" Where are you going, my pretty maid?"
"I'm going a-milking, sir," she said.
How many people
over how many decades
sang that rhyme or heard it sung?
Yet no one - maybe Jenner -thought to ask
the reason for her prettiness.
Why every milking maid was pretty.
(It was a known phenomenon.)
(The cows prescribed them cow pox -
protection from disfigurement
from the deadlier small pox germ.)
And so the phrase a pretty girl
was synonym for not pock marked.
The clues were there, the dots
just waiting to be joined.
The way Marx realised
how plain as day dots ran from filth
in new and crowded cities
to ownership of capital,
the way that Darwin
joined the dots
from varieties of species
to their various histories,
the way Freud linked
a man's distress
to what he dreamed
the way that all such thought
is driven by
its time and place
the way creation's work is done
when in its random scatter
someone sees first principles,
the pattern of a grand design.
This poem is entered for Poetry Jam's Connections prompt.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...