Today’s Poems

Gavin_EwartGavin Ewart, 1916-1995

The Black Box

As well as these poor poems
I am writing some wonderful ones.
They are all being filed separately,
nobody sees them.
When I die they will be buried
in a big black tin box.
In fifty years’ time
they must be dug up,
for so my will provides.
This is to confound the critics
and teach everybody
a valuable lesson.
 

‘It’s Hard to Dislike Ewart’

—New Review critic

I always try to dislike my poets,
it’s  good for them, they get so uppity otherwise,
going around thinking they’re little geniuses—
but sometimes I find it hard. They’re so pathetic
in their efforts to be liked.
When we’re all out walking on the cliffs
it’s always pulling my coat with ‘Sir! Oh, Sir!’
and ‘May I walk with you, Sir?’—
I sort them out harshly with my stick.
If I push a few over the edge, that only
encourages the others. In the places of preferment
there is room for just so many.
The rest must simply lump it.
There’s too much sucking up and trying to be clever.
They must all learn they’ll never get round me
Merit has nothing to do with it. There’s no way
to pull the wool over my eyes, no way,
no way . . .
 
By Gavin Ewart
—The Oxford Book of Comic Verse
Edited by John Gross
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