Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Poetry Blues

Sorry everyone. I have not kept up my end of the deal with my big poetry partea.
It's a long that starts with, "On my other blog, I was doing a blog party...and ends with 'thought I could do both' "
I was wrong.

On top of everything else, I am spring cleaning and buried underneath my box of drawings that I have from my kids...since they were two.
Time to clean.

But, for those who keep showing up...and yes, more mediated posts will soon be up...
but for those who come for poetry, I will leave you with one of my favourite poems.
Things should be back on schedule...cough, cough...tomorrow.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

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