Two poems from Jenny Kingsley
Below are two quintessentially English poems submitted to to the website from Jenny Kingsley.
STAY IN TOUCH >> The handsome couple by the teashop window, >> Sip from flower painted cups. >> He watches cricketers on the Green, >> She stares at watercolours on the wall. >> Both exquisitely groomed and tailored, >> Carefully aged and revered. >> >> By the old oak clock we settle, >> Hot, hungry and thirsty, >> Muddied and not so perfectly trussed. >> Sore from the steep hill ramble. >> We giggle about the bull, losing our way. >> Eager to share, forging a future. >> >> Always stay in touch, my mother said, >> Just before the big day. >> Or else you become strangers, >> Sitting opposite in a railway carriage; >> Like the spectating man, >> And the watery eyed woman? >> >> Jenny Kingsley >> >> >> TO A YOUNG CAPTAIN >> My dearest William, >> As the hot, sticky summer draws to an end, >> And so begins the season of swollen blackberries as rich as cream, >> And crisp leaves whispering underfoot, >> I sit by the fire, thanking you >> For introducing me to the thinking and reading man’s game. >> A library of prose and poetry, a new language. >> >> Remember the matches, when, by the Green, >> I sat cross-legged under the mulberry tree, >> “The Times” firmly in hand, hoping no one would notice? >> I was stumped by googly, gozunder and kato, >> The mutterings of nightwatchmen, rabbits and all-rounders. >> >> But then one hazy June day, >> Bowled over by your schoolboy enthusiasm, >> I laid my paper to rest, >> And, for some unfathomable reason, >> Clapped for Atkinson’s half century. >> I was caught >> >> In a world of spin, shots, strokes, >> Steeped in history and anecdote, >> For the sake of which, at a snail’s pace, I unravelled. >> An enigma of common and invented words, puzzling phrases, >> The obsolete as relevant as the new: >> Reflections of the changing nature of the terrain, pitch and players. >> >> Blushing, I bought a dictionary of cricket >> To peruse while sipping caffe latte >> And you were in the schoolroom >> Considering conjugation and declension. >> The rules of play I learned >> And silently argued with the umpires. >> >> I wonder: would the gentlemen of Hambledon, >> Decked elegantly in white, >> Still praise bat and wicket >> If held and claimed by a mother or two? >> While we await judgement, >> please teach me to flip and float, slice and smother, and be silly. >> >> The fire wants kindling. I await your reply. ‘Bye for now. >> >> Yours forever, >> >> Mummy >>
