It’s true, not half as brave, nor half as bold
have I been in my life as Cyrano,
yet things in common we have quite a few,
we both are dreamers, but delusional, too.
Is it honour? Justice? Other trochees?
Music and poetry? Love of good food?
Is it irony mixed with depression?
Or love requited, but not understood?
The battles we fought, in life or on stage,
tempered our spirits and mellowed our tongues,
but we never learned to check fear or rage,
deeper in the real play than in Rostand’s.
And what about the nose? I shall be brash
and take it to my grave with my panache!
NOTE: For March 31, 2019, as a prequel to Poetry Month, napowrimo.net‘s prompt was: “write a in which you portray yourself in the guise of a historical or mythical figure.”
Poetry Writing Month, April, is approaching. Again, I will try and respond to a prompt a day during the month, so stay tuned. In the meantime, here’s a sonnet I wrote a few years ago in London, the last time I visited Westminster Abbey’s Poets’ Corner. I doubt it I will ever visit it again, I can’t stand having to queue up (and to pay a ticket) for a place I used to visit freely whenever I just chanced to pass by in the past…
How often have I come to see you, friends,
And spent some time amongst you, undisturbed?
But shall I come again, before life ends,
Revive those chats so quiet, unperturbed?
You’re monuments, and plaques, and precious stone,
Yet words distinguish you now as before,
And you’ll still make me feel I’m not alone,
Though on a distant shore my boat I moor.
When on my couch I lie, in pensive mood,
In marble white and black I’ll see you there,
And I will see the world in colours hued
That make it worthwhile and beyond compare.
Rest well, my friends, and keep inspiring those
Who read their life in verse, not merely prose.
Westminster Abbey, July 30, 2014