Poetry Appreciation

The Poetry Appreciation Group meet in the Boat Inn at Cromford, where the staff are very welcoming and helpful.

Meetings are held between 7.00pm and 9.00pm on the first Monday of the month.

Usually we will discuss poems which share a theme and occasionally we will focus on the work of a single poet.

The coordinator is Peter Hale who can be contacted by e-mail or by telephone on 01629 259763.

“Poetry – the best words in the best order”. Samuel Taylor Coleridge

How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Suess
…So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at Whoville! The Grinch popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.”
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

When I arranged a meeting with my self predictably he – as I’ll call him – turned up late.

I had perched an hour on the barstool and drained three glasses of red when he wafted in,

looking like me only longer-haired, years younger, with an insouciant air and the feeblest excuse.

The barmaid I’d flirted with to no avail as the clock dust gathered was suddenly all smiles.

I offered him a drink as it was clear he had no money, no job, no staying power

— none of which I myself had that much of but at least I’d arrived on time, time being

what I had less of, which made his lateness even worse. I could tell he didn’t know

what he wanted – to drink, to have, to be. A vaguely startled look patrolled his eyes

as if his confidence was just a bluff. I could have told him that what lay ahead

would test a sturdier nerve than his but why waste words – he’d find out soon enough.

All the fool seemed utterly sure of was never in this life would he be me.