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...
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...
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...
Sunday, 1 July 2012
You met him just last Monday, my best friend,
now here he is again, popped out of one more
poem, to show himself in our true colours,
the rightfulness of getting something wrong.
Death to us all, De'ath is Buttons now -
and thus, my friend in make-believe no less
than in real life, for I am Cinderella,
and he The Baron Hardup's handyman.
The Sunday School's ambitious pantomime.
Everyone I know is here - on stage as some-
one else or sitting in the hall as them.
Good job I've Death to keep my thinking straight!
When Buttons asked his mother for a costume,
mother got it wrong. That fact explains how
Death became dead ringer for a Pearly King - *
and should he mind, as ladies finger him?
It wasn't scripted quite like this, that my
silk stockings should keep falling down (not silk,
no, not in war time Britain, could they be?)
Laddered - it took Death to help me pull them up.
They say we brought the house down once or twice...
we didn't notice, we were acting straight.
I won a prize for my performance, though:
a book about the life that beavers have.
This poem was written for the http://dversepoets.com/ Poetics prompt, the brilliant "Buttons" theme hosted by Brian Miller.
I am also including it as the next instalment in my Suburban Village series.
* see here