Saturday, 6 November 2010

64. Al-Wajid - Riches

Suggests all perfect, sensing, finding --- 'An endless fountain of
immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.' --John Keats

Sun on
blue sea-water lifts
newer waves and lights a white
 turn impeccably.
Poetry or Booze

It’s nivver easy being a poet
fra Yorkshire, wi an accent set to confuse
‘do ya like talkin’ wippets?’ Nah, forgedd it
let’s hit the booze;
no longer bothered by any rhymes, hooray’s or boo’s.

But Larkin, Armitage, Harrison, they upset
t’establishment - summat like Ted Hughes -
by spoutin’ swear-words in a sonnet
(even in a luv sonnet)
using bar and bitter as their muse.

A genie fra t’coal-hole’s what ya get.
No wonder Friday night’s the night to booze.
It’s reet ‘ard graftin’ as a Yorkshire poet;
done now and I’m off to turn to booze.

No comments:

Post a Comment