The Poet’s Coffin

I don’t write poetry. The last was when I was about 10 years old and I won a book token. I don’t remember anything about the poem or the book I chose. But last night I had an email suggesting I might like to write horror poetry. Hmm. Not sure it’s for me really. I mean, I don’t love poetry the way I love prose. Still, my last post about the wonderful Mary Beard made me think of this (I told you she’s inspiring):


Mary Beard
was afeared
digging in the vault.
A corpse jumped out,
began to shout,
said Mary, ‘snot my fault.
What do you think? Go on, you know you want to 🙂






One response to “The Poet’s Coffin”

  1. Elin Gregory Avatar

    Worthy of Shelley! In fact it could be a contender from the epic doggerel competition of 1819, where Shelley, Love Peacock and Leigh Hunt competed for who should buy the next round of porter. The winning stanza does not survive but it it reputed that the following was Shelley’s contribution.

    This awful gust of some unseen Power,
    As winter winds that blight the laggard flower,
    Floats unseen, unheard but not unsmelt –
    The miasmic blast that Byron blithely dealt

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