The monster’s son
Hates what he may become.
Half buried childhood scenes
Torment in dreams.
Fear
Stalks near
And the monster’s son
Sheds a tear
For what he may become.
The Monster’s Son
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There was a young man named Cook
There was a young man named Cook
Who said “look, I have written a book!”.
When the reading public gave a yawn
His poor heart was in pieces torn.
That naive young man named Cook!
There was a young man from Liverpool
There was a young man from Liverpool
Who liked to play the fool.
His dog called Jim
Was fond of him
And they never would go to school!
There was a young man from Cork
There was a young man from Cork
Who said “babies are brought by the stork”.
His wife named Lou
Said “that isn’t true,
You foolish young man from Cork!”.
Please Hear What I’m Not Saying
An anthology to raise money for a very good cause.
The “Please Hear What I’m Not Saying” poetry anthology will be released on 8 February 2018 and includes 116 poets from around the world exploring a range of mental health issues. Editor Isabelle Kenyon said “I knew I wanted to work collaboratively with other poets and it was actually the theme of mental health for a collection, which came to me before the idea of donating the profits to charity MIND. This was because I knew how strongly people felt about the subject and that it is often through writing that the most difficult of feelings can be expressed. I think that is why the project received the sheer number of submissions that it did.”
She discussed how she selected the poems, “In some cases of course personal taste came into my selection, but I tried to be as objective as I could and consider the collection as whole. I…
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This game they play
This game they play
Day after day
Where there are no winners
(only sinners)
And losers.
Beggers can’t be choosers
And what is choice
Anyway?
They say
“You pays your money and you takes your choice”,
But when one voice
Is with experience rich
Who will warn
The fawn
That from it’s mother is torn
Of the oncoming car
That will go too far
And the impending ditch?
I Beg You!
“Don’t say its not expensive, unless you are going to buy it. I beg!”.
I overheard this snatch of conversation as I walked through the churchyard, on my way to the office yesterday. The oddity of the young woman’s mode of expression struck me. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, that had I wish to convey what the lady expressed, I would have done so rather differently. “I beg you, don’t say that its not expensive unless you are going to buy it”, perhaps. Indeed the use of the word “beg” struck me as being rather extreme and, on reflection I considered its employment to be unnecessary. “Don’t say its not expensive, unless you are going to buy it” would, I thought, have been my choice of words.
However, on giving the above further consideration, it struck me that we poets play with language all the time. In order to obtain a rhyme we express ourselves in ways that would be considered as odd where they to be used in our every day conversation. So, for example the poet will say
“The weather is drear
And none save my dog is near”.
While where he to express a similar sentiment in conversation with a friend, his use of language would more likely run along the following lines
“The weather is terrible, and I’m alone here, with only my dog for company”. But, of course the former would constitute poetry while the latter would not.
Perhaps the young lady I overheard yesterday is a budding poet. I hope so.
“Can you give me a hand?”
Being blind, I often request assistance when crossing busy roads. A couple of days ago I stood at a busy crossing in London’s Victoria Street. When a gentleman approached I asked “can you give me a hand please?” When he answered in the affirmative I thanked him and took hold of his arm just above the elbow.
“That’s my elbow”, he said offering me his hand. I explained that it was, in fact his arm I required and we crossed the road together.
During our short transit across the road and into Victoria station, my companion mentioned that he was from Norway. His command of English was excellent. However the misunderstanding which arose when I requested “a hand” made me realise how those brought up in a country/familiar with it’s culture use expressions, on a regular basis without considering whether they will be understood by the person with whom they are communicating.
As many of you will be aware, “To give a hand” has 2 meanings:
1. To provide assistance and
2. To applaud/clap a person/group of people.
There are doubtless many other expressions which I use on a daily basis without giving any thought as to whether my meaning will be correctly interpreted. In future I shall try to remember to ask “can you help me cross the road please?” which is a wholly unambiguous request.
I would be interested to here from my readers (both here in the UK and abroad) regarding their experiences of using commonly employed expressions and being misunderstood.
There was a young man named Bill
There was a young man named Bill
Who owned a restaurant on a hill.
The customers would dine
And drink fine wine,
But they never paid the bill!
There is a sad fascination
There is a sad fascination
In watching a man digging his own tomb.
He protests that he is not
But the graveyard plot
Will consume his name.
He will apportion blame
(To others, for he is pure as the driven snow)
And will go
On digging his own grave.
(Though he could himself save
Had he the courage to gaze
In the glass and view
The situation as others do).
