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Poem of the Week 02

Night Sky

I live on the Moon in a comfortable house,
I sleep in a comfortable bed.
But one thing I never find comfy one bit
Is a cow jumping over my head.

The Moon is the cheerfulest place you could live,
And the friendliest place you could visit.
But mooing and swooping a path through our sky
Every night isn’t courteous, is it?

I totally get it—the party got wild,
The spoon and the dish ran away.
Natural enough that a frisky young calf
Should be up for a new way to play.

But let’s all agree it’s gone on long enough—
Night after night the same leap,
The same horns and hooves flying by overhead,
Disturbing a Moon-dweller’s sleep.

If the cow wants to jump now and then, that’s OK,
Every creature deserves a good lark.
But spare us some nights with our sky undisturbed,
Just earthglow, the stars and the dark.

So, please, if your family has a pet cow,
Or you plan to acquire one soon,
No matter what else you may train it to do,
Teach it not to jump over the Moon.

—Chris O’Carroll

Poem of the Week 01

Envy the Dutiful
with a nod to Dana Gioia

Envy the dutiful,
the dogs, the wallflowers,
the prom non-attendees
home at all hours.

Envy the waterboys,
the dweebs and the techies,
the Poindexters born
predestined for wedgies.

The nerds and nerdettes,
the gawky, the scrubs
liked as “just friends,”
the terminal schlubs.

Envy the bookworms,
unhip, ungainly,
the late-blooming Venus
now sought insanely.

Envy the duds
who’ve bided their time.
Envy the day
their stock starts to climb.

—J.D. Smith

Poem of the Week 35

Where’s a Pied Piper When You Need One?
(Headline in the Daily Telegraph, May 25, 2012)

In “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” by Robert Browning
Thousands of rats are led to the river and to death by drowning.
A good story but not a true one: no one sensible believes a word of it.
Nonetheless, tourists flock to Hamelin because they have heard of it.
Tourists spend money and make a place richer,
But, sad to recount, that is not the whole picher.
Visitors leave litter, some of it edible, and that’s
Why Hamelin has a problem, and the problem is RATS.
When they’ve finished their dinner they go back underground
And gnaw through any cables that are lying around.
The traffic lights stop working and so does the fountain.
Council workmen have repaired them so many times they have
stopped countin’,
Which brings me at last to the burden of my song:
Next time someone quotes Auden saying, “Poetry makes nothing
happen,” you can tell them he was wrong.

—Wendy Cope

Poem of the Week 33

After Reading the Biography Savage Beauty

I’d like to write sonnets, a dozen a day,
Compose a libretto and maybe a play.
My lustrous red hair would be crowned with the bay
If I were like Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d like to have lovers, both straight ones and gay,
I’d like to hold both sexes under my sway
And not give two figs about what people say
Like Edna, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d like to throw tantrums and get my own way,
I’d like to be fresh as a young Beaujolais,
And slyly bewitching as Morgan Le Fay,
Like Edna, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d move with the grace of one trained in ballet.
My husband would not only love but obey.
People would flock to my readings—and pay—
If I were like Edna St. Vincent Millay.

—A.E. Stallings

Poem of the Week 32

Edna Millay’s Goldfish

The world stands out on either side,
No wider than the bowl is wide.
Above the world is stretched the sky,
No higher than the water’s high.

The fish that bears a valiant heart
Can push the glassy walls apart,
And with a visionary soul
Beholds Atlantis in his bowl.

But he whose heart is parched and spare,
Even in water gasps for air.
And he whose soul is thin and flat
Is candy for the family cat.

—Gail White

Poem of the Week 31