So this week's Poetry Bus prompt comes from NanU, and the theme is one of Excess. Of Far Too Much. Of Going Over the Edge. I've done something I've never done for the Poetry Bus before ( I think?) - i.e. I've used a poem already written. Reason being, I'm a wee bit 'writ out' right now - after a bit of a purple patch, thankfully - and, in keeping busy outdoors (while the Irish sky deigns to remain conducive to such activity) I remembered something written a few years ago, which seemed to suit this prompt, albeit on somewhat of a tangent. An ode to a loyal implement which has somewhat exceeded its life expectancy, perhaps only due to a lack of excess in its usage? To wit....
Yard Brush
Old friend, I know you longer than my wife.
I brought you from my parent's home - a gift,
for you were on the way out - your acolyte
had deemed you ill-equipped. Yet here you are
your handle slick and sheened by years
of palms that regularly furled to working fists
(though woodworm traffic in your cambered
head suggests a cheese particularly Swiss).
Your nylon bristles, once bright cherry red
and eager as a pup's tumescent tip,
are clogged and grey like ancient natty dreads,
but still upstanding - equal to the chore.
At least to any I might yet inflict.
For that you labour still speaks volumes too;
my yardwork - yes, the sparsity of it -
has kept our union true.
© P Nolan 2008
That's the implement itself, pictured above in all its woodworm-headed holiness. Still in (sparse) use - even earlier today. The reference to 'clogged and grey, like ancient natty dreads' refers to another brush entirely, one my father used when building our family home, which acquired said appearance from sweeping up after mixing cement. But hey, if a poem can't conflate a little......?
12 comments:
A homage to sparsity. Nicely done. Reminds me of a story about Alan Titmarsh. He said he was using his father's spade. 3 new handles and 2 new shovels.
Nice one! I particularly liked
though woodworm traffic in your cambered
head suggests a cheese particularly Swiss
Love it, Padhraig, and I love to see people using a broom instead of a hose to sweep leaves and etc from the walk.
Thanks y'all :-)
That's one beauty of a brush! Photo and poem!
I have a broom that I reach for quite often, not as old as yours, but fading butterfly yellow. Thanks!
An excess of sparsity and a sparsity of excess have preserved that fine brush. I loved the opening line especially and those palms that furl to working fists ~ a really strong thing to say. I have an old cobbler's hammer that catches in just the same way.
Tell you what, Padhraig! Bet you can't buy a yardbrush these days that lasts as long as that one.
Well constructed poem. I like the near-rhymes in the first two stanzas.
Now there's a poet for you. I see a yard brush and think I have to sweep beneath the wheelie bins. You see a yard brush and produce a deliciously tongue in cheek eulogy. Great fun.
I love the solemnity of tone!
Tnx All! Really nice to get such thoughtful and considered comments :-)
I'm sure I've read this before somewhere, you don't read...
'Your nylon bristles, once bright cherry red
and eager as a pup's tumescent tip'
and forget it too handy!
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