Reciting My Own Poems

David Russell Mosley

 

Eric and I in the Garden

Eastertide
Feast of St. George
The Edge of Elfland
Hudson, New Hampshire

Dear Friends and Family,

In this short video to you all I recite three poems I wrote about two years ago. I hope you enjoy.

Sincerely,
David

 

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Two Poems: Bees and Elves in My Garden

David Russell Mosley

Eric and I in the Garden, Last Summer

Eric and I in the Garden, Last Summer

Lent
27 March 2014
On the Edge of Elfland
Beeston, Nottinghamshire

Dear Friends and Family,

Since my review of David Constantine’s Poetry was posted on Christ and University yesterday, I thought I would share a poem or two of my own. They are probably quite bad (the rhythm and metre is often a mess). So, feedback (preferably constructive) is welcomed. These two poems were written on a sunny afternoon in my back garden. Two quick etymological notes. The word dumbledore is colloquial eighteenth century British term for a bumble bee. Also, the term gnome has its origins in one of the Greek terms for knowledge (gnosis). It was also at one point somewhat interchangeable with elf or fairy (Tolkien calls his high elves Noldor in part for this reason). Ok, on to potentially poor poetry.

My Dear Dumbledore

My dear Dumbledore,
I hope you won’t think
Me such a humble bore
If I dedicate some ink
To writing you this letter.

My green bush with blossoms pink
You seem to love none better.
But my flowers red and blue
They never see the likes of you
Within their expectant petals.

What have they said or done
That you treat them like common nettles?
I’m sure they meant naught but fun.
Come back, my friends, and say hello.
I’ll put on the biggest of my kettles.

We’ll drink to cheer, to nectar sweet;
We’ll sup sumptuous honey;
We’ll drink mead, put up our tired feet.
One thing I ask, it is not money,
Leave your weapons at the door

From Gardener, your friend,
To little Dumbledore.

The Gnomes

Of all the creatures on God’s green earth
None is wiser, nor longer living than the gnome.
They write no books, nor build things of worth,
Caves built by other serve for home.
And yet their knowledge goes back to the beginning
Before the human race began its tradition of sinning.

For what immediate end God made them
No one can be sure; perhaps they do not know.
Some call them devils sent to tempt us unto sin;
Others that they do not exist and there is naught to know.
Both camps are wrong, they truly must be.
In truth, we have simply forgotten how to see.

Sincerely yours,
David Russell Mosley