Hi Arthur,
How can such a miserable poem make me feel so cheerful? I don't know, but
how I laughed out loud at the socks!
Only a small quibble - "the promise of some light later, glows" - I feel the
word "later" isn't needed (it's inferred in the word "promise").
And the dreariness is heightened by the fact that it's a windless day - that
this clag'll stay round for ages!
Bob
>From: Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: Miserable bloody morning
>Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2004 10:43:03 +0100
>
>Miserable bloody morning.
>
>
>
>I hate mornings like this
>
>when dawn fizzles out in drizzle,
>
>grey over uncut lawns,
>
>when faltering daffodils bend with heavy wet
>
>and squadrons of dismal clouds advance.
>
>
>
>Panes mazed by meandering drops
>
>confuse my view of leafless trees in bud,
>
>of bedraggled sparrows on the fence,
>
>of forgotten socks that hang
>
>like strangled rooks along the line.
>
>
>
>Beyond the roofs, the trees,
>
>beyond the trees, the moors, where the hint,
>
>the promise of some light later, glows,
>
>while over the windless heath
>
>the hawk circles, stoops and strikes.
>
>
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