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Three Poems for Burns Night

Address to a Feast of Burns

A dreary gloom’s hangs o’er the town
For Christmas tinsel’s taken down
But Spring’s not yet put on her gown
Of finery
Dark Winter still retains his crown
In January.

So at this time what we desire
Is merriment and warming fire
With blazing logs heaped higher and higher
And hearty food
These are the things that we require
To raise our mood.

And so we’d do well to embrace
Cold January’s one saving grace
The meal that Scots folk love to taste
Where all take turns
Hot haggis with strong whisky laced:
The Feast of Burns.

And by this feast that they hold dear
A second burst of festive cheer
Lights up the dark part of the year
To warm the heart
So call the piper here
And let it start!

The Beast of Dumgilly

In the deep dingly dells of Dumgilly
Where the mists saunter up from the sea
Blown by winds that can be a touch chilly
Stands the Castle of Bonnie King Willy
By a loch that’s as deep as can be (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Now each year a great haggis is made
On the day of the Haggis Night feast
And then into the loch they all wade
As a tune on the bagpipes is played
To call out of the water a beast (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Then deep down in the loch’s murky green
Something wakes from its sleep in a cave
First the surface stays still, nothing’s seen
Then a ripple will break through the sheen
Which grows bigger, becoming a wave (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Up he comes from the far off loch floor
Swimming straight to the source of the sound
Till he comes to a stop at the shore
Where he lets out a monsterry roar
Shakes his fins, says hello, looks around (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Now the people aren’t scared of this meeting
For they know he’s not one for a fight
They just calmly return his warm greeting
Then he puts on a bib and starts eating
And my word! How he loves every bite! (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

But one year as they carried this gift
An old wheel on their cart broke in two
There was no other way they could lift
Up the sausage which made them quite miffed
Cause they just couldn’t think what to do (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Then at last the wise king of Dumgilly
Who I think that I mentioned before
(If I didn’t, his name is King Willy
And his kilt is quite famously frilly)
Now this chap quickly raced to the shore (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

“We’ve got plenty of room in our hall,”
Bonnie Willy called out to the beast
“So don’t worry about being tall
You’re most welcome to come join us all
And take part in our Haggis Night Feast.” (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

So each year the loch monster now sits
In the hall feeling less and less shy
And still over the Moon that he fits
And in fact he’s just tickled to bits
To have friends and be cozy and dry. (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

The Festive Flame

Piping Goat-Pan’s* stars** now frame
The Sun,*** and so it’s time again
To sing of that great Festive Flame
          With cheering glow
How Piping Pan the flame reclaims
          And routs the foe

When scarcely passed was Yule’s twelfth night
The winter giants, waxed in might,
From Jotenheim, their home, took flight
           And swiftly came
To steal from human sight
           the Festive Flame.

Their general was Despondency
Then came Despair and with him he
Brought Boredom and Mundanity
         And many more
They came against all human glee
         To wage their war.


Our hearts to them were held in thrall
And drear and sickly was the pall
That billowed darkly over all
         Of Midgard’s plain
So Thor from Asgard gave the call:
         “Let gloom be slain!”

He takes his hammer in his hand
And leads his mighty hero band
They track and chase from land to land
          For three long weeks
At last before their foes they stand and
          Thor now speaks:

‘Give up to us the Festive Flame
This thing alone we’re here to claim
We will return wither we came
         And go in peace
Now end this little game;
         the flame release!’

This was met with blank defiance
From the icy-hearted giants
It was Thor who broke the silence
         With request
To gods to form alliance
         ‘Gainst this pest.

In answer Bacchus brought his crew
With Pan, who on the bagpipes blew,
And Hestia, the goddess who
       Makes hearth-fires glow
And Fast and Feast and Dance as well
       Were brought in tow.

Arriving on his festive float
His ‘Car Naval’, his chariot boat
Came Bacchus, drawn by Pan’s shrill note
          In flowers decked
The giants’ defensive line he smote
          And rear guard wrecked

Hear Bacchus’ donkey loudly bray
As now the god rides to the fray
And sends a fiery whiskey spray
           Into their eyes
The giants for their evil pay
            With painful cries

Pan’s drone and chanter intertwined
To hypnotise the baser mind
But freed the one of higher kind
                  So in that brood
Of giants it spread panic blind
                  But raised our mood.

