TFE has set us a real challenge this week - in the week of St Valentine he wants us to put a poem about love on the bus. I find that very hard to do without being overly sentimental. I can't help thinking of poets like Christina Rosetti, who did it so well - and John Donne. Modern love poetry is not on my radar, so I was very pushed for a writing style. In the end I wrote two - one about flowers as a symbol of love and the other about how we met boys in the early fifties.
flown ten thousand miles
to a glass vase.
Feed with rose food,
guaranteed for seven days,
cut from the hedgerow
brought in to flower
in the warmth of the room.
Soon heavy with pollen
they'll fill the house
with their scent.
On a Wednesday night in the village hall
Was the Vicar's Threepenny Hop,
where the lads all met to eye the girls
(t'was before the days of bop).
The St Bernard Waltz
and the Palais Glide -
we were doin' the Lambeth Walk.
And if they were lucky they got one of the girls
to go outside for a 'talk'.
Where are those days of innocence
when a 'talk' meant maybe a kiss?
When a close up dance in the last waltz
was the nearest thing to bliss.
Where the girls all sat at one end
in their pretty summer frocks -
and the lads all strutted their stuff at the other
in their psychedelic socks.
The second owes apologies for the rhythm to Christy Moore's McilHatton.
Have a nice day!