On the Linga-Longa

Sheila Eborn

Description

If you read this book, you will empathise with the subjects, feelings and situations of a woman whose only desire was to express herself in poetry, to condense in words her life, situations, men, frustrations, of being creative and what a closed shop it is in England. Hope you enjoy it.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781398414792
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

On the Linga-Longa
Sheila Eborn
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
On the Linga-Longa About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Introduction Oh, Lean Away, Lover Raymond Was a Virgo I Can Almost Smell His Woodbines Bells and Shadows Old Hamsey Church Polly Joke Beach ’96 (If One Believed in Omens) Cornish Michael Bus to Devil’s Dyke A Tall Man with Fatal Eyes Interlude in ‘Garden and Leisure’ Goodbye, Zing Zang Taking My Ex to Exford Darkness Descending Lady Chubb Slowly, Painfully Progressing November Observations The End of the World Old Report Books There I Am, Waving A Day in Winter The Artist’s Lament No News Is Bad News Crying Drunk in Paris I Don’t Care for Weston-Super-Mare If You Want to Be Hurt, Have Children Stuffed Love The Gate Tonight, Chedworth Street Tower Wells Cathedral Trains Where the Moslems Are On the Linger-Longer Saturday’s Shopping Poetry We Were Giants April Sunset Towers of Weakness Queen Victoria Hospital The Port
About the Author
Sheila Eborn has written poetry for years, knowing what a limited market there is for it. Something of a lost cause! But she has read her poetry to appreciative audiences over the years. She says you can say more to more people in a few lines of poetry than in thick books. She hopes readers will enjoy and agree.
Dedication
To those that know, tried, lost or won.
Copyright Information ©
Sheila Eborn (2020)
The right of Sheila Eborn to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a poetry book, which is a product of the author’s imagination. It reflects the author’s recollections of experiences over time. Any resemblance to other works of poetry, quotes, slogans, to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788230162 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398414792 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Introduction
These poems go back over years. One day I wanted to write about something or someone, and never gave up. Only once have I got an agent just for myself. Being told that poetry doesn’t pay, I have paid to get these into print. Of course, they have been read aloud to writing groups, the best way to appreciate poetry. I also painted the cover image. I have never entered poetry competitions or sent my poetry to magazines. I hope you, the reader, enjoy.
Oh, Lean Away, Lover
Oh, lean away, lover,
Turn your face to the wall.
Though you’re quite sympathetic
(like an old shawl).
We’ve grown apathetic with time,
We met on a summit of drink and ideas,
But the fires flickered out in mutual tears.
So lean away, lover,
Turn your face to the wall.
Our life-like waltzing on a sloping floor,
To the old-fashioned waltz of love,
A graceful glide, then an ugly slide.
We’d go through the motions,
a bit out of step,
as the old-fashioned music churned on.
It got so exhausting,
we wound up divorcing.
Raymond Was a Virgo
Raymond was a Virgo,
With a mind like a mouse-trap,
Who would snap on my careless statement;
My statements got badly mauled.
He, unaware of sexual frustration,
Would cycle or walk, mile on mile,
For physical relaxation.
The women he infrequently took,
Like a library book,
Were neatly replaced on their shelves,
Imparting geological and scientific fact.
To my uninterested ear, we sat
Over an endless real ale, sometimes struck silent
In contemplation of my bust.
Walking mile on mile on the Sussex Downs,
Would fall on me with lust,
Exploring this and that we’d go,
Up here and down below.
But the mouse-trap Virgo mind,
Too clear to be kind, would snap
On this and that, I said