Tonight the tide is running high
And from my garden in the dark
I hear the hidden curlews call
And just beyond, two fields away,
The muffled roaring of the sea.
Above my head the empty sky
Save far away the shining stars
And lighted splendour of the moon.
The air is cold upon my skin,
The wind has blown and moaned all day.
The lighted kitchen is inviting.
I heed its call and go inside,
In time to catch the evening news.
Of great concern as usual
Is football, opium of the people,
A record transfer’s fallen through,
Supporters clash, abroad a stabbing,
A player’s failed a drug test,
Comments sought from managers,
The clubs, F.A. and Premier League,
And so it goes, until at last,
It’s time for Northern Ireland.
And here we learn a new peace deal
That everyone had hoped would solve
That island’s ancient tribal feuds
Has broken down, collapsed again
And each side bitterly blames the other.
The next item goes on to cover
The Tories’ annual conference—
I leave the room preferring darkness and the moon.
A nice comfortable poem to read. Can I make a suggestion? Could you put a dash after '...collapse again -/Each side bitterly blames the other' because the way it is, 'bitterly' having three syllables spoils the rhythm, and it's a shame.
Pete, I think you are quite brilliant! However, if you think the British news is bad, you should see it over here! Nothing worth reporting happens outside Australia unless it involves an Australian and if it doesn't involve an Australian (but is news worthy) they will find someone involved who has some remote connection to Australia! ! ! Know what I mean? ? Anyway, another great poem. You just don't write bad poems do you? Love your work as always Gyp's
The mystery is why you ever left your lovely garden with the muffled sea sounds whispering to you. The images you chose were exactly right. I am going to send you a short poem I wrote during the Vietnam conflict...the first war we actually witnessed on tv, although not live. It was horrifying enough, thank you. Regards, Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The Six O'clock News is a must in our house. I know what your mean, it's great to get away from it and forget the worlds ills. A nice one this. Sincerely Ernestine Northover.