The Poetry Class Poem by Neil Crawford

The peal of a funeral bell drifts
through an open window,
it permeates our discussion
of poetic terms.

This class today puts me in mind
of a Samuel Beckett play.
The forlorn scene outside contrasts
with the words of us fledgling iconoclasts.

Disagreements arise over meanings..
'alliteration', 'consonance', 'assonance'
I coin the word 'ponsonance'
for the posing of long dead males.

It raises a brief laugh
from my immediate neighbours, I am so very droll,
we return to our wordy labours while the bell
continues its solemn toll.