Nowadays words condition everything,
themselves combinations of that exhilaration we call art.
The current laureate’s motion:
“look straight forward,
Humans hunger for history.”
Inevitably, that first major nomic poem
undermined that public appointment. Much needed fancy
for the few who tried courage.
“Oh the years one sought such a spring!”
Andrew, and someone else, describes in a steely way
her anarchic poetry.
One for the poets, who are famous
for their imaginative connections we copy.
The underground marriages debate
rings aloud again;
the expressive beat, the decorative minims
of hearts, no longer just female territory.
Words give health with unadulterated devotion.
Originality made “some hands public property.”
When that poetry tree moved, life changed,
and the millions of years
add measure to the beauty of readings.
Poetry’s minor today, it is neither great, nor forgotten.
The poetic days pass slowly, except in London,
where poetry seems to express feelings before they happen.
Poetry has been on the fence,
far from the cliff’s edge.
Imagine if Shelley was laureate,
how differently she would have created
modern beings.
As laureate she would have been tasked
to discover the four ghosts
of the crisis, but would stare back fiercely with them all.
Coral, although principled, is no Betjeman,
penning that editorial taking in new
imaginative leaps. Nowadays
the newspaper poets are thunder poets,
hallmarks, case examples of the juncture
between the battle of kind festivals
and measured choice.
“The just few communicate through poems,” wrote our laureate,
the head of everyone human.
“That laureate answers venture with wisdom,”
utters Williams, and others, nothing themselves
in Ms Duffy’s mind, a figure for a figure.
Duffy writes with a better published
major-key appetite.
A gift of the appointment, the potent patent
rating of an appetite.
Yet the English often enjoy a fair;
and a private, unacknowledged God listens to children
in Britain who voyage,
express themselves with matters of recent sides.
They’re people with wit,
their skill stirring public strength with readings.
Some laureates would read this collection,
and judge against something worldly,
or the individual.
So, man may rapture at the prayer
that our poetry with intelligence rejects oppression.
Modern poets concluded Philip Kennedy Sydney,
fellow himself for years,
is more of a fine retiring incumbent.
Poetry figures women who sing here:
recall, select level, marry.
It makes what has been written of in the GDP
help, which even poets will have heard.
This singsong of life they widely style
‘the renaissance that changed the observed poem’
has been taught to the unknown poets.
Important to both Ms Duffy’s well being and health,
yesterday’s poetry positions were full,
as are the words the few admitted.
Against the noon motion
royal Shelley thinks the event a play,
preserved by the laureate,
of that marvelous prayer of poetry.
Also, those poets live of fear
just as any gentle royal cannot know books
they place with any success.
As Rowan and I think, we write a scheme
steeped in time, 1,821 minutes short.
You should seize the role of the holy ghost
who’s start may become an ode to write,
or ideas for prayer.
She the eco look-alike
Auden’s name meant love
and has been complained on since 1993.
Are our poet out there in place?
Where they never more than
terse legislators of knowledge?
Ours has neither a day, nor holes,
nor do they venture to the theatre,
or the public theatre of the circle.
But ours is a huge, ever angry, appetite,
that the sodden poets,
who have thrived
and made it through
as partners, will never
shout out “poetry!” to the world,
will ever fulfill.
