I’ve recently come across some love poetry whilst going through some old and rather yellow files.
The poems in question date from the early 1990’s, when I lived in a Cheshire village and was friends with the former (retired) principal of the local college.
This was at a time when I was busy writing poetry of my own. My friend would often come around to my house to deliver critical analysis over a
bottle of wine.
On occasions, however, he would also send me poems of his own. This one was delivered for my birthday.
No Flowers for Christine
Goodmayes Girls go on for ever.
Essex Man, for love, would never
Breathe a whisper of their age,
For tactfulness is all the rage
In Ilford, Romford or Southend.
Loose-tongued Libertarians just might end
Their days in deep disapprobation
If they revealed that information.
Exposure may provoke a shooting
By hitmen hired in darkest Tooting.
No woman could look less than shifty
If one let on that she was fifty, –
They even wax extremely shirty
Admitting to the age of thirty!
No, I’d be ruled severely naughty
Sending age-ist flowers at f…y.
(I’ll leave it just a few months more
And give you roses you’ll adore)
This wasn’t his first…
Ships not passing in the night
Have you ever been called interesting
Before? An understatement, that.
There were other epithets
Which came to mind:
Warm, giving, don’t forget
Extremely attractive –
How about a port in a storm?
Or, maintaining maritime metaphors,
Another friendly sail in my deep doldrums
Just as I was walking an emotional gangplank.
Thank you for allowing me aboard your welcome
And for plying me with Mozart!
No press-gang necessary.
And then there was this…
Red, Orange, Yellow…..
Today I drove through a brilliant rainbow
(Richard of York gave battle in vain for one)
Whose spectral colours, vibrant through the rain,
Touched both horizons but could not outshine
The involuntary palette in my mind’s eye
Projected there by simply spending time with you.
I may not hype it up (or you!) but
You shall at least perceive hereby
What you from time to time refract
In deep, dark, damp recesses of my brain,
Being, soul, person, call it what you will.
No sweat, this is you just growing on,
Not rampantly climbing all over, me,
A welcome process which I hope to nurture,
While you sustain your giving nature!
All I can say is that I had quite forgotten those days when I could have such an effect on such a nice man.