Happiness by Raymond Carver

So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

Raymond Carver, “Happiness” from All of Us:The Collected Poems, copyright ©  by Tess Gallagher

Instructions for my Funeral

What a jolly cheerful poem ☺️

Robert Garnham

Instructions for My Funeral

My friend Anne has planned her funeral.
She wants bright colours,
All the colours of the rainbow,
Beach wear and party glitter,
Pink feather boas and dancing,
Cocktails and music and laughter,
Because, she says, ‘Life is a chase,
A dream; why not celebrate,
Obscure the hate,
Spread joy in the moment before it’s too late
To expose the beauty that lies deep within
Every pristine soul?’
Have you ever heard such bollocks?

I want sobbing at my funeral.
Uncontrollable sobbing.
Mourners dressed in black, sobbing,
In an austere church with such bad acoustics
That all you can hear is sobbing.
I want horses with those black tassels on their heads,
And I want the horses to look sad,
And if possible I want the horses to be sobbing, too.
I want dreary music, and just when it sounds
Like the dreary music is about to…

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Today I have a poem on the wonderful Spilling Cocoa poetryzine, thank you!

The Astronomer’s Wife

 

That was the night she told us

her husband is an astronomer,

who drives off every day to his planetarium

with a box of sandwiches and a Mars bar.

 

He always has that faraway look in his eyes,

it’s quite attractive, we all thought so.

He has no idea of time though,

his head so full of space.

 

He knows all the stars and planets

and is looking into Saturn at the moment,

which has been troublesome.

Last year it was Venus, things got very tense.

 

He’s lovely though, they have four children.

He calls them satellites.

And a dog.

Pluto.

 

Rose Cook is a Devon based poet whose work has been published in six collections. Her latest book is Shedding Feathers (published by Hen Run, Grey Hen Press).

www.rosecook.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

🧡 Today we celebrate International Women’s Day – all women everywhere

I am thinking particularly of the beautiful women in my life – my daughter, my sons’ female partners, my granddaughters, my friends and those now gone – my mother, grandmothers, aunts…so I bring here one of my poems Bloodlines about my paternal grandmother:

poem from my book Sightings published by Hen Run at http://www.greyhenpress.com         £4 plus p&p