I’ve had a great time today sorting out an ancient folder of poems. It’s stuffed full of scraps of paper with scribbled bits of poems on them. There’s so much rubbish. But there’s a lot of interesting things too.
There’s a copy of a schools talk I once did. A bit of the talk says:
‘I once wrote a poem for a friend of mine who had brought me some flowers. I was in a bit of a grump with this friend, so I started the poem off with the line
He has brought me chrysanthemums and he doesn’t know they smell like dead people’
Dear Reader, I married him. He has never brought me chrysanthemums again.