Because sometimes I like to write poetry…

…even if it isn’t great poetry.

It’s a bit of fun from watching the enjoyment with which my little son eats his dinner.

“I don’t deny,” he said, “that there should be priests to remind men that they will one day die. I only say that at certain strange epochs it is necessary to have another kind of priests, called poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet.”
― G.K. Chesterton, Manalive

The King

The small stout bairn

Eats with ardor.

Two fisted,

With one meat-grabbing

And the other spoon-gripping,

Feasting Lord-like.

Not in the manner of dainty despots of enlightened ages and Austen novels.

True tyrant he is

He shouts, “mona!”

Mead-hall mannered,

From his high seat, food-flinging,

Until some smile-winning servant

Attends him, cup-bearing.

Sadly, we haven’t hounds to clean the floor.


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