Poem: A political ghost flew, ruining my view

Poetry & Writing

The wheat it rises fast by summer late

Honey yellow melting into rich gold

Yet now, streaking through the swaying barley

Comes ex-P.M. from Euro state of old

Fleeing worldly problems and past mistakes

With childish abandon and youth-lost glee

Surprised, then angry; next, aloud thinks I:

“Well, that’s stained this golden moment for me!”

Credit: news.ctgn.com

Somehow, this silly little poem (about former UK Prime Minister Theresa May running through one of the fields of wheat outside my home) felt best suited to the sonnet form (of somewhat loosely – see below).

For context, here is May’s past form, regarding running through fields of wheat.

Please don’t judge my efforts too harshly. It is my first attempt at writing in this form since secondary school (twenty years ago). I most definitely haven’t adhered to the ‘galloping’ rhythm of traditional Iambic Pentameter (5 pairs of syllables per lone, going weak-strong each time). This would have been a strict requirement for stage actors reciting these lines (usually as dialogue) in Elizabethan age plays, most famously those penned by William Shakespeare.

However, I’m not Shakespeare, Marlowe or any sonnet writer of any note, by any stretch – that much should be clear by now! I’m just a bored dad trying to get his youngest child (currently teething) to sleep by taking them out in the buggy for an evening walk…

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