There is nothing I find more relaxing than sitting on my patio (actually, it’s more of a veranda, but poetry veranda doesn’t work as well) reading some good poems. I recline on my wicker chaise lounge with Douglas Furbags Jr purring on my lap; I open box of chocolate truffles (fair trade of course), pour a glass of Zinfandel Rose, and I while away the hours with the latest recommended collection. Heavenly!
Nowadays, I intersperse my reading of published poems with offerings sent in by you: the readers of the West Wickle Community Newsletter (now West Wickle Times). I feel honoured to read the excellent poems you have sent us (some submissions are not so welcome, Mr A J Peters, and it should be noted that non-molestation orders are much easier to get these days) and for this new feature we will be regularly publishing the best ones.
So sit back, pour yourself a glass of your favourite tipple, and enjoy:
An Ode to Lynette
I thought we’d be together forever;
Now you lie there: a cadaver.
I told you to make a doctor’s appointment;
‘Too busy,’ you said, ‘I’ll just use ointment.’
You didn’t want to miss seeing Faith, Paloma;
You never reckoned on melanoma.
Where will I find another like you
Who will watch darts and comedians, blue?
Detecting metal to you was not sad,
You never again mentioned that Xmas with Dad;
You didn’t moan at late rising from bed,
Nor ask probing questions of time in the shed.
Everybody agreed how lovely you were,
You would not even wear small animal fur;
You never fussed and you never whined,
You raised all that money for ‘Guide Dogs for the Blind.’
Now I’m alone and I’m always pining;
Like a dog with no bone, a cake tin with no lining.
By Ian Stemp
Oh Ian! God bless you. What a heart breaking start. You’ll be in all our thoughts I’m sure.
So, dear readers, keep those poems coming in (except you of course Mr Peters; the papers are already prepared) and we’ll bring you another fantastic poem just as soon as we get one.