Guest poem sent in by Zenobia Driver
(Poem #1444) Being Boring
If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. I had a slight cold but it's better today. I'm content with the way things are going. Yes, he is the same as he usually is, Still eating and sleeping and snoring. I get on with my work. He gets on with his. I know this is all very boring. There was drama enough in my turbulent past: Tears and passion-I've used up a tankful. No news is good news, and long may it last, If nothing much happens, I'm thankful. A happier cabbage you never did see, My vegetable spirits are soaring. If you're after excitement, steer well clear of me. I want to go on being boring. I don't go to parties. Well, what are they for, If you don't need to find a new lover? You drink and you listen and drink a bit more And you take the next day to recover. Someone to stay home with was all my desire And, now that I've found a safe mooring, I've just one ambition in life: I aspire To go on and on being boring.
The title of this poem caught my eye and I knew I just had to read it. Somehow heading a poem 'being boring' promises an interesting poem (it cannot be a confession, it has to be sarcy or humourous or something). Dunno the theory of meter and all, but the words march along very briskly when I read it aloud. I think the poem is something you can imagine some character played by Emma Thompson reciting in a movie. zenobia