Writing about something else, I chanced to read about barnacles. Suddenly a different thought slipped my mooring and launched me on a different tack.
Our Barnacles
Accretions of joy and sadness
Of thoughts, events and people
Like their marine cousins
Poems find a convenient hull
Answering instinct, not invitation
Compared to dangerous parasites
Barnacles are easy to carry
If occasionally scraped away
Mostly they sit silently
Mere presence, not threat
Until we ask the world To regard and judge them In an early microscopic view
Barnacles were swans’ eggs
Not unlike our wish for
Poems that occur and cling
I certainly hope that poems don't find this Hull and cling to me like barnacles! They would have to compete with the pimples!
But, as a metaphor, there are certain lines and phrases from poetry going back to my grade school days, that are still with me, though unfortunately, a bit clichéd.
Who's that knocking at my door?
Who's that knocking at my door?
Who's that knocking at my door?
Said the fair young maiden
Well, it's only me from over the sea
Said Barnacle Bill the poet
I'm all lit up like a Christmas tree
Said Barnacle Bill the poet
I'll sail the sea until I croak
Drink my whiskey, swear, and smoke
But I can't swim a bloody stroke
Said Barnacle Bill the poet.
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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But, as a metaphor, there are certain lines and phrases from poetry going back to my grade school days, that are still with me, though unfortunately, a bit clichéd.
Ron
Who's that knocking at my door?
Who's that knocking at my door?
Said the fair young maiden
Well, it's only me from over the sea
Said Barnacle Bill the poet
I'm all lit up like a Christmas tree
Said Barnacle Bill the poet
I'll sail the sea until I croak
Drink my whiskey, swear, and smoke
But I can't swim a bloody stroke
Said Barnacle Bill the poet.
I had to see how it fit...
Love ya!
Jane