A poem by D. Fawlt.

From the wracked and aching depths
Where senses swam and fishes leapt
Out of nowhere on this Monday
Bursts a beacon! Poetry Sunday!
I have been ill, I have been lax
Gone completely off the trax
And furnished not a tiny jottle
You think I’ve wholly lost my bottle?
I shall attempt, from this day hence
To furnish much of verses dense
And offer in this lucky dip
(if I don’t break another hip)
Oh stuff divine! A happy grist!
Goodbye for now! I think I’m pissed!
You don’t like this? Well, make your own ads,
And here’s my boot right in your gonads!.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

And now for A.E. Houseman;

THE SHADES OF NIGHT

The shades of night were falling fast
And the rain was falling faster
When through an Alpine village passed
An Alpine village pastor.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

And now, to celebrate cause and effect;

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies;
His spouse is in despair;
With frequent sobs and mutual cries,
They both express their care.

‘A different cause,’ says Parson Sly
‘The same effect may give:
Poor Lubin fears that he may die;
His wife that he may live.’

Matthew Prior (1664-1721)

Trifles of course, but splendid trifles, enough to encourage a smidgen of levity, I hope.
Fear not! All is not lost.

IRA MAINE, Poetry Editor