Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
donall-dempseyPoems
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES Never did help my Da enough. Always head-stuck-in-a-book. "Donall son..."he call "Can you hold this while ...I saw.!" "Awwww Da!" I'd wail. Me lost in Chaucer and his tale. And so the saw saws but all I see is..."Yo!" "The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone, A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone. The saw cuts through the afternoon. Pauses: then....chaw chaw Chaucers on again. "He did well out of them, for he could go And win the ram at any wrestling show." "Say what...? Oh, don't get me wrong I adored the aesthetic beauty of sawdust floating in a universe of its own suspended in sunlight and shadow. The smell of pine kidnapping my mind. The green dance of the bubble in a spirit level. Didn't have time for all that hammering and sawing. I was a boy on a mission ever since our teacher sighing "Oh I...don't know why I teach you scruff Chaucer ...you'll never read the book!" But by the weekend ( furious at the rebuff ) I( ha ha)HAD! My poor auld Da only getting begrudging help. "Whan that Aprille..." ( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind ) "...with his shoures soote the droghte of Marche..." (Words words oh sweet words. . .) "hath perced to the roote" (My mind. . .) "...bathed every veyne in swich licour," (the bubble in the spirit level poised perfectly...perfectly poised) "Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
0
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES Never did help my Da enough. Always head-stuck-in-a-book. "Donall son..."he call "Can you hold this while ...I saw.!" "Awwww Da!" I'd wail. Me lost in Chaucer and his tale. And so the saw saws but all I see is..."Yo!" "The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone, A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone. The saw cuts through the afternoon. Pauses: then....chaw chaw Chaucers on again. "He did well out of them, for he could go And win the ram at any wrestling show." "Say what...? Oh, don't get me wrong I adored the aesthetic beauty of sawdust floating in a universe of its own suspended in sunlight and shadow. The smell of pine kidnapping my mind. The green dance of the bubble in a spirit level. Didn't have time for all that hammering and sawing. I was a boy on a mission ever since our teacher sighing "Oh I...don't know why I teach you scruff Chaucer ...you'll never read the book!" But by the weekend ( furious at the rebuff ) I( ha ha)HAD! My poor auld Da only getting begrudging help. "Whan that Aprille..." ( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind ) "...with his shoures soote the droghte of Marche..." (Words words oh sweet words. . .) "hath perced to the roote" (My mind. . .) "...bathed every veyne in swich licour," (the bubble in the spirit level poised perfectly...perfectly poised) "Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
donall-dempsey
Written by
donall-dempsey
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem