The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Tuesday, 12 December 2017
the very last Proper Poem
It seems that E J Thripps, who's been most prolific and is rather pleased with himself, now being a published poet 'n' all, could continue for a while yet, but I need to turn my attention to improper poetry once again, lest I forget how to write it.
So here, from EJT (still aged 471/2,more or less), is a final offering:
Elegy on a Country Sofa
So, farewell then, proper poetry.
Rhyme and metre make meaning neater,
But gradually I forgot
The entire poetic plot.
These days romcoms seem much sweeter
And verses just do not
Touch that inner spot.
© E J Thripps
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