While searching my bookshelf yesterday,,,

I stumbled across a book I thought I'd lost.

If my memory serves me correctly, which it usually does, I'm sure I was given it by a woman named Kari who drank in the same pub I did many years ago as she thought I should read it. The book is called The Mentor Book of Major British Poets and contains a veritable cornucopia of works by major British poets. (You probably guessed that from the title. You lot are clever like that.)

Anyhoo... I stumbled across this book while looking for something to read in the bath last night and was absolutely over the moon when I saw it's tattered and frayed cover poking out from behind a copy of Ten Thousand Sorrows by Elizabeth Kim.

Is it just me or does that last paragraph make me sound a bit gay? If it does please ignore it. Or I'll come round to your house and punch you in the head. (Unless you're a woman, in which case I'll use my amazing powers of seduction and have your pants off and be swinging from your light fixings in a heartbeat. Goatboy rises...)

As I was saying. I found this book last night and turned to the only poem in the whole damned thing that I like. The poem itself is named Down by the Salley Gardens and was written by William Butler Yeats.

It was down by the Sally Gardens my love and I did meet
She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet
She bid me take love easy as the leaves grow on the tree
But I was young and foolish and with her did not agree

In a field down by the river my love and I did stand
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand
She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs
But I was young and foolish and now am full of tears.

Reading this poem, after many years of it being nothing more than a fragmented memory in my mind, had a strange effect on me. It was either that or the very strong joint I'd chonged just previous to getting in the bath. (I'm leaning towards a combination of both.)

As I read the words memories of happy times in my past floated to the surface and I found myself smiling. Smiling? Yes, dear reader, smiling. I smiled as I remembered the great loves of my life. Claire, Katy, Karen and Jen.

Talk about surprised? I nearly dropped my joint...

The usual state of affairs for me when I think of any of these four women is that it sends me into a deep funk and I'm fucked for a few days/weeks/months until the blues pass and I'm back to normal. But not this time. This time I was uplifted and buoyed by my memories.

After laying in the bath for an hour or so I got out and headed into the living room where I hopped onto the Internet to find some of my poetry I posted a long time ago. To compare, you understand.

Hold it. Hang on. Back up a tad... That last sentence could lead you to think I was comparing my poetry with William Butler Yeats. I wasn't. I was comparing my memories triggered by Salley Gardens to memories triggered by my own poetry.

And what did I find? Were the memories pleasant? Did I sink into a deep funk? A surprise; Yes & No; In that order. I found that my memories of past loves and the associated heartache is no longer. Mostly I wondered what the fuck I'd been on when I had written them. *

Should you like to read them (And try to guess what drink/drug I'd been on at the time**) do the clicky linky thing here.

*This is not meant to detract from anything these four women gave me in the love game. I loved you all more than a poem could say and I know it wasn't easy for you.

**No prizes, just bragging rights.