February 23, 2005

Songbird


You fear my wings
you think
I will fly away.
You must decide:
Cage me
I'll still love you
sing for you
the same sweet song
every night.
But if you trust me
uncage me
to soar swoop glide turn
so many new delights
so many different songs
so many nights

Alan Smith Oct 2003

Posted by alan at 3:49 PM | Comments (1)

January 30, 2005

The Weather Forecaster's Tale

Written in a 'modernised' Chaucerian style

An occupation sadly much maligned
With words like stupid, deaf and dumb and blind
They hide out in the suburbs have no doubt
The weather men who put our forecasts out
These 'nongs of wrong' may even live next door
Well here's some clues, so you can tell for sure.
A Morris Minor, garaged every day
Except when storms with hail are on the way
He washes it? The rain will come for sure
Snow skis on top? The temp'rature will soar
On hottest days he dons his thickest cloak
At first you'll think that it's his little joke
At your expense, but when the skies are clear
You'll see him wearing all his rain-proof gear
Umbrella, hat, and raincoat without doubt
A pair of waders in the midst of drought
Dark glasses when thick clouds hide all the sky
On wintry days, a short sleeve shirt and tie
But wait! Please note before this ditty ends
They make long term, but most confusing, friends

Alan Smith July 2004
Published (Commended) in Yellow Moon No 15 August 2004

Posted by alan at 2:36 PM | Comments (2)

November 30, 2004

a note to alan smith (a sonnet)

A note to Alan Smith

There are no commas in your poem at all
Except for proper nouns, no upper case
Nor periods! You've got a lot of gall
Undisciplined unscholarly disgrace!

Your word use is enough to make me "ill"
Not "chuck" or "chunder" as your po'ms insist
"Queen's English" please, not Post-Coloni'l swill
"Relaxed with wine" is pref'rable to "pissed."

And where are the accoutrements of style?
The metaphors and similes and so?
Perhaps you deem alliteration vile?
And could we give some assonance a go?

Your work lampoons each principle I've taught.
It gets what it deserves; a mark of naught.

(c) alan smith 2004

Posted by alan at 4:42 AM | Comments (4)