Jennospot 64 Starry Eyed
Oi loike readin', but Oi ain't really very much inter readin' poetry, 'cept now an again when Oi come across somefink wot's funny or or wot makes me fink real 'ard about fings, 'cos there's an awful lotta o' stuff around wot is kinda soft an' mushy, if'n you see wot Oi mean, an' that jus' gets on my wick.
The trouble is, Peter St John can't keep away from that mushy stuff. Oi've told 'im, an' Oi've told 'im, over an' over, that mush ain't worf even a spoonful o' porridge, but do yew fink 'ee listens?
Any'ow, 'ee asked me wevver 'ee c'd put up 'is latest poem on moi blog. Oi asked 'im wot it were about, an' 'ee said it were about stars. Well Oi thought that were okay, 'cos Oi loike Ginger Rogers, an' Clark Gable, an' Shirley Temple, an' such. But 'ee said as 'ow Oi got it all wrong; it weren't about film stars but them sort o' stars wot shine up in the sky. An' then 'ee read it to me. Cripes, it's jus' exac'ly the sort o' poem wot's mushy; the kind wot Oi wouldn't swap fer all the porridge in the world.
Well, Oi'd already said Okay, 'adn't Oi, even though Oi reckon as 'ow 'ee'd cheated about them stars? But Oi couldn't roightly go back on my word now, c'd Oi? But why can't 'ee write poems about interestin' fings, loike Widdlin'ton village, or Spitfires, or the Pepper Mill Lane Mob, or why boys keep girls outta their gangs, an' such?
Any'ow, 'ere's 'is poem. Yew c'n read it if'n yew want, but loike Oi said, it's mushy. Don't go a-sayin' afterwards that Oi din't warn yew…
Points of Night
Without the dark there’d be no stars;No rest, no sleep, no deep repose.
A bright, light night would then be ours;
A sleepless life that no one knows.
So cherish night that ends each dayWith velvet shutters, that repair
The toil-worn threads that fray,
And knit them up with dream-filled care.
When points of light map out the sky;When day draws down upon the earth;
They lift the heart, they beautify,
And give the spirit calm rebirth.
They shine to clarify and guide.They seem so silent in the sky.
They come to help, and not to chide,
As through the night they burn and fly.
The stars lift up the leaden soulWhen hearts lie heavily aground.
They're here to help you find your goal
When paths are lost, and aims fogbound.
Star compass points, to navigateBy diamond gleams along the way.
Their constellations designate
Bright points of night towards the day.
See wot Oi mean about mush? Never mind, Oi send yew moi luv any'ow.
By the way, don't ferget moi e-book, "Jenno's Widdlin'ton". It ain't got no poetry in it, an' it's free an' all: http://www.smashwords.com/b/128813
An' then there's Peter St John's website: http://www.peterstjohn.net/Yew c'n go an' click around on it, if'n yew want. There ain't no poetry… thank goodness.