Each week I enter the Let's Twist competition in The Spectator. I've never won and I never will and that's not false modesty, I know I'm not literary enough. But each entry I send in, although it doesn't win or get published, sits on my computer wanting its day in the sun. Now is the time for my little poems to shine.
The Spectator brief was: You are invited to recast John Masefield’s ‘Sea Fever’ in light of the news that the poet suffered from acute sea sickness.
See the ChemistBy Glenda Young
I must go down to the chemist again, to the pharmacist counter, quick
And all I ask is a packet of pills to stop me feeling sick
As the mouth hurls and the head heaves and the legs are shaking,
And a green pallor to the face, with a multicoloured yawn breaking.
I must go down to the chemist again, for the fluids in my ear
Are calling loud and calling clear; I retch, but I can not hear
And all I ask is my vestibular system be still instead of flying
As the dizziness spirals, my stomach turns and it makes me feel like dying
I must go down to the chemist again, for a fragrant handkerchief
To breathe into and out of deeply, and dispel this sickness grief
And all I ask is my network of nerves and fluids to be steady
And then, perhaps, I’ll go out in the boat, if and when I’m ready.
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