And as the pipes’ loud skirl flew round
The giants fell upon the ground
And loudly did the Earth resound           
              As down they fell
The pipes for us were heaven’s sound
              For them: death’s knell.

And on the fire fresh wood was thrown
And in the heart new hope was sown
And from the jug of polished stone
                Wine filled the bowl
And wildly were the bagpipes blown
                To cheer the soul

And still the ever-building drone
The timeless, blazing monotone
From out the leather bag, well-sewn
                Cast this fierce charm:
“On giants bring down moan and groan  
                On men, no harm.”

As cheering flames the hall pervade
The brutes retreat, regret their raid
Our captive human hearts now fade
                from their control
And still the piper’s notes cascade
                to cheer the soul.

And so the Festive Flame burned bright
Through Thorablot and Haggis Night
And Carnaval and burned on right
         Through Pancake Day
The Winter Giants’ blight
         Was kept at bay.

* The technical term for the double-reed mouthpiece of the double-piped Ancient Greek aulos was syrinx (“reed”) and it seems that, since Pan was often depicted playing the double aulos pipe, the mythic theme of Pan with his syrinx (the nymph who, when chased by Pan, turned to a clump of reeds which Pan then cut and used to make a musical instrument) at some point referred not to a set of Panpipes (hollow reeds), but to the mouthpiece of the aulos. The double reed is also the type of mouthpiece used in bagpipes, and indeed the aulos with its double pipe sounded much like the bagpipe. So here we have Pan as the god of the bagpipes. See also the following note on the instrument Pan/Capricorn invented and used to spread panic among the Titans, causing them to flee. Hence here we have the bagpipes similarly causing the giants to retreat.

** A standard member of Dionysos’ retinue, and one present early on in Greek material, is Pan, or Aigipan: ‘Goat Pan’. Goat-legged Pan is in the retinue in the mosaic of the fifth century B.C.E. Villa of Good Fortune, Olynthus, and in Euripides’ Bacchae, and in later iconographical examples such as the Triumph of Bacchus and the Seasons sarcophagus in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the mural from the tomb near Ostia now in the Archaeological Museum, Ostia. We have explicit Roman and earlier Greek testimony to this figure being represented in the stars by the constellation of Capricorn. Hyginus (b.64B.C.E.) wrote (Poet. Astr2.28) that ‘Capricorn’s appearance is very similar to that of Aigipan.’ He goes further: ‘Pan reportedly jumped into the river, changed his hind parts into a fish, and the rest of his body into a goat… Jupiter, admiring Pan’s ruse, placed that image among the stars.’ Going back to the earlier Eratosthenes Constellations text (what we have is Pseudo-Eratosthenes’ first century C.E. epitome of a lost original attributed to Eratosthenes) we find the same idea. ‘Aegoceros [Capricorn] is similar in appearance to Aegipan…. Aegoceros is thought to have invented the trumpet which is called Panicus…. the sound of his trumpet caused the Titans to flee…[so]…after he assumed power, Zeus placed Aegocerus among the stars.’ It was, of course, really Pan himself who invented panic.

*** The constellations have moved on from the positions they held when astrology was formulated, so whilst originally the Sun moved into Capricorn towards the end of December around the time of the Saturnalia festival, now it enters that constellation towards the end of the January. In fact, it currently moves into the Goat-Pan constellation just a few days before Burns Night. See for example http://earthsky.org/astronomy-essentials/dates-of-suns-entry-into-each-constellation-of-the-zodiac

The Beast of Dumgilly

In the deep dingly dells of Dumgilly
Where the mists saunter up from the sea
Blown by winds that can be a touch chilly
Stands the Castle of Bonnie King Willy
By a loch that’s as deep as can be (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Now each year a great haggis is made
On the day of the Haggis Night feast
And then into the loch they all wade
As a tune on the bagpipes is played
To call out of the water a beast (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Then deep down in the loch’s murky green
Something wakes from its sleep in a cave
First the surface stays still, nothing’s seen
Then a ripple will break through the sheen
Which grows bigger, becoming a wave (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Up he comes from the far off loch floor
Swimming straight to the source of the sound
Till he comes to a stop at the shore
Where he lets out a monsterry roar
Shakes his fins, says hello, looks around (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Now the people aren’t scared of this meeting
For they know he’s not one for a fight
They just calmly return his warm greeting
Then he puts on a bib and starts eating
And my word! How he loves every bite! (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

