Conservatory

Iambic pentameter; internal rhyme

Such dusty mats of coconut, and hats,
and wicker chairs that creak; and chats, and cats
on sills that suck the early sun that spills
through glass to pass into the frills and twills
that talk and twitter, pass the time till tiffin,
pass the time of day this way until
the chills of morning pass; and cups and saucers
clink and find the sink.

                                  The daily round’s
begun and yarns are spun in sun and shade
until the fading light brings night; and glass
that’s black as peat reflects the hats and cats
upon themselves while vats of black-tar dark
and bats are kept outside; and clinks announce
that time again that brings the hour for drinks.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Well done, Andrew....first poem I have read this morning...and it is wonderful breakfast of words in perfect form.
j.

[Andrew John]

Many thanks, Jacob. I wrote this several years ago, and it's on this site rather earlier, but I've made a slight alteration to ensure the pattern remains the same throughout. The previous one had a last line of three feet instead of five - deliberately; oh, and it was three sentences (though the last one began with "And"), but not it's two. Nice exercise to read aloud and look for the best places to take breaths. I find it a bit tricky.

[Andrew John]

Should say "now it's two", not "not".

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I read it as that.