Tag Archives: poems

Sunday Evening Humour

I know a young lady named Pearl
Who sets my head in a whirl.
She is slim and petite
And lives on my street,
And her eyebrows they twist and curl!

I know a young lady named Pearl
Who sets my head in a whirl.
She is slim and petite
But her huge boyfriend Pete,
Keeps me away from his girl!

I know a young lady named Pearl
Who sets my head in a whirl.
I very much regret
That her pretty friend Yvette
Refuses to give me a twirl!

I know a young lady named Pearl
Whose father is some kind of earl.
When I asked for his daughter’s hand
He bribed me with much land,
So I dumped that young lady Pearl!

Should one change one’s writing to enhance the chances of being published?

I recently read this article on Writers Relief, http://writersrelief.com/2010/03/18/poetry-turnoffs-styles-and-formatting-that-make-editors-cringe/. The piece makes a number of points concerning what editors of poetry magazines dislike, and suggests that those making submissions think carefully prior to submitting their work. Amongst the “turn offs” mentioned in the article, is that of rhyming poetry, with the view being expressed that editors do not, in general publish rhyming poetry. Interestingly almost all of the comments following on from the article are strongly in favour of rhyming poetry.

As a poet who does (for most of the time) write in rhyme, I am both saddened and heartened by the article. Or, rather I am saddened by the fact that many editors shy away from rhyming poetry, but heartened by the large number of those who love (and write) in rhyme. Of course one should not shoot the messenger. The authors of the article are only passing on their advice to those who wish to submit to poetry magazines and, of course are not responsible for the editorial likes and dislikes of particular journals. Nonetheless I have an aversion to writing simply to be accepted for publication. For me poetry has to be honest, and composing verse simply to please others is not being true to oneself.

I should, perhaps qualify the above statement. I do, of course hope that my work will give pleasure to my readers. I will, however not write in a manner alien to me simply to gain popularity and/or publication. This is easy for me to say as I have a fulltime job (my writing is not my primary source of income, and I do appreciate that not everyone has the luxury of simply producing work which is entirely to their own liking, for we all have bills to pay etc). But, for me rhyming poetry is my main mode of communication and I will not change my preference in order to enhance my chances of being published.

As always I would be interested in the views of you, my readers.

Kevin

Eternal Youth

‘Tis a truth
Profound
That eternal youth
Can not be found
By middle-aged men who pursue
Girls of 20,
(But there are plenty
Who do).

The run
May be fun
And rings
And other such things
May a man buy
More than a look
From a young girl’s eye,
Which is sometimes mistook
By the old
For love.

Nothing comes after
Her brittle laughter
Save for more
Of the same, but the fool will not be told
The truth,
That with all his gold
He can not purchase eternal youth,
Though some already this fact
Know
But act
As though
It where not so
And continue to buy
Forced laughter
After each joke
On which they both, secretly, choke.

Lethe

Why must
I dwell on dust
On this sunny day?
‘Tis the thought that all this will fade away,
Yet there is still time to play
Ere the sun
Does run
Into the arms
Of night.

Sometimes I think
Her charms
Are sweet,
For who has not forgot
Regret in the arms
Of sleep?

The river of lethe
May take us unawares.
Vacant stares
We bestow
On family and friends
For we know
Them not.

I think ’tis better to die
Than to lose the plot
And linger on
Though one’s essence has gone.

But the weather is hot
And there is yet time to play
Ere my day runs away
Into lethe
Or with luck, I shall avoid
The void
Of memories loss
And pass, direct, instead
To the land of the dead
For it is the knowing
That one’s faculties are going
That fills me with dread.

As the weather grows hot

As the weather grows
Hot, pretty women in short clothes
Will cause
Men to pause
And their eyes to almost pop
Out of their heads, and wish
That they could catch
That particular fish,
For they have an itch
To scratch.
And perhaps a match
May spark
Ingendering love or lust
In the human heart,
Ere the dust
Takes away
Our sunny day.