An Unexploded Poem
By Ian M Parr
There was a poem in a hedge
A threat to life and limb.
The policeman said he would allege
Some poet threw it in.
He told us poets are a threat
To life and liberty
And that no one should forget
Crimes committed behind a poet-tree.The roads were closed, the pubs were shut
The public was protected
The bookie claimed his runner
Was not by poetry infected.At last the bomb squad they arrived
For mental strife prepared
With body armour they’d contrived
For showing they weren’t scared.They carefully surveyed the scene
Taking a big red box
Out of their truck where it had been
Antiseptic to rhymes and metres unorthodox.That poem they placed in there
The order of the day
Was caution…….. That red box they moved off to where
Disposal of the poem may
Be safely undertaken
With a resounding great explosion.And peace and quiet was resume-ed in this town.
The traffic still rolls up and down
While poems and their poets lie
With their verses in the sky.
A man said to the universe
By Stephen Crane
A man said to the universe;
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
(On the line from Chester to Leeds)
By Sheila Parry
When you left me in the carriage of the rocking train
you were a long time gone
Time enough to worry,
Wondering, ‘What if….?’
When you returned you smiled
and told me how you’d scattered lupin seeds;
your hand outstretched, leaning through glass
like lovers wave a lingering, last farewell.
The dry husks whirled in summer winds,
then softly drifted down,
buried themselves in deep, dark earth.
Travellers today along that Northern line
will see a festival of flowers
turning each barren siding
into a garden party-piece-,
echoes of sixties children
making love not war.
But, as for us,
it has become
the way not travelled anymore.