Poetry WorkshopMy muse Janice could not have picked a better week to give a poet a prose break.

After the nightmare of illness that was Easter, I have done more reading than actual writing over the last week.   Any attempt at creating some actual passable prose has resulted in much dead and crumpled tree upon yon filthy floor.

You hear that?  It is bottled up deep inside and desperate to emerge.  

But not today.   This week I get to share with you some of my favourite poetry; or, introduce you to a poet I enjoy.    Believe me, You're Welcome.   I would hate to shatter any poetic illusions you had of me in one fell swoop.

The Prompt:  Discover A Poet
So many poets out there – dead and alive! Pick a poem from a famous poet or from some random poet on Blogger or WordPress. Do NOT pick a favorite poem you know. The point is to find someone new. Share that person’s poetry (with credits given, of course) and tell us why you liked it! Don’t forget to leave us a link (if possible) to that poet’s blog so we can visit him/her too to share some comment love.

 Okay, so I hesitate to  use the word "muse" lest Janice find me fickle and unfaithful.   Yet I cannot deny that I am often inspired by another.   Allow me to introduce you to ViV - who blogs at Vivinfrance's Blog.

I am convinced no form of prose or poetic heights is beyond her.   She was most gracious to allow me to provide a sampling - and this Persona Poem is one of my favourites:

 The subject of my persona poem is one of the lovers of  the Scottish Bard, Robert Burns, who died of rheumatic fever in 1796, aged 37:  one of the five women with whom he fathered children, as well as with his wife, Jean Armour.

The wooing o’t

You’re a bonnie man,
but gey lavish wi’ your favours.
How do ye get by wi’ sae many lovers?
Why Jeannie puts up wi’ ye I’ll never ken,
living in yon butt and ben* wi’ all those weans.
Well, I’ve got news for ye, young Rabbie,
Ye’re going to have another babbie, come Hogmanay.
And don’t think ye can get away wi’ saying it’s not yours.
Ye’ll see me right, won’t ye?
Like ye did wi’ all your other hoors.
Why we all love ye is not sae strange:
a charmer, Rabbie, wi’ winsome ways. 
Your songs and poems put us under your spell,
but if ye let me doon, ye can go to Hell.

butt and ben:  a traditional two-roomed Scottish cottage
weans: children
hoors:  use your imagination!

The title is a line from Burns’s poem Duncan Gray

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Brilliant, non?    Wait until you read some of her haiku!

It's also no wonder at all that in choosing Scotland's Favourite Son, she has won my eternal affection.   Having absorbed - and likely groaned often during the absorption - much Old English, Latin and Scottish/Irish Gaelic in my literature studies, I discover now a love for these languages of old has remained.

And he kinda was quite the bonnie lad too:

Discover anything new and creative lately?

 warm wishes sign