If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

e.e.

p.s. Freckles are lovely but that's by the by

"but I dropped it in the bath - like you do"
Huh? How did you know that recently happened to me?

e e cummings, rapier wit, one of a kind, free stylist. (insert heart here)
He said so himself:
“So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and
forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.”

"Spring is like a perhaps hand" ...

That worked pretty well, Neil - warmer than a cozy blanket.
Great line: "without breaking anything"
Now - back to reality as we prepare for winter's blast. - sorry!

Winter Trees
-William Carlos Williams

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

War of Words: Soldier-Poets of the Somme

"BBC iPlayer TV programmes are available to play in the UK only"
However, I found workable links elsewhere.

Appreciated, powerful, history lesson - wonderful find, Dave!
War inspired poetry filled with truth and torment.

Back

They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.

-Wilfred Gibson

Dave, Your writing gets more interesting as time goes by.
Curious though - why did you capitalize the "T" in Turner?

November silence crisp and clear
Fading daylight disappears
Throughout the night a vale of tears
Till golden moments reappear

-bjb

around every corner