Best Dorchester Poems
Dull As A Disease
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
Behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in apt flair
You look real as life, my amore mia.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
When I initiate to scribe sonnet,
I see you duly embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, lips as dry as a leaf
Your green blue deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither the death kills me, nor does the life,
Your very silence eats my soul and body.
Dull as a disease, I die of a thought,
Do not you fancy the same as I ought?.
============================
Date 21-10-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third place win
Contest: I Recall by Frank H.
(Sir Frederick Treves, Victorian surgeon, has the
following claims to our respect: (1) he discovered
and cared for Joseph Merrick, "The Elephant Man":
(2) He followed the route in Italy of the characters
in Browning's "The Ring & the Book", taking
priceless photos: and many more things!)
The Eloquent Man
Sir Frederick Treves enjoys four claims to fame:
the lifelong friend of Thomas Hardy, who
supped with him in the King’s Arms snug: the name
of Joseph Merrick (Robert Browning, too!)
is intimately linked with his: he’s due
a place in heaven for his healing feats:
and yes, he lived here, on the street of streets.
It’s Dorchester, or Casterbridge to some.
And Treves, a native, knew its ways and whims
as well as Hardy did. When he succumbed
to his appendix, genteel pseudonyms
were dropped. Tom Hardy chose the funeral hymns.
He also honored Treves in gentle rhymes,
to mark his passing, in the London Times.
The wretch named Merrick, or the Elephant Man,
could well have lived his loveless life untended,
had Treves not found him. Merrick’s mortal span
was made more bearable, being befriended
by one of London’s foremost. When it ended,
poor Joseph Merrick, long reviled and scorned,
found home in Wimpole Street, where he was mourned.
King Edward feels a grumble in his tripes,
and sends for Surgeon Treves, the kingdom’s best.
“You mustn’t operate,” the sovereign gripes,
“My coronation’s looming.” “Which seems best,”
asks Treves – “a crowning, or cremation?” Pressed
to give an answer, Edward takes the knife –
and Treves the genius saves his monarch’s life.
The poet Browning wrote some novel verse,
or rather, a verse novel: ring and book,
Italian murder tale. Treves was immersed
in it, obsessed with it, completely hooked:
went off to Tuscany, made notes, and took
some photographs, made sketches, thus preserving
the base of fact. The man defines “deserving”!
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
And behind the door I do feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in the air,
You look real as life to me, “Amore Mio”.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
I initiate to scribe a sonnet,
And lo! I see you embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, the lips as a dried leaf,
Your greenish deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither death kills me, nor does lonely life,
But your silence eats my soul and body.
Numb as a disease, I die of a thought,
My love, don’t you sense the same as I aught?
=========================
A Shakespearian sonnet in Iambic Pentameter (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)
Contest: Loneliness 7Th place win
Mary
Mary Eliza Mahoney
birth in 1845 an American black child of former slaves daughter of Mary Jane and Charles Mahoney
at 18 showed interest in healing Humanity
in 1863 and the New England hospital for women and children headed
into the healthcare industry
has a younger sister named Ellen also wanted to become a nurse
but alas she didn't graduate
Mary train long days 16 hours
students then earn $1 to $4 an hour
Mary graduated 1879 as a registered nurse
alongside with three other colleagues as the first black woman nurse in the United States of America
2/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2021©
Sunruse: May 7th 1845 Dorchester Massachusetts
Sunset: January 4th 1926 Boston Massachusetts
Nationality: American
Alma mater: New England Hospital for Women and Children
On the outer edge of Kemble
there’s a stone upon the green
where a spring becomes a trickle in a pond.
It seeps and then it flows
under bridges as a stream
towards the narrowboats of Lechlade and beyond.
There is peace and so much beauty
from The Isis* to The Thames
winding dreams around the spires along its course.
It flows on through The Tideway
'til its journey finally ends
at The North Sea many miles from its source.
* The Isis is an alternative name given to the River Thames from its source in the Cotswolds until it is joined by The Thame (a Thames tributary) at Dorchester in Oxfordshire - after which it is more generally referred to as The Thames.
"Greater love has no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends."*
The four men were more than friends,
they were brothers.
Brothers of different beliefs,
but of the same Father.
Each took their Father's commands
literally, even unto death.
They embraced an icy, watery grave
with the six hundred sixty-eight others
who perished on February 2, 1943.
In Operation Drumbeat, German U-Boats
turned our eastern coast into a "Sea of Death,"
sinking U. S. Ships at the staggering rate
of 100 per month, churning the North Atlantic
into "a steaming human sea of fear."
Fear rode heavy on the shoulders
of men aboard the U.S.A.T. Dorchester,
plunged into terror in that hateful dawn,
packed "head to toe" in her bowels,
torpedoed into eternity at 1:00 AM
Too late, they understood orders,
to don warm clothing and life jackets
before hitting their bunks for sleep.
Four Chaplains stood strong,
in the face of mass panic,
hearts bursting with divine love,
speaking words of courage, hope, peace,
and hands offering life to 230 men,
giving their own life jackets and gloves.
Engraved in survivors' memories,
four Chaplains, arm in arm, braced
against the rail, praying the Lord's prayer,
and singing in the face of death.
*John 15:13, RSV
GENERAL WASHINGTON
Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights,
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.
The British commander had but one choice,
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces,
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.
They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat,
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.
When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On that Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.
He whipped the British at Princeton,
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown,
Training his troops for the combat of spring.
Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
And again at a place called Germantown,
But the British were the victorious ones
As the dead of both sides covered the ground.
Americans were blessed early that spring,
When the French entered the war on their side.
Though most suffered frostbite at Valley Forge,
With the help of the French they marched in stride.
The battles raged on, in the North and South
As the King’s soldiers laid waste to the land.
Washington himself was in great despair,
Pleading for aid for his weakened command.
His prayers were answered by 5000 troops,
And a French fleet who took Chesapeake Bay.
They bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown,
Who surrendered to victory drums at play.
Yorktown was really the end of the war
Though not many quite realized that fact yet.
But the British soon grew tired of the fight
And the terms for its end were signed and set.
Washington yearned to retire at home,
But his country chose him first president.
Cheering crowds waved flags of love and support,
For they believed that "he," by God, was sent.
By Tom Zart
Joanna’s off to London town in this her finest hour’
Ten years of hard labour have brought her to the Tower.
Not the Tower of London where folks have disappeared
But to the Dorchester Hotel to receive a rousing cheer!
Yes she’s finally done it; she’s truly made the grade
from underling, tearaway and paltry lowly maid.
Remember the little ‘Wheelie’ in the shopping mall!
Well that bonnie girl can now stand ten feet tall!
She’s fought against the odds because she had belief,
This has brought success and a great deal of relief:
I am so very proud of you, on this very special day,
a chartered accountant you've become, what more is there to say!!!!
Hardy’s Cat
The night was cold, in Dorchester,
Fog threw his cloak around
The old-town’s streets, stood, grave-still,
The living, made, no sound.
As the church-clock struck its midnight hour
The towns folk, were all a-bed,
Counting the twelve strokes with a shiver,
T’was the time that raised, the dead.
The curse of Hardy’s cat was now awakened
That writhing, blackest thing
That ate the heart of a man whose pen
Could mark the very day of spring!
He whose words brought pain and promise
Whose poetry made the hare-bells sing.
You see, now He in death,was laid out on a table,
Requested by his loving wife
To find the cause, of a death that came so quickly
So he was opened, by the surgeon’s knife.
But alas! The maid called out the doctor,
And for a moment, he left, the chest open wide,
And a large, black cat sitting, watching
Jumped and stretched his paw inside.
The heart of Hardy was quickly eaten,
By a cat with now, bloody paws and head,
Who then suffered all the surgeons hatred
And was strangled, till he too, was dead!
Then, the cat was sent to Hardy’s widow,
With a note, to say where lay his heart,
And the thing was buried in the graveyard
Along with a human, body part!
And so, this night is cold in Dorchester
Fog, lays its murderous mat,
And the towns folk listen, to the screams and wailing,
Of a very, very, greedy cat!
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
Behind the door I feel your mien,
When my poetic muse is in the air,
You look real as life, amore mia.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
When I initiate to scribe a sonnet,
I see you embossed on the page.
Sighing, wry face, lips as a dry leaf,
Your green deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither death kills me, nor does life,
Your silence eats my soul and body.
Numb as a disease, I die of a thought,
Don’t you sense the same as I ought?.
=========================
I am sitting in my Dorchester lair,
Behind the door I feel your lovely mien,
The time my poetic muse is in the air,
You look so much real as life, amore mia.
When I am surfing on the internet,
You are there in my click I envisage,
When I initiate to scribe a sonnet,
I could see you embossed on the pages.
Sighing, wry face, the lips as a dry leaf,
Your green blue deep eyes upraised fully,
Neither the death kills me, nor does the life,
Your silence always eats my soul and body.
Numb as a disease, I die of a thought,
Do not you sense the same as I ought do?
Pegasus symbol intrigued me as a child, maybe it was fate.
Loving it without knowing Greek mythology or the story behind it.
There was something about Pegasus that made me feel great
Inspiration for artists makes sense as I create projects with daily wit.
He also gives power to heroes, so that fits in well too.
Heroes are everywhere, it’s easy to find them all over.
Pegasus, I admire, revere, and welcome your mystical hue.
You have inspired me from Dorchester and Leeds to Andover.
If we could teach the world, one thing
it should not be, the price of string
the microwave and why it pings
the endless list, of English kings
the dynasty, of Chinese Ming
the mystery, of golden rings
the history, of Western Swing
No
absolutely none of these things
with all the distraction they would bring
if we could teach the world one thing
we need everybody to stop
we need everyone to listen and look
to hear the little bird that sings
and watch it flap its tiny wings
If we could teach the world one thing
we'll show those people how to dream
above the crazy sounds and scenes
to find all the hope and all the joy
that our imagination just might bring
If we could teach the world one thing
maybe somehow we could learn
the power of ideas, the power of ideals
with courage, decency, justice and truth
from all of those who walked before
Dorchester Labourers, Doctor King
women who did amazing things
in science, politics, literature and more
if we could teach the world one thing.
A Dorchester Christmas
Triple deckers decked in lights
Mostly colors, some just white
Christmas trees all dressed in tinsel
Glow at night though curtain windows
Kids with shovels dot the streets
Digging out from Christmas Eve
Some with smiles, some with frowns
All can’t wait to run back home
In our clan was seven kids
We shared gifts like Irish twins
Sisters got their stereo
Brothers played their pool table
On Christmas Day in Dorchester
Some gifts came from Globe Santa
Three sisters and four brothers
We had less and more than others
Bill MacEachern December 13, 2023