Well, thanks for asking - quite a nice surprise...
first off, you have my passionate support -
for how could I believe in any less
of poetry, its value and its power?
And I know well of you, that despite all
your youthful, quick impatience, so sharp shown
to those, the wrinkly; grey; not keen on change -
you'd like to hear our comments on your work;
yes, even to reject them, red of face...
But spare a thought for ageing minds and hearts -
like comfortable kitchen-cupboard store
in that beloved house of realised dreams
where we can now at last just be ourselves,
where favourite brands cram out the sagging shelves
with jars not opened for too many a year -
more for sentiment, than for some new cuisine;
there's not much room for untried brands, alas -
'despite the fervour with which youth may praise
the heart-wrench of those wild love-seeking days,
or praise in detail Her so unique sight
to eyes so red from passionate wild night'...
there's not much room for endless rhymes for love
now, in the store-room of our ageing hearts;
we've been there, got the Tshirt (somewhere there, and
rotting from the dazzling blue sea's salt
of love's abundance, into which we two splash-dived) :
So please excuse us if we don't pour praise -
however fine your wild and winning ways;
we're poetry-besotted; live in thought;
know this: our passionate and full support.
We're wise children playing at poetry, Christine - what better fun for brownleaf days?
The passion's not gone, Joyce - just diverted into a poor paper shadow - reading the newspapers and putting the world to rights in our infinite and hard-won wisdom...a world which, incredibly, doesn't seem to listen...heigh ho...
A stunning piece, Michael. I love your descriptiveness, and you've inspired me to try my hand at free verse, which I'll be posting today. Thank you for a great read.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Touché, Michael, this is the poem I should have written on the subject. There is a large market to address, since almost everyone of those budding poets happens to be just a kid, compared with this oldster. Well done, of course. H