But one year as they carried this gift
An old wheel on their cart broke in two
There was no other way they could lift
Up the sausage which made them quite miffed
Cause they just couldn’t think what to do (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

Then at last the wise king of Dumgilly
Who I think that I mentioned before
(If I didn’t, his name is King Willy
And his kilt is quite famously frilly)
Now this chap quickly raced to the shore (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

“We’ve got plenty of room in our hall,”
Bonnie Willy called out to the beast
“So don’t worry about being tall
You’re most welcome to come join us all
And take part in our Haggis Night Feast.” (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

So each year the loch monster now sits
In the hall feeling less and less shy
And still over the Moon that he fits
And in fact he’s just tickled to bits
To have friends and be cozy and dry. (Oh and
anyone whose able, off we
go to find some find some thistle for the
table)

The Mystic Revel Fades – As Sapphic Ballad

I’ve tweaked the stanza structure of The Mystic Revel Fades, to what I call a Sapphic Ballad.

The Mystic Revel Fades – A Sapphic Ballad

But Farewell sweet Terpsichore
our twilight hour has passed
And I must end my dancing now
and end my fast

For matters of the day now call me
back across the sea
But I will not forget the hour
I danced with thee

For one full day we kept the fast
with fragrant herbal tea
Thin soup of vegetables, fresh verdant
greenery

Well-slept, we woke and rose in bright
anticipating mood
And then the rich, dark roasted bean
in water brewed

And so in pure and foodless joy
we joined the maenads’ dance
From out the eastern heaven came
ecstatic trance

As Rose-Dawn flushed the marbles
of the three-fold goddess Grace
(Giving, Getting, Giving Back 
in one embrace)

We wove our steps around them
on the flow’ry dancing floor
Giving back by sending out 
our mystic awe

So farewell Fields Elysian
how lightly we did tread
In circles round the dance-ground of
the Blessed Dead!

While fed on beauty only 
how we circled hand in hand!
But now I’m called by business in
the mortals’ land.

So farewell sweet Terpsichore
until some other day
For I must pull my hand back now
and turn away

I’m sad to break the circle but
The Ferry Man is calling
Alas, the time has passed for me
to keep on stalling

The echoes of the Revel fade
to soft and softer strain
‘Though I must sail away I soon
will come again

And Farewell fair Persephone
it won’t be long to wait
Till down Sacred Way I walk
and through the gate

Where opens up the holy view
as mental curtains part
And once again Soul-shocking beauty
floods the heart

The time between is short before
this very week is past
I once again will burn dull sloth
with cleansing fast

And then, well-rested, rise and rave
dream-healed, in Twilight’s space
By thy sweet lyre entranced, O Muse,
in state of grace.

This dawn dance is a treasure that
I’ll cherish with the rest
But now it’s time to leave these Islands
of the Bless’d.

So farewell to the meadows where
our steps the wild thyme pressed
And farewell to the grasses that
our shins caressed

And farewell to those shorelines kissed
by Zephyr from the West
For now it’s time to leave these Islands
of the Bless’d

So farewell sweet Terpsichore
our twilight hour has passed
And I must end my dancing now
and end my fast

For matters of the day now call me
back across the sea
But I will not forget the hour
I danced with thee

Ode to a Car Key

O fine, faff-free and labour-saving key
That lets me lock and unlock, with one press,
The car remotely and most easily
For you my heart now fills with thankfulness
Let’s say it’s raining and one stands
With luggage in both hands
It’s been a busy day and one is tired
How glad one feels to then recall
A single button press is all
That is required!

