Category Archives: Poetry

My Very First Poem – How to Find a Wife

 

Let’s go back, back into the misty reaches of my parents’ basement, to rediscover the very first poem to spring from the mind of a five-year-old. An epic adventure about the search for love.

Do I detect hints of greatness, even then? Or was it just sexism? Whichever it was, you can blame the classics.

 


 

How to Find a Wife
by Sarah Silvey

There was once a man who had no life,
He didn’t have as much as a wife!
So he sailed, night and day,
And would always hear his mother say,

“If you shant have a wife,
A soul shall kill you with a knife.”
His mother told him such strange things,
Like giant toads with devils wings.
She liked to give him such a fright,
And somehow convinced him his father was a knight.

He tried to show her he outgrew that now,
She still even called him her little cow,
But his real name was David, David Bough.

David found women miles around,
But none sank his heart down to the ground.
So he sailed on, and how many he found? None.

David heard from a crazy man,
That on the beaches there was sand
And on the sand there were pretty girls,
With goldielocks and golden curls.

So he went there and found it true
With pretty eyes, the darkest blue.

Then he found one,
And love was true,
With pretty eyes, the darkest blue.

Her name was Rose
Which fit her so
And her hair was made of gold
You know.

But all her beauty ruined her fate,
For all women she knew were full of hate.

She married David
Which improved both lives,
for other women knew men couldn’t get Rose
And David, of course, had a wife.

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Grandma’s Hands

Another good one from Ivor.

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

I wonder what mum and grandma are thinking

Mum was born after the First World War

A child of the roaring twenties

Then she became a poor teenager, of the great depression

And a young nurse, during the horror’s of a second World War

A time when everyone’s supplies were rationed

Everyone helped each other, when things run out

Everyone knew a son, that been killed in the war

Everyone gave you a soft shoulder to lean on

Everyone shared each others pain

Our parents and grandparents survived

And taught us compassion, and the value of every single life

Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020

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Fences

 

We used to sleep on the porch
in our sleeping bags on warm nights
square spindles cutting crisp shadows out of the moonlight
the cats would slip between the rungs and leap
fifteen fearless feet to the ground
a jaw-dropping distance, nothing to them.

My family tells me
when I was a toddler
I pushed my head between the bars of my crib
got stuck
and bawled, red-faced, until my mother
buttered my ears and pulled me free.

Climbing the horse gate, hopping over chain-link to retrieve a ball, squeezing between barbed wire, edging carefully under an electrified one
all my memories of fences
are of boundaries broken
rules defied
for better or for worse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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