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Poem for the Day

Posted: 22 November 2014

'Tis true--with shame and grief I yield--
Thou, like the van, first took'st the field;
And gotten hast the victory...
In thus adventuring to die
Before me, whose more years might crave
A just precedence in the grave.
But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells thee I come;
And slow howe'er my marches be
I shall at last sit down by thee.
The thought of this bids me go on
And wait my dissolution
With hope and comfort. Dear--forgive
The crime--I am content to live
Divided, with but half a heart,
Till we shall meet and never part.

from Exequy on his Wife
Henry King

Poem for the Day

Posted: 21 November 2014

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done...
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me
e. e. cummings

Poem for the Day

Posted: 20 November 2014

Yes, I agree. We’ll pull ourselves together.
We eat too much. We’re always getting pissed.
It’s not a bad idea to find out whether...
We like each other sober. Let’s resist.
I’ve got the Perrier and the carrot-grater,
I’ll look on a Scotch or a pudding as a crime.
We all have to be sensible sooner or later
But don’t let’s be sensible all the time.

No more thinking about a second bottle
And saying “What the hell?” and giving in.
Tomorrow I’ll be jogging at full throttle
To make myself successful, rich and thin.
A healthy life’s a great rejuvenator
But, God, it’s going to be an uphill climb.
We all have to be sensible sooner or later
But don’t let’s be sensible all the time.

The conversation won’t be half as trivial—
You’ll hold forth on the issues of the day—
And, when our evenings aren’t quite so convivial,
You’ll start remembering the things I say.
Oh, see if you can catch the eye of the waiter
And order me a double vodka and lime.
We all have to be sensible sooner or later
But I refuse to be sensible all the time.

The New Regime
Wendy Cope

Poem for the Day

Posted: 19 November 2014

My busconductor tells me
he only has one kidney
and that may soon go on strike ...
through overwork.
Each busticket
takes on now a different shape and texture.
He holds a ninepenny single
as if it were a rose
and puts the shilling in his bag
as a child into a gasmeter.
His thin lips have no quips for fat factorygirls
and he ignores
the drunk who snores
and the oldman who talks to himself
and gets off at the wrong stop.
He goes gently to the bedroom of the bus
to collect
and what familiar shops and pubs pass by
(perhaps for the last time?).
The same old streets look different now
more distinct as through new glasses.
And the sky
was it ever so blue?

And all the time
deepdown in the deserted busshelter of his mind
he thinks about his journey nearly done.
One day he’ll clock on and never clock off
or clock off and never clock on.

My Busconductor
Roger McGough

Poem for the Day

Posted: 18 November 2014

At this time of year here is my own take on yesterday's poem. With apologies to John Masefield.

I must go down to the shops again, to the shops and the Christmas sale,
And all I ask is a woollen coat to keep me from the gale....
And some fine gloves and a thick scarf and stout shoes of leather,
And warm socks that will keep me dry in the stormy weather.

I must go down to the shops again, for the call of the ringing till
Is a clarion call that summons me and keeps me spending still.
And all I ask is a busy store with sale queues never-ending,
And the hard cash and the credit cards and people spending.

I must go down to the shops again, for the Christmas sales are on,
It’s a glad rush and a mad dash ’fore the bargains are all gone.
And all I ask is twenty per cent off the ticket price for me,
And a good make and a fair deal with interest free.

Sale Fever
Bill Adair

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