Manifesto

This blog has been open for 5 days, and it is time to offer my manifesto.

Manifesto stands for More Aubades (Alexandrines, Acrostics, Anapaests) Needed In Folkestone; Epics (Elegies, Eclogues), Sonnets (Sestinas, Stanzas) TOo

My manifesto proclaims that the poetry-loving people of Folkestone need and deserve more and better poetry. According to the OPS* 95% of Folkestonians go to the newsagents to buy The Complete Works of T.S.Eliot; 4% for fags/lottery tickets; 1% for The Times/Guardian/Mail/Mirror/Sun. The evidence is overwhelming. More poetry! Better poetry!

                                                                                                                                                                                       *Office for Poetry Statistics

 

…………………………………..

Looking back, from halfway up the cliff,

At the sea with glittering sunlight adorned;

I say to myself it is as if

I have been granted a vision of glory;

And I stand, stock-still with awe

And ask: What more could you ever want than this?

And I answer-

More.                                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Otters

My favourite joke is this: A horse goes into a bar. The barman says “why the long face?”. Yes; that’s it. Understanding the joke depends upon two things: knowing that horses have long faces (everybody knows that), and that people who drink alone in bars sometimes pour out their troubles to the bartender. Frank Sinatra singing ‘One for my baby, and one more for the road’ is an example.

Otters almost became extinct in England during the last century. At the eleventh hour, we stopped polluting our rivers and watercourses, and otters have now returned to every county. This is called ‘Old Neptune’s Dead’.

                    Old Neptune’s dead, who raised the walls of Troy;

                    And Cupid’s lethal arrows are but toys.

                    There is no Robin Hood to feed the poor;

                    No poets hymn the ecstasies of war.

                    St George, who killed the dragon in his prime,

                    Is a refuge for scoundrel-patriots in our time.

                    Though Arthur will not come again this year,

                    The otters have returned to Cambridgeshire.

                    Great Pan is dead; the temple fires are out;

                    And Achilles is bedridden with gout.

                    Heroes we worshipped once have feet of clay;

                    And every mangy dog must have its day.

                    No matter: be of good heart, good cheer:

                    The otters have returned to Cambridgeshire.

Monday February the 22nd 2016 15:40

My new – my first ever – blog. There should be a celebratory verse. Here goes:

        People often ask if there is a book or a website

        And I answer no, I’m an amateur,

        About as amateur as you can imagine;

        In fact, this is my retirement hobby-

        It was either verse or indoor bowls

        And you have to stand up to play bowls.

 

There! 15:45 and I’m off and racing…