'I'm always looking for the Hows and the Whys and the Whats,' said Muskrat, 'That is why I speak as I do. You've heard of Muskrat's Much-in-Little, of course?'
'No,' said the child. 'What is it?'
- The Mouse and his Child. Russell Hoban.

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Tuesday, 5 May 2009

Poem



I Flew Away to England.
(A poem composed under the influence of jet-lag at 5 am on the first morning)

I flew away to England
And heard the pigeons coo,
Soft dawn in the morning,
Soft church-flint blue.

We picked the sweet tomatoes,
Drank sweet tea,
And sweet Oliver
Smiled at me.

I flew away to England,
Chestnut, hawthorn, oak.
Tiny windows, graveyards,
Thatch; and light like smoke.


little note: Oliver is my friends' 11 year-old autistic son.

8 comments:

  1. This almost makes me homesick - and I live there!!

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  2. Shucks, praise indeed.

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  3. I love it. The American poet, Robert Frost, said that writing poetry without rhymes is like playing tennis without a net. (Though perhaps too harsh--I love poetry of all sorts.)

    Yours is lovely, evocative of England though I've only read about it.

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  4. Very Nice, Katherine, I especially like the last verse, truly fitting.
    Thanks for sharing.

    http://spacialpeepol.blogspot.com/

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  5. You should get jetlagged more often Katherine! By the way - I like your choice of accompanying photo - slightly blurred and suitably nondescript - the world flashing by.

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  6. Katherine, what a lovely poem! (I'm a pushover for verse even though a lot of people nowadays don't care for it. But when done well, as your is, what a pleasure to read!)

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  7. Thank you all. Glances down modestly at feet and shuffles.

    I am absolutely rose-tinted about England (and you know by now how much I love New Zealand!). I am always 'high' for 48 hours after I arrive anywhere in Europe, then slowly come down over the ensuing three months...

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  8. Which of course means if I'm away less than three months, I'm grinning all the time! (Get a bit homesick around the three-month mark...)

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