“You should start using Iambic Pentameter
There’s a flow about it.”
That’s what the woman said to me at my father’s funeral
No real clue how we got to talking poetry
But we did, and it Bored. Me. Senseless.
No offense…
To anyone really
She seemed like a nice enough girl
Almost but not quite pretty
I just didn’t want to talk poetry
I never want to talk poetry…
Sure I like to write
But as soon as I put the pen away, I do the same with my thoughts upon the subject
Just a deal I made with myself in the beginning
Like it or lump it, little lady
Sure what would I know about William Wordsworth/Keats?
I have my own stuff, my own style
Only way I know how
Anyway, the funeral…
My Dad was being lifted into his grave
When she pressed her soft lips solemnly against my ear
Whispered something I’ll never get to forget
“Your Dad was so very proud of you.”
Finally, a reluctant teardrop appeared, on my half-hearted part
So I went to the library the following day and unearthed a book of Wordsworth
‘I wandered Lonely as a Cloud’ finally struck a chord
Nothing spectacular
But rhythm worth mentioning
Learnt a few things too
About damn time!
Then I came upon the almost-but-not-quite pretty girl in my favourite café
She asked about my poetry
In fairness, she did seem to speak the language of poetry?
We chatted awhile
About the ins & outs of it all
Filled her in a little about Wordsworth – my oh so thoughts upon the subject
“Can I read some of your stuff?”
But it needed to be done

At her house that evening
An intimidating wall of poetry towered right through her living room
All of the ‘greats’ only according to her
Wordsworth was there, of course
So I handed her one of my favourite poems
There & then
& by the looks of things she ate the stuff up
“If I like it… if I really like it, I’ll place your poem overlooking all of these… in so much as a frame!”
Understanding her a little more
We shared a bottle of Bordeaux, while she recited
A few poems I remember from my schooldays
It seems to me
When it comes to poetry
That I’m in it for the long haul
Like it or lump it