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Sex in the English Garden
Light, feathery Astilbe
Sways gently in the breeze
Afraid she always will be
Faint fluff beneath the trees
Concealing dear Sweet William,
Who rings each foxglove’s bell
Mid coreopsis ruffles,
While lily, like a shell
With deeper inner meaning,
Disdains to join with them;
Spends all the time just leaning
Upon her silver stem,
And hopes to rearrange a
Great sunflower’s golden eye—
She’ll see that when Hydrangea
Drops snowballs in July.
First published in National Review
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If Only
If Henry James had been at all paternal,
Married and fathered little Jameses, what
Adventures might have spiced his daily journal
Instead of other people’s feelings. But
At least he didn’t starve within a garret
As that poor painter Vincent did for years
Without a bit of sirloin, or a carrot,
Or even a sharp blade to slice his ears.
Our Emily spent hours in contemplation,
And agonized about the great Unknown.
Some kids, the PTA, a station wagon
Would have ensured she’d never be alone.
Then there was Mozart, hounded by a chorus
Of those who told him “Trust! We know what’s right!”
Some penicillin might have saved him for us;
There could have been more music of the night.
So many artists turn out to be not as
Productive as they might have been, and fade—
Just think, we’d have a dozen more sonatas,
If Beethoven had worn a hearing aid!
First published in TRINACRIA
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A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY.
The first beautiful and the second clever,
and even inciting a bit of curiosity happily
pursued. Both are excellent. Thank you.
These are captivating ideas, beautifully executed! I wonder if anyone else had ever found a rhyme for “hydrangea”?
Notice that “Sex in the English Garden” is composed of four perfect quatrains that make up a single sentence. That takes immense skill.
Joe, you know all and see all. Many thanks for mentioning the single sentence thing. Sometimes life gets so bizarre, we need a bit of humor just to keep our brains from frying!
An enjoyable diversion on a stressful day.
Thanks for the reads, Sally.
Both poems are cleverly executed and a pleasure to read. I particularly liked the ‘rearrange a / hydrangea’ rhyme.
Sally, thank you for these delightful and skillful pieces. In this day and age, the culture has become so overly sexualized that it is refreshing to hear the word sex used so prominently for something other than copulation. In the general sense, it just means gender and interactions of people of opposite genders. This reminds me of the word love. When teaching Shakespeare, I often have to preface it by explaining that, in many situations, love simply meant deep respect and devotion, hence so many people’s “love for Caesar.”
Both excellent Sally. My wife, the garden/flower person in residence,
especially loved the garden poem. Thank you!
These are wonderful, Sally. “Sex In The English Garden” is an absolute gem – a highly original take on a well-worn subject, beautifully written and with clever rhymes.
“If Only” is a sly and witty look at a quite profound topic. Again, the rhymes are clever and the light tone sits well with the black humour. I’ve often wondered what Shelley would’ve written if he’d lived long enough to outgrow his youthful politics and become a hardened reactionary.
I love the beauty of the first and the humor of the second. They’re both an absolute treat to read… over and over – thank you, Dame Sally!
To all –
Glad to have pleased so many readers! We were just talking here about how often well-meaning people try to help others by giving them what they think they need. This seems to be one of those poems.
I am referring to “If Only”, of course.
Sally, a beautiful first and a masterpiece of hilarity in the second, with some great imagery, Van Gogh with a sharp blade, Mozart with his penicillin and a coffee spluttering punch line to die for at the end. Great stuff.
Jeff, we all have something to contribute to the history of the arts , and — well, this is my best effort so far,
So glad you enjoyed the “what ifs”.