[Douglas G. Brown]

John,
I would stay with "flunked".

[RCL]

Mon dieu! Last year I meant to leave you,
a girl whose dark charms grew
for seven long unholy years
after we said, I do.

Oh no, I must be rid of you,
whose spells still turn me blue,
moving me to violent tears
with magic words you spew.

It’s true, this time I’m leaving you,
who melts my mind to glue,
and daily digs my heart out
to boil it in your brew.

Now know, I’m going, cursing you:
your tongue's a torture screw
racking me to finally shout,
next year, you witch, we’re through!


Racked Ralph

[Graham King]

Originally Posted by Douglas G. Brown

John,
I would stay with "flunked".

I concur. 'Funk' to me rather evokes fear, a failure of nerve; whereas 'flunk' suits failing a test, whether in a formal examination or (as here) a failure of resolve.

A fine piece of verse, John!

[Graham King]

Past Regrets

A twelve-month past, I’m sure I set
My heart to work on what I loved the best.
Did I begin? Did I try yet?
My resolution slumped; I do not pass the yearly test.

A year or more it was, ago,
That I swore I’d bring home 'no more such junk!'
The process has continued, though;
My attic and my outhouse overflow. That oath was bunk.

My skills lie boxed-in on the shelf,
A trove unopened. Where’s the merit sweet?
It seems I still defeat myself;
What honours do I gain by such long, wholesale, self-deceit?
[or ‘What does it profit me – such long-stored, wholesale, self-deceit?’]

Truth told, I dread to try and fail
[or ‘Truth told, I fear attempts may fail,’ – any better?]
In some way I do not control or choose;
And so (this paradox, my tale!)
By changing not, I win at least this: certainty I’ll lose.


[The poem is about hoarding supposedly-useful materials, to the point that they crowd out scope for actually making anything of them. But I'm not confident I put that across sufficiently here. All comments welcome.]

[John Whitworth]

Thank you Graham, Douglas. I shall keep it as it is.

[Brian Allgar]

I swore I’d give up sex and saturnalia;
That was my optimistic resolution.
So no more “escorts” (farewell, Chloë, Thalia) -
A euphemistic term for prostitution.
No steamy vice, no lurid bacchanalia;
I’d join the straight-and-narrow revolution;
I’d throw away my S & M regalia,
And purify my vicious constitution.
I’d smoke no more; my teeth were growing scalier
And yellower from nicotine pollution.
I’d tend my garden, prune my white azalea;
My life would be impeccably Confucian.

I might as well have tried to eat Australia;
I broke each vow, preferring dissolution.
But this year, there’ll be no such moral failure -
I’m quite resolved to make no resolution.

[John Whitworth]

Love those alias!

[George Simmers]

Good one, Brian.

[Graham King]

Clever one, Brian.. and a bold effective step to use only those two rhymes, alternating throughout!

[Jayne Osborn]

I absolutely swore I'd give up Flakes,
and Mars bars, Twix, Maltesers, Chocolate Buttons -
but when I'm at the checkout all it takes
is seeing that array. Like many gluttons
I'm weak and my resistance goes to pot,
without the slightest waver on my part.
I said I'd give up chocolate. I have not.
(To tell the truth, I didn't even start !)

Oh, I regret my lack of will-power now.
My Resolution was a waste of time.
I've let myself down very badly. How
could I have been so spineless? It's a crime
allowing 'want' to turn to desperate 'need'.
Succumbing to temptation is the Devil's
work; he loves us to resort to greed.
... It's ages since I bought a bag of Revels...