Farewell Hilda
Farewell Hilda Simon
I first met you by chance
At the Victoria Club dance
When I sat next to you
Twenty-five years ago
You were a live wire at sixty
Full of energy and vitality
Putting us younger folk to shame
You always remained the same
You were never very chatty
You spoke softly, even timidly
But when you had something to relay
You drew near and whispered in secrecy
As though to stress the moment’s privacy
You sat at the dance
With a smile on your face
Never averting your eyes
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poem by Isam Hussain
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Prose-Poetry
Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.
The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors
The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.
Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.
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poem by Isam Hussain
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Even Angels Grow Old and Forgetful
I remember being asked to go to Galilee
To break the good news to a young lady.
I told her what the Lord had told me
And of future things He could foresee.
Well, Joseph heard, he blew his top
His fears and doubts I had to stop.
He eventually calmed down
After a huff, a puff, and a frown.
Some say he was born in December
But I distinctly remember
Spring was in the air
And I felt like a child at a fair.
There was much revelry at the inn
Where the happy father had been.
Even the shepherds joined in
A rowdy lot, making such a din.
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poem by Isam Hussain
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