Truth … In wine? Pull the other one. Stick it on me, babe I’ll believe it when I feel it Next you’ll be persuading me Love is blind When everyone knows However fickle It’s in the beholder’s ken The plaything of their whim Their only hope for the future Then You’ll be saying Time flies When we all know It sinks and swims Runs and stutters Can’t make its mind up Whether to be patient Or restive Anxious or unhurried And as for Life being for living Non sequiturs Don’t come better than that Its for laughing For crying But…. Above all it’s for dying For returning to the earth which spawned us For calling time on the pain of living For … And this we must remember … As the old song goes You can’t have one without the other. Sic transit gloria mundi
Today’s poem was written by MARTIN ARMSTRONG, who was born in Newcastle-on-Tyne in 1882. He was educated at Charterhouse and Pembroke College Cambridge. His first publication of poems appeared in 1912. During 1914-1915 he served in France on the Western Front, in, first the 2nd Artist Rifles, then he was commissioned into the 8th Middlesex Regiment from 1915 until the end of the war. His book. ‘Buzzards and other Poems’ was published in 1921. Martin Armstrong died in 1974.
Mrs Reece Laughs
Laughter, with us, is no great undertaking; A sudden wave that breaks and dies in breaking. Laughter with Mrs. Reece is much less simple: It germinates, it spreads, dimple by dimple, From small beginnings, things of easy girth, To formidable redundancies of mirth. Clusters of subterranean chuckles rise, And presently the circles of her eyes Close into slits and all the woman heaves, As a great elm with all its mounds of leaves Wallows before the storm. From hidden sources A mustering of blind volcanic forces Takes her and shakes her till she sobs and gapes. Then all that load of bottled mirth escapes In one wild crow, a lifting of huge hands And creaking stays, a visage that expands In scarlet ridge and furrow. Thence collapse, A hanging head, a feeble hand that flaps An apron-end to stir an air and waft. A steaming face . . . And Mrs. Reece has laughed.