[Growster...]

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the wheelbarrow, let the mosquito leaf-blowers come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'these three leaves on the drive are DEAD',
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black gardening gloves.

The whining racket is in my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that Summer would last for ever: I was wrong.

The screeching fireworks are blasted well here now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The small dog is terrified, bounds from room to room,
Takes the stairs three at a time, yelps with wide eyes,
Take her kindly with us to a heavily curtained room,
Light the fire loudly and put on 'Hi-de-Hi'...


With apologies to W.H.Auden.

[mumofstig]

 

[Goosegirl]

Oh Mr. G. and so well done too. You know I like writing poetry and made a start but may be gone a while. 

[Growster...]

Goosey, it's only a take on the real poem, which John Hannah recited in that sad bit of 'Four weddings and a funeral'!

But we are plagued by the racket as all the churchyard trees dump their leaves all over the place, and some neighbours spend ages blowing them away, only, of course, for them to return a few hours later...

Actually, fireworks weren't as bad this year so that's one blessing, and JRT doesn't have a mental breakdown!

[mumofstig]

Wasn't Ode to Autumn by Keats?

Autumn song is the Auden version me thinks 


#Just saying 

[Growster...]

Wasn't Ode to Autumn by Keats?

Autumn song is the Auden version me thinks 


#Just saying 

You're not wrong there, Mums, and no mistake!

I didn't know about the Keats poem, although I suppose I should have done, as his stuff was required learning when I was at school, but that was several years ago...

I was just wandering lonely as a twit, just picking up all sorts of crisp/fag packets chucked out of car windows, and thought of this bit from the film!

But John Hannah did it for me in that film, as far as acting was concerned!

[mumofstig]

I was just wandering lonely as a twit, just picking up all sorts of crisp/fag packets chucked out of car windows

You're beginning to sound a bit like the ad agency for National Trust's latest advert with that 

[Growster...]

I was just wandering lonely as a twit, just picking up all sorts of crisp/fag packets chucked out of car windows

You're beginning to sound a bit like the ad agency for National Trust's latest advert with that 

Hmmm, Mums, it's a sore point that!

ED said that they went to the Pinetum at Bedgebury last week, and parking was £12.00 a pop!

That's a rip-off in my book, especially as there's nothing to do there except walk, and of course admire the wonderful scenery!

We used to have season tickets for thirty quid a year, which was a bit rich, but worth it for JRT, who bounded everywhere, but we won't do that now, they've lost the plot!

So I can add that to my poem can I?

[mumofstig]

So I can add that to my poem can I?

I would, if you can find a rhyme 

[Goosegirl]

Growster knows I love writing poems, so thought I'd just tweak one I wroted earlier however, I seem to have gone off at a tangent. Maybe because it's Remembrance weekend that made it become a bit deeper but hope you like it.   

STORMS OVER THURNHAM MOSS

Outside,
Gods holds their breath in anticipation.
Sad sheep together lie.
Birds close their beaks in protest
As wet ink-stains darkly flood the sky.
Fat raindrops plop on window-ledges
As mighty winds race across the sea.
Gathering their skirts with glee
As they run pell-mell across the flat fields.

Forked tongues of static rip the gun-metal clouds apart.
Hear the gales growl and roar in triumph!
They wrestle leaves from ancient trees
And spit them out like worthless toys.
Brown and green. Russet and yellow.
All lie sodden where they fall.
Bared now the branches. Nothing to clasp
To hide their nudity. Winter’s icy grasp has come again.
Their frozen tears now autumn’s coffin nails.

Inside,
Clocks tick slowly. Fingers forever pointing onwards.
Flames curl their fingers tightly around apple logs.
Their choking breath spirals up the sooty flue
Like the ghosts of season’s past.
Old men with caps grasp tankards and puff their pipes.
Dying embers glowing red like the poppies.
Memories renewed as they remember battles fought long ago.
Salty breath fogs the rattling window’s glass.
Empty glasses rimmed with foam and fingerprints.
One more for the road. The long, dark lonely road.
We’ll meet again.

[Growster...]

Absolutely gorgeous, Goosey.

Get it published - you have the skill and the temperament!

Love the bit about the clouds, now that really is poetic to a tee!

Another one soon please!

[Goosegirl]

As I've been ordered by Growster to post another one, I thought I'd better do it because he said if I didn't then Santa wouldn't come and give me a cuddle, so here it is.

FROM YOUNG BEGINNINGS
Anticipation shining from little faces.
Foggy breaths warmed by woollen scarves.
Coloured wellies carefully treading on the soft ground.
Waiting for the rains of wisdom to make the seedlings grow
Sturdy and strong.

Much is said when resting the spade and hoe.
Life’s lesson outside the classroom
Is a far better teacher.
It provides the ground to make you grow.
It’s the bedrock that makes you belong.

The land will help you when you lose your way.
Never fear your failures or take them to heart.
Embrace them. They are as much a part of you
As night follows day. All will be well
In your garden of dreams.

The birds will keep on singing
And the snowdrops will come up again in spring.