflects on his relationship with nature, before concluding that, although nature does not care or even know about him, he feels a close bond with it.
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
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The All Party Parliamentary Group on Prostitution has recommended that paying for sex be criminalised (they argue that it is paying customers, mainly men, who are driving human trafficking and express concern regarding so-called “pop-up brothels”, where a property is rented for a short period then abandoned by the traffickers allowing them to stay one step ahead of the law.
This piece, by the Press association, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2018/may/21/sexual-exploitation-uk-women-pop-up-brothels-report) reminds me of my poem “Circles” in which I ponder upon this highly contentious subject, https://newauthoronline.com/2016/07/15/circles/.
There was a young lady called Louise
Who stole a set of keys.
On unlocking the bedroom door
Of a man named Moor
She found that he could tease …
—
An elderly poet called Jim
Married a young lady named Kim.
His verse was terse
And grew steadily worse
But the critics all loved Kim!
Thanks to Esther Chilton for hosting this week’s challenge, in which she asked contributors to write a limerick, poem or story on the subject of holidays. You can find a number of contributions below, including a limerick and a poem composed by me. Kevin
This week’s challenge is to write a story, limerick or poem on the subject of:
Holidays
Last week’s challenge was to write about sunshine. You sent in some excellent pieces. Here are a few:
Keith Channing‘s limerick is hilarious – and so true!
Sometimes, when the weather is fine
We sit back with bread, cheese and wine
There is no way how
We could do that right now
COS WE AIN’T GOT NO BLOODY SUNSHINE!
Now an amusing one from Kevin:
Drinking wine
With my friend Divine
In the sunshine,
All was good
Until being drunk
As a skunk
She fell
In the mud.
But I promised not to tell
So please keep that
Under your hat …
Please visit The Militant Negro‘s blog for something a little different:
https://themilitantnegro.com/2018/05/10/i-challenge-you-to-sunshine/
And do take a look at Steve Walksky‘s blog for a warming read:
https://simplicitylane.wordpress.com/2018/05/15/sunshine-is-a-wakening-poem/
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I go out
Before the multitude is about
And walk in the wood
Where the air is good
And there are no words
Save for the birds
Who’s song, though not for man
Can set him free
Of desire. So is it for me
As I simply be
Amongst bird and tree.
Then the din
Sets in.
Not of human shout,
Although there are houses here about
That skirt the wood. I here the cry
Of the young in search of homes to call their own.
It is contended that we must sacrifice some green spaces
To accommodate the young’s need for places
To live. But if the Green Belt is no longer sacrosanct
What scant
Greenery will stay
When the planners have had their way?
I doubt this wood will go
Though other spots of green
Now seen
Will turn black
Under tarmac
And some will notice the lack
When the rats race
Where there was once a green place.
Perhaps I am being unfair
For Darren and Claire
And there 2.5 kids need somewhere
To live.
But will their children give
Thanks to mum and dad when there
Is less green
To be seen
Than was previously the case
And nature’s face
Is converted into neat little garden rows.
Who knows?
Not I
But for now I have tree and sky.
There once was a poet called Prout
Who wrote a poem about a sprout.
His verse was so bad
That it drove people mad
And his wife, she threw him out!
