Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Another Song for W. H. A.

My old tin shack, my Fleetwood Mac,
My panjandrum, my piston,
My dog with fleas, my fragrant cheese,
My darling Doctor Wystan:
How do you play your merry way
Through summer's chilly flurries --
An average joe with lots of dough,
A wag that never worries?

My flaxen lad, my Breaking Bad,
My drunken monkish teacher,
My killer whale, my nightingale,
My Creature Double Feature,
Who gave you skill to smite the shrill,
The shouting heckling fellows?
Who gave you brains to shake the pains
Inflicted by the jealous?

My wrinkled souse, my brick outhouse,

My vim-and-vigorous vicar,
My shining mind, my sage so kind,
My fop, my field-goal-kicker,
For all the times I've sung your rhymes
I wish I had a shilling --
I’d sell your strophes (priceless trophies!)
And really make a killing.

My dirty look, my neat notebook,

My reverend confessor,
My Anglophone, my funny bone,
My playmate and professor,
My dream police, my masterpiece,
Who's half as good as you?
My autumn day, golden and gay!
My lovable Wystan Hugh!

Friday, November 8, 2013

Skeltonics for Auden

Wystan Auden,
Dry and sodden,
Grand and bawdy,
Classy, tawdry,
Simple, vexing,
Plain, perplexing,
Old-school trailblaze:
Strengthen our frail days!

For us please pray,
Dear W. H. A.;
We're making a mess
With great success;
We scar the planet
And quite unman it;
We've lost our grammar,
Now grunt and stammer.
Our decade's music
Surely makes you sick.
As for our poems,
Where shall we throw 'em?

O most sage ghost!
Silence our boast;
Temper our pride,
Rebuke the snide,
Reduce the cynic
To pretty panic.
Grant metanoia
To lush and lawyer,
And take from politicians
Delusions of omniscience.

New Year's Eve: Revised Version

A few revisions have been made to my December 2011 poem. Still working on it!

Thicket and Thorp

Who blossomed this frost-branch out of slumber? Must have been one of those crazy artist types, always splashing noisy colours, bl...