I have to hope that my audience isn’t getting tired of all the love poetry of various kinds that I’ve been posting. Even after all the centuries of love poems that have been written, it’s still one of the most frequently written about topics, which is the only thing I have to excuse myself with, really. It lends itself to broader philosophical speculations sometimes, and sometimes is just a tiny firecracker all to itself. This poem tonight is one which uses a dialectal word I grew up hearing, and even if you’ve never heard it before, I think you’ll get the gist of it as the poem progresses. Though this poem may sound resigned, it should also be a bit humorous to you, if you consider it as a lover’s quarrel, capped off with the ambiguous word “penn’d” (meaning both written by hand and also penned up). I hope you enjoy it. It was fun to write, though I’m still trying to conquer my problems with writing blank and free verses; maybe next post.
We can’t always have our druthers
For other souls have theirs;
‘Twixt mutual gods and devils
We’re always splitting hairs.
Sometimes we can’t see eye-to-eye, true.
I druther love discuss;
He druther not, there’s where the rub is,
He doesn’t want a fuss.
He druther pretend there is nothing
Between us, me and him,
Whatever it is, there is passion
Of true love, or a whim.
I druther explore our options
He druther call a halt:
Think I, it’s romantic! Thinks he, though,
It mustn’t be his fault.
It’s true, that in each position
In life, there is a fee
And the question thus barely arises
What he’d do, were he free.
We each pay for ev’ry rule broken,
So I must hear him out.
Though I druther be kissing and coddling,
He druther blandness tout.
“I druther not lose him completely,
I druther be his friend;
And I druther be there at the ending”
So true love thus is penn’d.
©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 1/14/17
Though this poem may be a bit of a one-trick pony, still I hope it has something that rewards your attention. Have a good night, and read lots and lots of poetry!