I've forgotten what poetry is like
I have recently been turned onto Wendy Cope's poetry and she's now one of my favorites.
The Orange
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange -
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled and shared it with Robert and Dave -
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
Two takes on love:
Two cures for love
1 Don’t see him. Don’t phone or write a letter.
2 The easy way: get to know him better.
Flowers
Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.
The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.
It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.
A poem that makes me laugh:
An Attempt At Unrhymed Verse
People tell you all the time,
Poems do not have to rhyme.
It's often better if they don't
And I'm determined this one won't.
Oh dear.
Never mind, I'll start again.
Busy, busy with my pen...cil.
I can do it if I try--
Easy, peasy, pudding and gherkins.
Writing verse is so much fun,
Cheering as the summer weather,
Makes you feel alert and bright,
'Specially when you get it more or
less the way you want it.
And one that makes me cry:
Names
She was Eliza for a few weeks
When she was a baby -
Eliza Lily. Soon it changed to Lil.
Later she was Miss Stewart in the baker's shop
And then 'my love', 'my darling', Mother.
Widowed at thirty, she went back to work
As Mrs Hand. Her daughter grew up,
Married and gave birth.
Now she was Nanna. 'Everybody
Calls me Nanna,' she would say to visitors.
And so they did - friends, tradesmen, the doctor.
In the geriatric ward
They used the patients' Christian names.
'Lil,' we said, 'or Nanna,'
But it wasn't in her file
And for those last bewildered weeks
She was Eliza once again.
A few more here (or you can check Tumblr, I suppose). I'm not a poetry girl usually. I mean that I love it but I rarely read it, and so unless someone points me at an author or a poem, I rarely go exploring on my own. Neruda is my love, but aside from him I've always been fondest of the Romantics, probably in part because they're the ones I've had most exposure to.
The Orange
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange -
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled and shared it with Robert and Dave -
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
Two takes on love:
Two cures for love
1 Don’t see him. Don’t phone or write a letter.
2 The easy way: get to know him better.
Flowers
Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.
The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.
It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.
A poem that makes me laugh:
An Attempt At Unrhymed Verse
People tell you all the time,
Poems do not have to rhyme.
It's often better if they don't
And I'm determined this one won't.
Oh dear.
Never mind, I'll start again.
Busy, busy with my pen...cil.
I can do it if I try--
Easy, peasy, pudding and gherkins.
Writing verse is so much fun,
Cheering as the summer weather,
Makes you feel alert and bright,
'Specially when you get it more or
less the way you want it.
And one that makes me cry:
Names
She was Eliza for a few weeks
When she was a baby -
Eliza Lily. Soon it changed to Lil.
Later she was Miss Stewart in the baker's shop
And then 'my love', 'my darling', Mother.
Widowed at thirty, she went back to work
As Mrs Hand. Her daughter grew up,
Married and gave birth.
Now she was Nanna. 'Everybody
Calls me Nanna,' she would say to visitors.
And so they did - friends, tradesmen, the doctor.
In the geriatric ward
They used the patients' Christian names.
'Lil,' we said, 'or Nanna,'
But it wasn't in her file
And for those last bewildered weeks
She was Eliza once again.
A few more here (or you can check Tumblr, I suppose). I'm not a poetry girl usually. I mean that I love it but I rarely read it, and so unless someone points me at an author or a poem, I rarely go exploring on my own. Neruda is my love, but aside from him I've always been fondest of the Romantics, probably in part because they're the ones I've had most exposure to.