Okay, it goes without saying that the poetry preference you put on your CV will be T S Eliot or Seamus Heaney or that American guy or Stevie Smith's 'Not Waving But Drowning'. The last is the one 'proper' poem that everybody knows, the one you put down if you never read poetry at all, the C of E of poetry.
But what, when nobody's looking, do you really read?
Here's one of my favourites.
To My Valentine
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than a gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oathes,
That's how you're loved by me.
(Ogden Nash)
Richard L. Prov... | May 4, 2012 - 23:51
I always enjoyed Ogden years ago. Once had a collection of all his poems. Another line I really like is one, in a song, by Neil Diamond---"You're so sweet, horse flies fly about your face."
andrea | May 5, 2012 - 10:12
Brilliant! Love Ogden Nash. Pam Ayres is another favourite of mine. But then I do tend to go for the...er...less serious stuff.
http://www.ukauthors.com
FTSE100 | May 5, 2012 - 11:12
Roger Bear's Philosophical Pantoum
I stare at the ceiling.
I look very wise.
Up with thinking and feeling
And stuff exercise.
I look very wise -
I am keen on reflection
And stuff. Exercise?
I prefer introspection.
I am keen on reflection,
Like old Aristotle -
I prefer introspection
To hitting the bottle.
Like old Aristotle,
I rarely descend
To hitting the bottle -
My arms will not bend.
I rarely descend
As far as the floor.
My arms will not bend -
Sometimes life is a bore.
As far as the floor -
A long way to fall.
Sometimes life is a bore.
I gaze at the wall.
A long way to fall -
I lie on the quilt.
I gaze at the wall,
I wrestle with guilt.
I lie on the quilt
On my comfortable bed.
I wrestle with guilt
Until I am fed.
On my comfortable bed,
I stare at the ceiling
Until I am fed
Up with thinking and feeling.
- Wendy Cope -
Stan | May 5, 2012 - 12:55
I know that one, Richard...
'Kentucky moonshine could never take your place...' etc.
One of the Pythons wrote this. Don't know which one.
Horace
Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this his Dad declared,
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared."
But even as he spoke they saw
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
"Stop him someone!" Mother cried
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
"Oh! foolish child!" the father mourns
"You could have deep-fried that with prawns,
Some parsley and some tartar sauce..."
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
"To think I raised him from the cot
And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His Mother cried: "What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew..."
And as she wept, her son was seen
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay: a boy no more,
Just a stomach, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his
They ate it – that's what haggis is.