Flight of fancy

Here’s a little ditty
what I wrote the other day,
it whirled around inside my
head and would not go away;
It started of as cabbages
and lettuces and kings,
but soon became, as poems can,
about some other things.

It made me wish of lazy days
spent writing in the sun,
instead of marching to the
beat of a dreary workday drum;
of sailing ‘cross the oceans
in a beautiful pea green boat,
that though ’twas weighted heavy down,
somehow contrived to float.

And thus I penned relentless,
partook of fine French wine,
drunk deep of all it’s sweet bouquet
with scant regard to time.
Each word become coherent thought,
each line co-joined at hip,
a ramble that became an ode
with each imbibing sip.

Still then and more, I scribbled on,
eschewed of standard form,
wrote endlessly throughout the night,
my pen a hopeless pawn;
caught up in wish of circumstance
of scattered seeds unsown,
and that I, a poet first and last,
may eventually be known.

3 comments

  1. Douglas,

    Splendid!

    “that I, a poet first and last,
    may eventually be known.”

    Over here, across the sea, the Mundays are known.
    That special family of poets who live in England
    with one part of their heart ever in Wales. Three
    generations have blessed our pages, and a fourth,
    Charlie, is still growing. I feel blessed to have become
    acquainted with that legacy.

    I’m hoping you will soon put one of your mother’s poems
    at this location.

    “It started off as cabbages
    and lettuces and kings,
    but soon became, as poems can,
    about some other things.”

    Whimsical and magical, and a beautiful truth about poems.

    I love it all!

    Sarah

    Like

  2. I thoroughly enjoyed your flight of fancy Douglas. Have a poem by the same name… will try to find and post it sometime.

    Regards,

    Maryse

    Like

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