If I had a time machine, I would visit Samuel T Coleridge
My favorite poet of all time, the author or Kubla Khan
"The wailing of his demon lover” sticks in my mind
Delighting me every time, especially today, May 1st, 1803.
As I was speaking to Samuel, his pal William Wordsworth would drop in
They would ask me if I wanted to write a ballad with them.
I would be thunderstruck with happiness but too shy to do it
However, I would clap in rhythm as they created
Wordsworth would talk about his deep love of the
“Beauteous forms of the natural world”
I would be amazed by their vocabulary
They would both blow my mind out into the hills
I would set my time machine to 1858 next.
To visit Jules Verne, one of my favorite authors.
I would ask him how he thought to create
Around the world in eighty days and twenty leagues under the sea.
Amazed that we still speak of him in 2025,
he would have a zillion interesting questions to ask me
I would set the time machine to year 1868 next. .
My last stop would be to visit Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women.
Categories:
louisa, books,
Form: Narrative
Louisa May Alcott
Writer’s block, she had nought
Wherever she wrote her stories
Stirred immeasurable glories
Categories:
louisa, woman, word play, words,
Form: Clerihew
Life showed us immense kindness when
One day, a princess was born into our home
Uniting estranged brothers, nay, brethren
Into one hive, into one honeycomb
Solomon, Henry, Paul and Stephen
All brothers of yours
Armed themselves morning till evening
Brooms swathing at insects by the gross
Revelry revealed in our victory dances
Aunty wakes up in anger to shut us up
Halting our steps and prances
A queen you were born to be
Mom is proud of you; so are we
Categories:
louisa, angel,
Form: Acrostic
Death sips bad coffee in the waiting room
His promise, a beacon to guide from the gloom
As Louisa prepares for her cruel legacy
She speaks deceit almost fluently
Dazed eyes glaze over as dawn light creeps
Black heart still beats, unsynched with the beeps
Her body lays broken, serene and sedate
Yet twisted minds still finds lies to create
The cold rushes in, he's come to take her
" the child is yours " scribbled on paper
Smiles at her words, pleased with her lies
A cold hearted mare til the moment she dies
Categories:
louisa, death, lost love,
Form: Rhyme