Thursday, November 26, 2020

Poet's Corner

When I say I wasn't composing apart from the long poem I mean of course I was, two novels which would eventually become Break Out The Bubbly!! and Young Shakespeare in my short story collection. As 2008 rolled into 2009 and beyond I kept at the poetry but I did need that escape into fiction also, really enjoying working at the two titles in that I felt I was a stronger writer than ever before. But was I good enough to be given room in Poet's Corner!? In 2011, that legend Ted Hughes was admitted and after reading an article in the newspaper about it all and having visited Westminster Abbey I came up with the following ditty, rhyming verse a sure fire sign that I wasn't feeling so bad mentally. Here's Poet's Corner...

Poet’s Corner! Poet’s Corner!
Oh, I’ll be a vengeful mourner,
Not to make my own march thither,
Not to slope and slake and slither

Through South Transept’s window rosy,
Censing angels Doubting dozy,
Thomas, Christopher, each saint
My own sin manifold would taint

The glory first of Chaucer,
By dorter staircase courser,
Steed the Clerk of Works had ridden,
Tales of Canterbury there bidden,

Portrait of the people
From high, to middle, low,
Socially deprived the folk,
Had Dickens spelt their woe;

Abolition of the slave trade,
Wreath laid on his tomb,
Gothic Green Room liminal,
Old paintings forth its womb.

Sixteen World War poets,
The debt we owe immense,
Whilst Baronet John Pringle’s groundwork
Planted medicine’s fence

For Red Cross and the military,
Learnt botany the bog,
Oh what a place for breakthroughs,
Marvellous its thinning fog!

Thomas Triplett’s charities,
Thomas Shadwell’s launch,
Dryden he returned with interest,
Laureates their paunch.

Adam Fox’s advocation,
Read the verse once more,
Plato did he champion,
Bravo! I’ll swear that fourscore.

Thomas Hardy’s sorrow,
Remorse her death
Did push his pen to poesie,
Strong heart make light a bishop’s burning,
True tragedy if was indeed consumed a baser animal…
Oh, fate!
From Seafarer’s sally to Shakspere’s strapping sullied sovereign its circumference,
And as Hannah somnambulates her hostess’s hallucinations,
I suppose we truly are left with that Thought-Fox, this –

Indifference and caprice,
The forces of our world,
’Tis why the variegated Poet’s Corner
Muddled is and whirled!

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