I wrote this poem for a competition, write a poem in the style of, so I chose this one & no I didn’t win.
This Road Once Lead To Camelot
Gone, sights Tennyson saw plainly
G.M.T. crops, bearded barley
Combined harvesters heard clearly
Cutting, baling, binding early
This road once led to Camelot
The river full of rusting rubble
New houses cover where then stubble
Bringing peoples and all their trouble
Past, is the island of Shallot.
The Lady’s legend is of yore
They didn’t believe, wanted more
Progress and greed replaced folklore
The past is dead and gone before
Lost, once strong towered Camelot
High rise appartments fill the space
Where a dream castle had such grace
Now none can ever see the face
Cursed, forgot, Lady of Shallot.
My Daughter at age twentythree
Was then far more grown up than me
Now at her age of fiftyfour
She thinks I have regressed some more
Because I’m buying cuddly toys
And children’s books plus other joys
Now I have discovered the internet
The 21st Century I have met.
She thought I’d never reach the stage
Of copy, paste and post on page
Or type a message, send a link
She thought me far too old I think.
She says I’m mad to spend my day
On Facebook chattering away
To people I don’t even know
May never meet, but even so
I now spend hours on my P.C.
On forums that I’ve joined for free
Discovered, I have, a whole new World
The cyberspace, is now unfurled.
Poetry please, I can do it with ease.
I do it all the time, think of what might rhyme.
I do it here, I do it there, I do it where I dare, not say.
Speeding down the motorway, when ready to hit the hay.
In the shower, I have hidden power
To please you all, at this late hour.
The road to Stratford is paved with bards. Being a bard is hard.
Uploading the pros nobody knows, taking the credit for it.
I’m a poet but no one knows it. I wish there was money in it.
Does it rhyme with it, or doesn’t that matter.
Any more.
The less I understand, the easier it gets.
Chaucer drinks tea from his saucer. Hi honey I’m Homer. The things poets say when the going gets tough.
But I don’t give in that easy. I’m a pro with the prose
Dontcha know
So farewell then poetry, was nice while it lasted, the greatest agree.
I’m dead but not yet forgotten, I know what’s said is pretty rotten.
Reborn as a songsmith, you can’t catch me.
