Poetry

I have been reading a blog this week about 'favourite poems' A different writer contributed to the blog every day describing what their favourite poem was and why. It was whilst reading this blog that it occurred to me how huge and diverse the subject of poetry is. Personally I like accessible poetry. I didn't realise until a few years ago that the 'hit song' Myfanwy by David Essex was actually a poem written by former Poet Laureate, Sir John Betjeman. This led me to buy a book of his poems and I found myself engrossed. Picking a favourite poem is like being asked to pick your favourite song - impossible! There are just too many songs - and poems to choose from.Well, Myfanwy is definitely one of my favourite poems so I have decided to share the words with you today and hope that you enjoy it as much as me.

MYFANWY

Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.

Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?

Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.

Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the potting shed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.

Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.

Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.

Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.

John Betjeman