[Graham King]

Happy New Year!

I composed my entry before Christmas, revamping it just now. I checked up on Woodbine cigarettes (1888-1988) which places their origin just within Lord Tennyson's lifetime (1809-1892), though well after publication of his Maud poem (1855). But who cares?

***

Oh, Tennyson! Do go away;
You’re awful, posing posh,
To creep up at the break of day
And spout such utter bosh.

For days you’ve acted batty - your
Wits are what must have flown!
It’s driving me quite scatty, for
I want to be alone.

Go figure! Uninvited to
Last night’s ‘do’, at my place?
So! (Take away your Woodbines, too -
Don’t puff smoke in my face!)

You’re what I would call stalking me,
With all your flowers and guff!
I’ve come into the porch, just – see?
Be off! - that’s far enough.

***

[Douglas G. Brown]

So, Woodbine was an English cigarette ... That makes the Brian's and Graham's posts a lot more enjoyable!

Woodbine where I live live is a tough vine, generally a weed, and hardly burns with a pleasant aroma. But, America does have Pall Mall, Parliament, and Chesterfield cigarettes, which all sound terribly British.

[Graham King]

Thanks, Douglas! I enjoyed all of the poems posted above
(and I've had another go myself at Maud's reply)-

Sir - bats, I must inform you, are not wholly black (nor blind) -
And not solely nocturnal. Among other facts, you’ll find
Those plants have sound botanic names I greatly would prefer
(Their species, plus variety) when you to them refer.
You’re hoping to impress me - with feigned knowledge of the sky?
That’s Mercury, not Venus! Your Astronomy’s awry.
As I’m a lady who elates at Truth told, above all,
That’s why you had no invitation last night to my Ball –
Your language is romantic, without scientific zeal;
Your accuracy’s wanting and such slackness lacks appeal.
Yet now, dew-damp and dewy-eyed, you turn up at my door
Requesting that I join you for dawn rambling on the moor?
‘The garden’, you say? ‘Lead me up the garden path’, more like –
No mere stroll would suffice for you; you’d lure me on a hike!
And I promised you nothing, Sir! (I - at the most - implied.)
Wet outdoors? Uninviting, Sir! So… won’t you come inside?

[Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead]

Knocks my effort into a cocked hat, I think. Dashed good verse, Graham.