Thursday, March 17, 2016

down these green streets a woman must go who is not herself green

Thanks to a flat tyre
I went to no St. Patrick's Day parade
Drank nothing green
Stood in no chill breeze
Took no photos
(Here are no photos)
Hid from no hearty people
Queued in no queues
Passed no remarks on how fine the fiddles are,
and your hair, my dear, and coat.


But, rather, stayed at home,
muttering to myself in my minority language
as I transplanted a rose,
curmudgeonly as I pleased.
O joy, O joy, O joy.
O flat tyre of perpetual joy.

20 comments:

  1. Sounds bliss. I did much the same, except it was a camellia. We should have been planting our spuds. I thought you disapproved of blog poems?

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    Replies
    1. No. One should never contradict a commentator, dear Mrs Fraise, but No. The above is not a Poem. It is Prose, or (if you feel I am putting on airs) Words. For today's purposes, we are old-school and a poem is something that rhymes. Like this:

      In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
      A stately pleasure-dome decree
      And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
      Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
      As I rode to sleep the owls were
      Bearing the farm away.
      And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf
      At the dawning of the day.

      Isn't that magnificent?

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  2. Happy Saint Patrick's Day. I'm glad you're not blue.

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    Replies
    1. Hello Shawn! Any friend of Tom's is an etc of etc.

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    2. and of course I am too etc etc etc

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  3. Although I am another who is not herself green, I did watch a bit of the Fifth Avenue Parade today. Dear Mise, this viewing was on my way back home from a disappointing visit to the Beauty Level (cosmetics department) of Bergdorf Goodman. I did not find what I sought there, and so was able to retain some of my treasured green dollars. I bought some cheese later on in the afternoon.

    Your transplanting of a rose seems a bit more pleasant. The flat tire seems less so xo

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    Replies
    1. The New York topiary makes me feel so provincial, dear Frances. And now I feel the lack of a Bergdorf Goodman in my village as well. It is a sad day.

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  4. That's my kind of deflation. Guinness has enough money. A few years ago, everyone became Irish here for a night.

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    Replies
    1. I hear half of Britain is to become Irish if you peeps leave the EU. Welcome, one and all.

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  5. My dad tells me that Birmingham has the world's third biggest St Patrick's Day parade. I must say I completely failed to notice it in all the 27 years I lived there. St Patrick, I'm afraid, has very little impact on us here in Worcester besides 17th March is my daughter's birthday which is much more important.

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    Replies
    1. Happy birthday to Katie! I look forward to a picture of a cake.

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    2. I will leave it to your imagination as all that remains are a few crumbs and a smear of icing.

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  6. The pot of gold was not at the far end of the rainbow this year, but right in my backyard. Good wishes from faraway friends. Sunshine. The Irish backpackers and their friends are celebrating loudly and joyously tonight, because it is the weekend. Some might feel a little green in the morning.

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    Replies
    1. As our own weekend approaches too, let us crank up the loud joy ourselves, you and I, dear Louise.

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  7. So glad you were able to avoid the enforced jollity and spend some quality time in the garden. Good for the soul. CJ xx

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  8. Wonderful poem, Mise, and it gets across the idea delightfully!

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  9. So you have written a little poem Mise! Coming from an Irish background I only escaped being called Patricia by a single day. I was always very pleased about that.

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  10. Hello Mise,
    I am sure your were missed at the Parade.
    I love your poem and will look forward to images of your rose when it blooms.

    Helen xx

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  11. O joy, O joy, O joy. A post from PFW. I read it aloud to my brother who enjoyed it while eating a belated hot cross bun.

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You're looking particularly well.

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