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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Tag Archives: vernon scannell

[Ageing Schoolmaster]

18 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry Reading

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ageing, Ageing Schoolmaster, children, death, life, poetry reading, school, spokenverse, vernon scannell, youth

by Vernon Scannell
And now another autumn morning finds me With chalk dust on my sleeve and in my breath, Preoccupied with vague, habitual speculation On the huge inevitability of death. Not wholly wretched, yet knowing absolutely That I shall never reacquaint myself with joy, I sniff the smell of ink and chalk and my mortality And think of when I rolled, a gormless boy, And rollicked round the playground of my hours, And wonder when precisely tolled the bell Which summoned me from summer liberties And brought me to this chill autumnal cell From which I gaze upon the april faces That gleam before me, like apples ranged on shelves, And yet I feel no pinch or prick of envy Nor would I have them know their sentenced selves. With careful effort I can separate the faces, The dull, the clever, the various shapes and sizes, But in the autumn shades I find I only Brood upon death, who carries off all the prizes.

[My Three Hoboes]

15 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry, Poetry Reading

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hoboes, living on the stree, my three hoboes, poetry reading, poverty, vernon scannell

My Three Hoboes
by Vernon Scannell

In the bullion bar of a bright hotel
I gave three tramps a splendid feed.
Though I was poor, I fed them well,
Knowing the acreage of their greed.
All around, the double-chinned,
The thin and plump of various ages,
Lacquered with privilege, golden-skinned
Because they paid the sun good wages,
Laughed and drank and did not see
The scruffy hoboes I’d brought there;
In fact, they did not notice me
But we watched them with our reptile stare.
We watched the blonde boys and their trulls
Whose taut instructive favours draped
Hard uniform of bones and skulls;
We eyed the stout papas and gaped
At slender daughters’ pulchritude
But not a glance came back our way
As I provided yet more food
For my rough guests.
I always pay
When my familiar vagrants come
To these palatial joints with me –
Lust and loathing and the other bum,
Envy, strongest of the three.

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