This is a preface to my own love song.
You may want to know a little, a wee bit, anyway.
These are not footnotes but notes to save those.
I am flying to an island off an island off Espiritu Santo.
This I need to mention in case you do not find me, Helena,
in which case Hermes may follow.
I shall have a Polynesian cook book brimming with recipes.
Cannibal parts have been cut out (of the book, of course!)
and apart from the flesh of coconut, it's vegetarian.
When you get there, to Espiritu Santo's island off an island,
I shall stroke your auburn hair under a palm tree, with shells.
The airline service borrowed the fine brass hair brush.
They said it was a weapon of some kind ... I'll brush up on weapons.
My readings of my poem shall begin after I read Alfred, Lord Prue to you.
Americans call him Lord, Alfred Tennyson and I've his collected poems.
Actually, 'Lord Prue' is my pseudonym for him as Lord T who wrote,
one eye on Queen Victoria, the other glued to his page.
He ascended to Laureate heaven as Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Oh, I should warn you of six-letter words: outvie; druids; Isabel; udders.
And there's a question, an overwhelming question that teases:
Who is the gardener's daughter in "The Gardener's Daughter"?
I must tell you of his variants as you rest your darling head against my thigh.
There are the MS variants; The Trinity MSS; Heath's commonplace book.
Ten different volumes (8300 pages) could be read if we had the variants.
Also, "Tirra Lirra" rhymes with "mirror". There have to be reasons for things.
And, it's now the third week. I should hunt for water and berries.
So good of you to come, Helena. No? Hermes? No? Ah, Rosalind!
When I sleep on the beach, recover my wind ...
I shall read you my love song with glee:
" You, Rosalind, are my garden, a miracle of symmetry."
Author notes
Yes: This had to be a romantic musing and I have included on my island: A Polynesian cook book; a fine brass hair brush (meant to be there but for bureaucracy); Collected works of in my case Alfred, Lord Tennyson. As well, of course, a piece of fruit on the side whose name, I'm fairly sure is Rosalind.
A contest entry
- Stranded: a romantic musing by MJ Donnelly.
3500 points, ended November 20, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Could this be you or one of yours?
Comments
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Thanks for the entry, I enjoyed reading it.
All the best,
mj.
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I enjoyed it
This reads very smoothly, and I enjoyed the pun about the brush - they can be very painful!
You know so much about Tennyson, I wonder whether I have any in my bookcase.
Good luck!
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I had this feeling
that eventually you would get to your own poem. The wander along the way was interesting and I had a great many of my own tangential associations to clasp hands with yours. I like the question of the missing hairbrush. Once I was travelling by air with my young son and his paper scissors were confiscated. Odd, odd world.
The lines get longer and longer toward the middle, which had the effect for me of pushing more and more words into the same time, but that is probably just me.
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I have refined, I hope,
my lines. This was written in situ and had to be reworked in a small way. Thank you, dear friend, for your wayward wander.
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