True Gods and bettering myself

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 “Sitting in the morning sun
Watching the tide roll away…”
Whistling along to the tune
But all I really want to do is play

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 ~#~

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I like to read other people’s poetry
To see how they draw their inspiration
And their clever use of words
As they metaphorically prepare a feast, out of whimsy and curds

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 I try to be selective
To steer clear of ‘poppycock’ poems
Where they strangulate more than just the verbs
As they witter on about wisteria in the ‘burbs

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 But seemingly there’s merit in that
Compared to my own tat
And so I keep telling myself, it would help my own peculiar output
If I were to broaden my canvas
To try to paint pretty pictures
Of bounteous buttercups in the meadows, as high as your knees
Or golden daffodils, fluttering and dancing in the breeze
Not for the purpose of plagiarism you understand, but to subsume and expand
To be to poetry, what Constable was to the land
But my field of expertise, doesn’t follow the usual Ancient Gods
I’ll not be name dropping the likes of Zeus or Thor
For my juices flow, at the mention of Osgood and Moore
And my grassy pastures, are rigid and formed
Marked by officious boundarys, kept neat and trim
Tendered with care by mere mortals, the likes of Pete or Jim
Producing horticultural six-packs with their fancy rollers
Lawns never as lush in the era of flat caps – or chairmen in bowlers
Featuring a home turf that’s now a verdant vision on our tv screens
And a backdrop to cheers and jeers and damaged dreams;

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 And where the war poets wrote of
“trudging” through blood smattered “sludge”
Or “graves unknown” in “fields unsown” –
My battlefield is mapped out and cornered with white flags
Points of position where we surrender possession
But live on, to fight again, to compete and contest
To let our passion shine through – and give of our best



A real hodge podge of thoughts there!

Sitting in a traffic jam this morning, listening to the radio, I was inspired by stories of Irish success in the Special Olympics taking place in Shanghai.
Also by the two songs : Sitting On the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding, and the Fields of Athenry by Paddy Casey.
As the poem progressed, obviously thoughts of Wordsworth and Wilfrid Owen pervaded.
And then the memory of the True Gods.

Also, they say home is where the heart is.
A line above is inspired by my spiritual home :
Cluan Cearbhán : the meadow of the buttercups

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/true-gods-and-bettering-myself/