My wife is on a diet, so am I,
her will prevails in setting what we do;
no more to breakfast on a tasty fry
nor lunch of prime Scotch mince or Irish stew.
She loves her cherry cake, but it’s now gone
and with it all the sweetmeats from the house;
the limits of what’s wholesome have been drawn,
I think that she mistakes me for a mouse.
If I could find the will or knew the way
to help provide new balance to her schemes,
although I sometimes think of what I’d say
there’s nothing I would do to end her dreams.
She doesn’t seem to count those chocolate snacks,
but I don’t care what label’s on her slacks.
Comments
Oh, I'm so with you on this :
Oh, I'm so with you on this :-) and so would Mick (my husband) be - except he's sneaky and buys illicit chips on the way home. Jxx
This is an old one
My wife (or as I always called her, my paramour) died four years ago but rereading, tweeking and writing new poems about her keeps her very much alive with me now. (if that makes any sense).
I'm really sorry to hear that
I'm really sorry to hear that Keith, but your answer makes perfect sense.
In our hearts and minds, loved ones are always with us aren't they. Jxx
Keith
just for my own curiosity, do you write the first line, then count the syllables, and that becomes the die in which all other are cast., or do you have a certain count in mind before you start. I hope this isn't a silly question (my self image and silly are not compatible)
I sometimes lose the sense for rhyme when lines are as long as these.
upon second or third readings, they (the rhymes) become obvious.
I suppose this just might be an idiosyncrasy of my short line brain.
I like the poem, homey stuff always goes down pretty smooth.
although I admit it's not my favorite cup of tea.
no need to go into a lengthy response to my question (it probably doesn't deserve one anyway). Like I said, just curious.
About writing..
I am heartened that you liked the simple poem, I think Anna (my wife) did. I try to think of a rhythm to suit my subject. Then I let the thoughts play about my brain until I have three or four lines fairly clear in my head. Then I start writing things down and usually more lines have begun to form by the time I get the first ones written. I tend not to try and force things if I reach a blank, simply leave off and come back later, by which time a pathway has usually cleared. I never count syllables but go with the flow. If it feels right it can't be far wrong. In this case I was more than half way through when it occurred I had a potential sonnet on my hands. The sonnet is a poet's language of love and this is about love, to my brain anyway.
Hello Mr. Logan
I too can relate to this one. It is absolutely an enjoyable read.
I am sorry for your loss.
hi Keith
I thought I'd commented on this
Sorry for your loss
and I know how writing and tweaking old poems about them (as well as formulating new ones) keep those we've lost close
I loved this - got a giggle, and adore the last verse
no crit of the form - well written
love judy
xxx