More poetry

I’m feeling all poetical again this week.  My poem last time – okay, verse, then, if you’re being picky - caused an outbreak of poetry from Jane Finnis.  It’s in the comments to the last blog but I thought it deserved a wider audience, so here goes.

Poem, by Jane Finnis

Here’s a poem about black ice for all fans of William T McG:

Oh horrible cold black ice,
You really are not very nice.
You cause folk to slither and slide,
Which is something nobody should have to abide;
I tumbled down upon my bottom,
And cried out, “These ungritted pavements, God rot ‘em.”
Oh horrible cold black ice, at the start of two thousand and ten,
You will be remembered for a very long…(no, wait, I should have used that last year)…you will be remembered until I don’t know when.
(That’s not a proper ending. Er….got it!) As long as snow falls and verses rhyme,
You will be remembered for a very long time.

Isn’t it good? Now there’s a bit on irony about Jane, of all people, being iffy about winter.  After all, her last book in the excellent Aurelia series is “A Bitter Chill” about dark doings in Roman Yorkshire at Saturnalia.

While we’re on the subject of Romans, here’s a rather more famous poet than either Jane or me, WH Auden in Roman Wall Blues

Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I've lice in my tunic



and a cold in my nose.

The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I'm a Wall soldier, I don't know why.

However, I must say my sympathy is with the Ancient Brits who made the perfect retort (probably a rude one) to the Romans in a song set to the tune of Men Of Harlech.

The Song of the Ancient Britons

What's the use of wearing braces
Socks and pants and shoes with laces
Other things you buy in places
Down in Saville Row.
What's the use of shirts of cotton,
Studs that always get forgotten,
Such affairs are simply rotten
Better far is woad.

Woad's the stuff to show men
Woad to scare your foemen
Boil it to a brilliant hue
Then rub it on your back and your abdomen
March up Snowdon with your woad on
Never mind if you get rained or snowed on
Never want a button sewed on-
Tailors, you be blowed.

Romans came across the channel
All dressed up in tin and flannel
Half a pint of woad per man'll
Dress us more than these.
Saxons you may waste your stitches
Building beds for bugs in breeches
We have woad to clothe us which is-
Not a nest for fleas.

Romans keep your armours
Saxons your pyjamas
Hairy coats were meant for goats
Gorillas yaks retriever dogs and llamas,
Ancient Briton never hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Necks or knees or where you sit on-
Go it Ancient Bs.