Dancing Dust

Poems by Mollie Caird (1922-2000)

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What are you writing?  Say my busy-body friends
No poems?… wasted talent… blah blah blah.
I’m old, for God’s sake, and tired, and lazy…

Heigh-ho, life’s a bubble,
Doing crosswords is much less trouble.

OK, OK.  Subjects galore:
There’s Love, but it’s done so very often, and well,
There’s Nature, Art, and Heaven and Hell,
And the world’s woes from Manila to Gdansk…
But watching whimbrels is far less angst.

Why do they nag so, driving me bananas?
You can’t buy ideas from Sainsbury’s like sultanas.
Poetry’s exhausting, poetry’s taxing,
Potting geraniums is more relaxing.

Getting in the swing now, rhyme, almost metre –
Oops, there’s the doorbell; sorry, must run.
This poem ends when it’s scarcely begun,
But playing with grandchildren’s much more fun.


1990s