The hermetic Muse Swings is driving the Poetry Bus this week. Sadly I missed last week's rollercoaster ride as I did absolutely nothing new.
This week the prompts are:-
1) write and illustrate a poem (too techy for me)
2) write a descriptive poem without mentioning the object (requires thought).
So it will have to be
3) write a poem inspired by the picture above.
Don't forget to click on the link above to inspect much better tickets from other passengers.
Great Uncle Wilf
My Great Uncle Wilf was a dancer by trade,
He performed every night on the stage.
His legs were fantastic and therefore he made
a very respectable wage.
The crowds would throw flowers wherever he played
until seventy five years of age.
When small men would yell things in coarse, vulgar tones,
Uncle Wilf would pay them little heed.
When quizzed, he informed me that those who threw stones
were suffering some sexual need
and that he sincerely believed me mam’s scones
were manna from heaven indeed.
My dad said (in secret) he couldn’t abide him.
His spirit, he said, was too free.
But me and me mam, we both deified him
for his liberated état d’esprit,
(though I wasn’t allowed to sit beside him
whenever he called round for tea.)