Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month - may we hope for more!
SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is slowly returning to blogging after her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way. And dare we hope that she will join Poetry Monday again.
- - - - -
This Monday's topic is Peculiar People. Peculiar people? We're all peculiar people. It is one of the things that can make my head spin, that every person you ever meet, see or hear about, is the main person of their own life, have a unique story, and will be missed by a lot of people when they are not there any more.
Everybody that is, including the junkie on the corner, the old woman in the queue in front of you fumbling for change, the boring teacher, the doctor, the politician, the mailman, the janitor, the bus driver, your neighbours ... This old song called The Clothesline was written in 1955 by Sigfred Pedersen and the tune composed the same year by Knud Vad Thomsen. It was sung by the darling young man at that time Hans Kurt. Listen here.
The Clothesline
Oh, the clothesline, oh, the clothesline,
it is backyard-poetry,
Fills my mind with mirthful visions
And it sparks my fatasy.
It's life turned inside outwards,
Neighbour-banter, gossipry.
When I sing my clotheslines homage
Jensen's door slams audibly.
Oh, the clothesline, oh, the clothesline,
It has shown me all the way,
That my neighbour, tubby Jensen,
Is not colourless and grey;
Which I could be led to thinking,
when I listen to his words,
Jensen's soul, and madam's ditto.
wafting from the simple cords.
Funny, shameful, tiny details
Hanging in the sun to dry.
Now the clothesline unabashed
Shows my prying neighbour eyes.
Dainty colours, pink and purple,
Shining in the sunlight rays.
And amid the colours dangle
Madam's stripey, dotted stays.
Watch! A pair of crimson bloomers
Filled out by the playful storm,
Emulating ample curving;
What a colour! What a form!
Look at Jensen's inner clothing.
Ha! He wears a woollen sock!
He is sleeping in a night cap.
Now we know it on the block!
Oh, the clothesline, oh, the clothesline,
It is backyard-poetry,
Look, The milkman stops up gazing,
Dizzy then, he staggers by,
Hear the clothes gently flapping,
In the teasing winds that play.
Spring is wearing nylon stockings!
It's Jensen's washing day!
- - - - - -
Next Mondays topic: Ditch Your New Year's Resolutions
Photo from Unsplash
Smiling. And yes, we are all peculiar people. And hopefully people who are valued. By ourselves and others.
SvarSletSo true, we are all peculiar in some way to others, but that's what makes us unique, and how boring life would be were we not unique.
SvarSletI love the peculiarities in all of us. That's what makes this world interesting. Super poem!
SvarSletOf course we're all peculiar. That poem is just right.
SvarSletWhat a great poem! I've seen washing hung between buildings like that only in movies. Here is Australia almost every backyard had its own clothesline when I was young, now with many high rise buildings and blocks of flats/units like mine, there are shared clotheslines or none and people use electric clothes drying machines.
SvarSlet