Sunday, 13 March 2016

Questions

Dear Reader,



I have had a horrible cold and even more horrible cough this week which, even with the help of a multitude of pills, doesn't seem to be leaving me.  So I haven't thought of anything interesting or amusing to tell you about except, on the subject of colds and coughs, I think that people who"soldier on" when they are afflicted, spreading their germs everywhere, should think again before venturing out.

However, there is a small story to be told about today's poem.  When I wrote it I was in a Creative Writing Class in Oxford and we were asked to write a poem that rhymed.  I found this a difficult task and I am not sure why I wrote "Questions".  I think it passed muster in the class but I stupidly took it to a poetry competition at a pub in the small market town where I live.  There is an abundance of intellectual poets here, self-appointed local poets laureate of sorts, whose poetry, when it was read out, meant absolutely nothing to me. I am sure it was very clever, cool even, but pretty unintelligible to those of us uninitiated in modern academic poetry.  Well, they all thought my poem was crap.  I got no marks, and absolutely no applause.  Of course, we have to learn to take rejection, but I was a bit crestfallen at the time.  I agree it is a little on the whimsical side, but I quite like it, and wonder if you do, or not?  Do let me know.


                                                                        *

 Questions

Were the summers different then,
did the sun shine more, when
wet and cloudy days were few, when
butterflies took wing, and warm winds blew?

Did the bees collect more honey,
did we laugh more, were more things funny,
was the sea less rough, more azure,
did finer shells bewitch us on the shore?

Did roses fade so soon, wind or rain blown,
or were hedgerows so rich and pretty grown
when all the summer days were bright,
not awash with rain, but drenched in light?

Were the days so cold and dreary,
and did we ever feel so weary
of days of heat and sun and sea,
picnics, sandcastles, flasks of tea?

Did dreams then, sometimes, come true,
when love would find us, hold us too,
and make our whole world seem completely new,
when butterflies took wing, and warm winds blew?


                                                                           *

 Very best wishes, Patricia






















3 comments:

Eugenie Teasley said...

Sod the fancy poets? I like the whimsy and the nostalgia buoyed along with the rhyme. And I hope you feel better soon! Xxx

Jessica said...

Yes, it leaves me with sepia coloured memories of warm bucolic bygone days- thanks.

Rebecca said...

They'd probably have given Tennyson the silent treatment too! I love the way this poem conjures up a looking back, yet somehow makes me wants to suck the marrow out of the present moment too. Well done. A**.