Response to BTP prompt.
It is impossible for me to have a favourite anything but I owe it to Will to place him at the top of all poets. The more literature I study the more I realise how much the English language is in his debt. When I was about ten I was introduced to
'Winter' by Shakespeare and it struck a chord. I wrote my first poem that year .I had never seen snow but I knew of the bitter wind and the hacking coughs in the school chapel and saw the whole Shakespeare scene with a great clarity . The picture that the poem conjures up for me is the same in detail even to this day.
Winter
In Heidi plaits
And pink flannelettes
She danced
With her big orange cat
In her kitchen flat
To the strains of
Old time tunes
I'm going to be an artist
I'm going to be a writer
She sang by the light of the moon
But as she swayed and cavorted
The mood began to change
The soft white paws around her neck
Clawed deeply into her vein
Thud! Suddenly doubt's hand of gloom
Dropped her orange furred boy
And as she stood up
Boltright still
It mocked her song of joy
And cried plaintively into the night
Tu-whoo
Tu-whit Tu-whoo!
Is it true
Is it true?
Are you sure
That you are you?
Knowing that the game was up
Poor greasy Joan
Then lost the plot
Her day dreams buried and denied
Reality exchanged for her sin of pride
Grease and grime in rag torn frocks
Chillblained feet was for her lot
Back to fetching chamber pots
Back to bending bowing and scraping
Keel Joan Keel
Keel that pot
It is impossible for me to have a favourite anything but I owe it to Will to place him at the top of all poets. The more literature I study the more I realise how much the English language is in his debt. When I was about ten I was introduced to
'Winter' by Shakespeare and it struck a chord. I wrote my first poem that year .I had never seen snow but I knew of the bitter wind and the hacking coughs in the school chapel and saw the whole Shakespeare scene with a great clarity . The picture that the poem conjures up for me is the same in detail even to this day.
Winter
In Heidi plaits
And pink flannelettes
She danced
With her big orange cat
In her kitchen flat
To the strains of
Old time tunes
I'm going to be an artist
I'm going to be a writer
She sang by the light of the moon
But as she swayed and cavorted
The mood began to change
The soft white paws around her neck
Clawed deeply into her vein
Thud! Suddenly doubt's hand of gloom
Dropped her orange furred boy
And as she stood up
Boltright still
It mocked her song of joy
And cried plaintively into the night
Tu-whoo
Tu-whit Tu-whoo!
Is it true
Is it true?
Are you sure
That you are you?
Knowing that the game was up
Poor greasy Joan
Then lost the plot
Her day dreams buried and denied
Reality exchanged for her sin of pride
Grease and grime in rag torn frocks
Chillblained feet was for her lot
Back to fetching chamber pots
Back to bending bowing and scraping
Keel Joan Keel
Keel that pot
Shattered dreams, eh? Guess we all have some...
ReplyDeleteStrange to think of you "In Heidi plaits
ReplyDeleteAnd pink flannelettes", Rall but each to her own! At least dreams help make the drudgery bearable?
It is terrible to be a misunderstood poet.
ReplyDeleteI know Flaubert supports me on this one.
Sigh...not everything is autobiographical!
Rall I am sure Flaubert does support you!I love what you did with this prompt.
ReplyDeleteThe English language is a beautiful thing.
Pamela
I like the fun you have with rhyme in this poem.
ReplyDeletehttp://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com
I agree Pamela . She is a true beauty.
ReplyDeleteI love it Rall. Autobiographical or not, braids keep hair from beautiful faces! The italicized bit has a lovely lilt, and you've done excellent work with rhyme throughout the piece. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteI loved it.
ReplyDeletecut and dried
If you can't be William Shakespeare, you might as well be Charles Dickens, or even better; somewhere in between...
ReplyDeletePoor, poor Joan
ReplyDeleteand oh, what a shock
that she'd give up
her dreams, resign
herself, only to keel pots.
Let's hope that the day
dawns, comes very soon,
when she gives up despair
aims straight for the moon.
Thank you Rallentanda, I needed that,
Elizabeth
OK Stanski you have just won the Teacher's Pet
ReplyDeletePrize!
Don't get me started on this Elizabeth.
