A thread for, yes, homages.
I wrote this yesterday, for my international poetry group, and thought it might be fun to start a thread here too.
Dylan Thomas, 'Fern Hill'
Eleanor Farjeon, 'Morning Has Broken'
Tina Arena, 'Chains'
Green and golden
I am ginger and grey in my jersey and skirt,
00semi-circled with greys, blonde and brown;
it is sixth form, Eng. Lit.; Mr R.D.B.'s curt,
00tall and tweedy and fierce with his frown.
'Get your books out. Stop dawdling. We don't have much time.
00Dylan Thomas, on page forty-two.
Born in Swansea, like Mrs B. Knows how to rhyme.
00Now, "Fern Hill". And who's reading it? You!'
A long finger is pointed at Holly, who groans,
00'cos she wants to look cool for the clique,
but she reads very well in her clear-and-cloud tones
00and her profile is Gloucester and Greek.
Autumn sunshine spills into the classroom and gleams
00as I enter the famous fern farm,
to escape adolescence, its difficult dreams,
00and to shelter, to play, without harm.
'Over here! Let's climb trees!' He's my brothers, this boy,
00and we climb and we laugh and we sing;
he's the prince, I'm just me, but I have a grand toy:
00that is Koala, the furry-faced king.
Well, I don't want to hunt, but I happily herd
00and I splash in the streams of the Lord;
and at night come the hoots of the barn-dwelling bird
00and the nightjars and all, chord on chord.
At first light, I hear blackbirds as well as the cock
00and the whinnying horses, so warm;
there's a song from the fields, from a little white flock,
00it's the lamb in his wonder-wool form.
We rush out, me and boy, and King Koala, to play,
00but our time is too short; I'm in chains.
I am 16 and Tina Arena and grey
00and already have arthritic pains.