This week we’re talking about our favourite poems.
For me, my absolute favourite poem has to be Wordsworth’s ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’. Daffodils are also my favourite flower of all time, and the mental imagery this poem conjures up always lifts me out of a dark mood. Close behind is Max Ehrmann’s 1927 poem ‘Desiderata’. Mr Ehrmann obviously lived a long life, and as we all do, came to understand human nature.
Mum often read poetry to me as a child, and I always remember with affection Alfred Noyes’ ‘The Highwayman’, the one who went riding, riding, up to the old inn-door. I used to lose myself in the love story and imagine Bess plaiting the love-knot into her long black hair. My grandmother would read Robert Browning’s’The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ to me, and send me to sleep dreaming of rats shrieking in fifty different sharps and flats.
My paternal grandfather would read verses of T.W Connor’s ‘The Miser’ to me when I was about seven or eight, and I soon memorised them. I never failed to be amazed at the clock that went round the wrong way, and had to laugh when I first visited our dentist’s surgery some years back. He also had a clock which went the wrong way, and it brought back happy memories of my grandfather.
Dad used to recite an alternative variation of George R. Sims’ poem ‘Christmas Day in the Workhouse’ to me as a youngster at Christmas, and it always used to make me giggle:
‘Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse,
The snow was falling fast.
I don’t want your Christmas pud,
So stick it up your arse!
Very rude I know, but that was Dad; always ready for a laugh and a joke.
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