ReplyDeleteBut of course she wont
she's so folorn
The mistress' diatribes
are full of scorn
The parson says she's very slack
the meals she serves are burnt and black
The moon is bleak and out of her reach
S'pose if desperate she could always teach
But creepy Marian with her red raw nose
is constantly poking about
sabotaging Joan's stove
Her stews are too hot
Her noodles too cold
And Rupert the footman
keeps treading on her toes
"Very Funny" said Joan
giving him a smack on the head
"If you keep this up
You can forget about bed"
Her stews are too hot
ReplyDeletebecause she loves all that spice,
and her noodles too cold
'cause she puts them on ice.
Yes, the moon is so far away,
but if Marian keeps poking,
she'll get a bloody reaction
and go there one day.
The parson looks almost handsome
in shiny/dull black
and diatribes of scorn are meant
to get Joan to react.
It is Joan who needs to forget
about going to bed,
stay awake writing sonnets to Rupert
really mess with his head.
I love your take on the original, but I think Joan shouldn't put so much stock in the opinion of a cat :).
ReplyDeleteT'is not Joan who writes
ReplyDeleteIt's Marian Brown- Light
signing Joan's name
to sonnets of shame
And as for the Parson
Pray do not go there
He's known as the terror
the irk with no hair
The last time on duty
on breakfast room shift
Poor Joanie got gro-ped
By the Parson quite pissed
Her only feint hope
to get out of this estate
was to marry young Rupert
or one of his mates
So the wedding day occured
on July day the third
They packed up and left
and headed for the west
Got jobs on a farm
Labouring was too hard
So Rupert decided that
more money was needed
Became a highway robber
Poor Joan pleaded and pleaded
but he finally got caught
on one of he escapades
for stealing warm coats
His was sentenced to exile
transported by boat
an unwanted sad failure
with no faith or hope
He arrived in Australia
bedraggled and wrecked
the sea voyage out here
was hardly first class deck
his failure
Oh. I forgot what I was going to say - but I know it was good. Something about plaits of plates, but...
ReplyDeletePlaits are braids in English.Blossombuds needs an outing. Teddy Bears Picnic here next week!
ReplyDeleteI hear somewhere the teddy bears
ReplyDeleteare planning a nosh in the forest
if you go out in the woods today
wear something on your head
a hat is never out of place if you’re about to peregrinate
the birds have been eating pomegranates
you know how birdies congregate
(it may have been premeditated)
if you go out in the woods today
be certain to take a chair
the servants have taken the furniture
and left the clearing clearly bare
they’ve taken the stumps and the windfall and briars
there’s really nothing there
if you go out in the woods today
you might want to take a stick
there have been sightings of ruffians and curs
the hound dressed in motley is under a curse
it’s apt to make his temper worse
he’ll take your sandwich and leave you your purse
this may not be the best of days
to go out in the woods for a picnic
Oo-er! This is turning into quite a feast. But before I quite lose track of the original post, can anyone tell me how to keel a pot?
ReplyDeleteThought you said you were English?
ReplyDeleteI don't know which I find more interesting -- the original poem or the comments!
ReplyDeleteDon't go out in the woods today,
ReplyDeletethere's lions and tigers, and bears
that way. They've come for a summit
about that old curse,
the one Marian wrote in elegant verse.
Seems the young lass had longings galore
for a certain clod of a footman
totally witless about what was in store.
So, got her heart broken in pieces that day
when Rupert and Joan just up, ran away.
Tis true that Marian
ReplyDeletewas sad of heart
When Joan wed Rupert
it broke her heart
She got a nose job
to ease her pain
and solved the other problem
of being so plain
But now that Rupert
was in ball and chains
Joan was alone homeless
and living in the rain
Dick the shepherd
saw her plight
took her in
but they began to fight
Marian was not about
to give up on life
so she got with Tom
and became his wife
he makes a good living
up at he Hall
She clens and caters
for the manor's Spring balls
So, Marian is the one
ReplyDeletewho now keels the pots,
while Joan's at the casino
playing the slots,
drinking one drink
she's been at it for days,
and her dreams have become
a smoke induced haze.
Rupert is out on parole
driving a cadilac someone
says that he stole.
And Tom, what of Tom
that mysterious man
who works at the manor
and eats nothing but Spam.
Tom still bears logs
ReplyDeleteinto the hall
Stooped and bent
Marian is appalled
Dick the shepherd
blows his only nail
the others are missing
He's terribly frail
And Joan hit the gin
was as miserable as sin
and thought of past lot
it wasn't such a swot
to keel and keel
the grimy potato peels
dropped deliberately into the pot
great job setting up the scene and the characters in that first stanza!
