Tag Archives: poetry blogs

Tennyson’s the Lady of Shalott Sung by Lorena Mckennitt

A couple of days ago, I came across this beautiful musical rendering by Lorena Mckennitt of Tennyson’s The Lady of Shalott. I am not, generally a fan of musical renderings of poetry. However, Mckennitt’s singing of the poem moved me

 

 

A Young Lady of Ill Repute

I know a young lady of ill repute

Who has great skill in playing the flute.

Her friend Miss Morgan

Plays the vicar’s organ  –

They say he’s a man of great repute …!

Conkers Found in My Desk Drawer

I found 2 conkers in my desk drawer.

I could return them to the forest floor

Where they would rot and be one

With fruits and flowers long since gone.

 

Autumn is in the air,

Yet I do not care

To return them to the ground.

 

A thought, perhaps profound,

We are all bound

To join Mother Nature’s great store

When we, as leaves fall

And become as one

With generations long gone.

 

Conkers may be put away

In a drawer.

But Autumn’s fall

Says all things must decay.

When a Beautiful Young Lady from Harwich

When a beautiful young lady from Harwich

Went and boarded a first class carriage,

And a ticket collector named Glass

Said, “this ticket is second class!”.

She said, “but I am proposing marriage …!”

Out of Tune

As I sat composing poetry

On a windswept afternoon

In the garden.

I heard all the windchimes

Sounding out of tune.

And then came the rain

To mock me

And my poetry.

As the Wind Blows

As the wind blows

The sunshade creaks

And windchimes discordantly speak.

Who knows

Where all this goes

When I sleep.

A Critic Named Green

I once read a critic named Green

Who was famous on the poetry scene.

He wrote my verse

It grows steadily worse.

Now he’s vanished from the poetry scene …

Superior

I can be snobby and proud.

I lose myself in crowds

But rarely feel part of them.

Sometimes I feel myself superior

To other men.

But when my final breath

Is lost in death

There will be

No inferior or superior

Just common dust

A Poet’s Life

I am good

Sometimes.

And lose myself in rhymes.

I am blood.

Love.

And in the end

I am words half heard

By readers and friends.

And gathering dust

On books

Sceptical Claire

When a sceptical young lady named Claire

Found a ghost sitting in her chair,

She said, “I must be drunk

As I’m imagining  a ghostly monk!”.

And that ghost he glared at Claire!