(Poem #250)To Happiness
If you're not approaching, I hope at least You're off to comfort someone who needs you more, Not lost wandering aimlessly Or drawn to the shelter of well-lit rooms Where people assume you've arrived already. If you're coming this way, send me the details— The name of the ship, the port it leaves from— So I can be down on the dock to help you Unload your valises, your trunks and boxes And stow them in the big van I'll have rented. I'd like this to be no weekend stay Where a single change of clothes is sufficient. Bring clothes for all seasons, enough to fill a closet; And instead of a single book for the bedside table Bring boxes of all your favorites. I'll be eager to clear half my shelves to make room, Eager to read any titles you recommend. If we've many in common, feel free to suggest They prove my disposition isn't to blame For your long absence, just some problems of attitude, A few bad habits you'll help me set to one side. We can start at dinner, which you're welcome To cook for us while I sweep and straighten And set the table. Then light the candles You've brought from afar for the occasion. Light them and fill the room I supposed I knew With a glow that shows me I was mistaken. Then help me decide if I'm still the person I was Or someone else, someone who always believed in you And imagined no good reasons for your delay. |
To Happiness -- Carl Dennis
They Should Have Asked My Husband -- Pam Ayres
(Poem #249)They Should Have Asked My Husband
You know this world is complicated, imperfect and oppressed And it's not hard to feel timid, apprehensive and depressed. It seems that all around us tides of questions ebb and flow And people want solutions but they don't know where to go. Opinions abound but who is wrong and who is right. People need a prophet, a diffuser of the light. Someone they can turn to as the crises rage and swirl. Someone with the remedy, the wisdom, the pearl.. Well, they should have asked my husband, he'd have really gone to town. With his thoughts on immigration, teenage mothers, Gordon Brown, The future of the monarchy, house prices in the south The wait for hip replacements, BSE and foot-and-mouth. Oh, they should have asked my husband, he can sort out any mess, He can rejuvenate the railways, he can cure the NHS So any little niggle, anything you want to know Just run it past my husband, wind him up and let him go. Congestion on the motorways, free holidays for thugs The damage to the ozone layer, refugees, drugs. These may defeat the brain of any politician bloke But present it to my husband and he'll solve it at a stroke. He'll clarify the situation, he will make it crystal clear You'll feel the glazing of your eyeballs, and the bending of your ear. Corruption at the top, he's an authority on that And the Mafia, Gaddafia and Yasser Arafat. Upon these areas he brings his intellect to shine In a great compelling voice that's twice as loud as yours or mine. I often wonder what it must be like to be so strong, Infallible, articulate, self-confident.. and wrong. When it comes to tolerance he hasn't got a lot, Joyriders should be guillotined and muggers should be shot. The sound of his own voice becomes like music to his ears, And he hasn't got an inkling that he's boring us to tears. My friends don't call so often, they have busy lives I know But its not everyday you want to hear a windbag suck and blow. Encyclopaedias, on them we never have to call, Why clutter up the bookshelf when my husband.. knows it all! |