ReplyDeleteThanks Carolee. It was never meant to be a collaborative poem. Elizabeth hijacked it and so it goes:) If anyone wants to join in please do so. Although remember it is in the 18th century and cadillacs and nose jobs were not part of the scene in those days. 'Winter' by Shakespeare can be googled.I think the Parson is the only character still not developed in any way.Thanks Elizabeth and erm Barbara for the Teddy Bears Picnic segment which is hard to relate to the Shakespeare but Elizabeth
ReplyDeletedeftly manged to squeeze it in somehow:)
holly molleeee again.....you aalways amaze me with what you write and the knowledge ....thanks again for sharing Rall
ReplyDeleteMy apologies Rall, I didn't mean to high-jack anything. Where I come from, a response in kind is a high compliment, and I meant it in the nicest way possible. But, once you responded in kind, well I just had to follow suit, you ken? Then just got caught up in the release it facilitated and the sheer fun of it all.I really like your Winter response. It is rich in detail, sound, and sense. Love the images it draws and the emotional relativity. Sorry,
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
LOL!
ReplyDeletePam
o and woe and a great rheumy woe
ReplyDeleteFestus, the parson set out in the snow
tom said he drownt in the overflow
weighted with turnip and mutton stew
and no one saw but the dun cow
the fey witch snatch Festus into her barrow
you brought up the teddy bears, she harrumphed
ReplyDeleteRall I have nominated you for one lovely blog
ReplyDeleteand you must go to my blog and pick up the logo and the info
here is the link:
http://flaubert-poetrywithme.blogspot.com/2010/07/lovely-blog-award.html
Cheers!
Pam
Thank you Pam for the thought. If picking up means linking ..well, I have not mastered that part of computer technology yet.
ReplyDeleteOne of the reasons this site was created Elizabeth was to cater for wit humour and a slight thrust and parry in jest.It slipped my mind that you are newcomer and are unsued to these (and from where I come ) extremely mild exchanges. So nothing to apologise for.
ReplyDeleteOK your Harrumphedness what's it with letting mad Nelle out again.Thought she was locked up with Mrs Rochester.I didn't mean that you should use middle english. I see that you are determined to get witches and bears into this somehow. This collaborative poetry could end up in full scale poetry war...Which reminds me
ReplyDeleteWhere's Viv?
So the parson still lives
ReplyDeletepunished by the witch of Kincade
for meddling with scrumptious scullery maids
and even the mistress of the house
yes, the mistress of the house
all outward appearances of a doormouse
but inside a turmoil of sex lashin'
a veritable man eater of hot pashin'
with no respect for a man of the cloth
only took her a sec to throw all her
petticoats and girdle off
the old master was a dozy ole bloke
huntin' with the hounds and poking at stoats
was oblivious to everything couldn't care less
just wanted to hunt and fish and counted himself blessed
Meanwhile Joan coveting Marian's job
set about plotting her return to the hall
There was only one way to get herself reinstalled
And that was to capture the master's enthrall
She rouged her red lips
and powdered her plump cheeks
marched up to the hall prepared to do battle
and win all
You are right Francis. That is one of the problems associated with having a cat that talks.I don't think you have them over there.
ReplyDeleteIt is strictly an antipodean thing.
You've got one running here, Rall, for sure! The Collective can learn how to keel the pot HERE
ReplyDeleteThank you Doctor Footesque. And what? no bawdy contribution to the saga of Greasy Joan!
ReplyDeleteI love that you went back to the first poem that inspired you to write a poem.
ReplyDeleteNelle thought the wee people might be amused by the parson.
ReplyDeleteShe's been around, nelle has, and even answered a prompt or two, but she's shy since she's lost her Raison d'être. it's hard being an ancillary personality
Now I know how to keel: thank you Doctor footsie.
ReplyDeleteit was a very bad day to call
ReplyDeleteup at the hall
everything was mayhem and strife
the master was appalled at the
information he had been tald
and decided to get rid of his wife
Her bags were packed and off she was sent
to a very strict nunnery in Kent
The master huffing and puffing
and tired of all this stuffing
said
I'll need someone to run a tight ship
So Marian already installed
and known for her unctious crawl
was promoted as quick as a blink
Joan was forgiven
got her old job back
as long as she promised
not to be slack
Resigned and relieved
bedraggled and broke
Greasy Joan returned
felt a littl remote
the stove was hot
mutton stew boiled in the pot
She keeled and keeled
and keeled the lot