Hephaestus for the gods with rarest skill
Did many a shining bronze device design
Some tool that leapt to action at their will
Performing tasks befitting lives divine:
Their gold cars pulled by brazen steed
Through air at such a speed
As lighting that precedes the thunder’s rumble
We feel ourselves to be their kin
When gracefully we enter in
Without a fumble

Helios the Sun in chariot made by Hephaestus, with animated bronze horses

So unimpeded in the car I climb
And like a king upon a throne I sit
And cruise the country lanes in state sublime
Like Bacchus in his magic vine-filled ship
And as my homeward way I wend
I know at journey’s end
There waits for me a happy circumstance:
I’ll loose the safety belt and out
I’ll get and walk away without
A backwards glance.

Bacchus in vine-filled ship

12) Another Road to Elysium?

In the previous blog posts I’ve looked at the ode as way poetry can confer on us the dignity that the Soul is due, like the way the ancient Mystery initiations created a self-image of kinship with those of starry heaven (the gods) and thus the right to pass along the Sacred Way to Elysium rather than flitting around as a mere shade in the Afterlife. So Pindar says his ode is an arrow with the power to confer the same type of glory as that present in the heroes who have passed to Elysium, a power only initiates will understand.

But as well as conferring the dignity of the hero / demigod on your life, there is another road to Elysium, which is about conferring dignity upon the landscapes you inhabit by means of the status that comes from the idea that epic adventures of heroes and heroines, gods and goddesses have taken place within it. This is the realm of the epic. It’s about mythic geography, and Dreamtime, and morphic resonance, and sacred space. It’s about narrative and quest. It is not, therefore, the zone of odes. A different type of poetry works best here: heroic verse. There is a different muse: Calliope rather than Euterpe. 

Heroic verse generally consists of rhyming couplets of iambic pentameter. The simple a, a, b, b, c, c, d, d (etc.) rhyming pattern, plus constant use of lines of the same meter and the lack of structured stanzas means it’s relatively easy to write and easy to read. It has to be, because it’s used to tell long stories, stories that you will inhabit for weeks at a time. It’s heroic in the sense that it follows the adventures of heroes but also because it gives the impression of being the result of a heroic creative effort, just because the poems are so long. Yes, it is a big effort, but actually once you get into the rhythm of it, these couplets of pentameter are easier to rattle off than you might think. The reader isn’t really expecting or looking for mind-blowing particular lines – they’re in it for the long haul and are thinking of the bigger picture, but all the same, because the structure is simpler, I find it’s much easier to work in those rhetorical devices we looked at in Section 5.

In what way is this a road to Elysium? Although it’s not about expressing gratitude in rapturous tones, it is still about conferring dignity. In this case, it’s the dignity of place that comes from a myth about great events happening in that location, and it weaves together various locations by means of the journey of the protagonists. If the myth catches on, a resonance then occurs, transpersonally, in morphic fields, so that the story becomes imprinted into the Idea of Place. Have you travelled round the Greek islands with an awareness of the stories of place? It’s quite something. If the mythic imprint becomes strong enough, there is an expansive feel in that place if you go there and activate the field, just because transpersonal resonance is by nature a kind of magical thing – it lifts us out of the cave of the particular and reminds us of our interconnection with Universal Mind.

That is why in aboriginal Australian tradition, going walkabout in the landscape of the ancestors and re-singing the myths of place as you walk through them is called entering the Dreamtime. This recognises a shift in consciousness to a more collective level, closer to the creator spirits (the gods).  So a location where events of the heroic age are held to have taken place has an enriched Dreamtime that takes it one step closer to the gods. While in the Mysteries you said ‘I can pass along the Sacred Way to Elysium because I am a child of the gods of starry heaven,’ a mythic geography on the other hand says that the energy of starry heaven actually infuses and interpenetrates the place I live in because of the stories that hover in its aura. In fact, these myths can get extra potency by grounding the patterns of the stars or planets in Hermetic fashion – as above, so below, thereby tapping into the resonance of the old star myths and grounding this into the local setting. So it takes you closer to Elysium by bringing Elysium closer to where you are, bringing the Universal into the Particular.

This is not, however, the place to look at this in any detail, because this site is about gratitude poems, primarily odes, but also sonnets, as well as the lighter gratilude. There is scientific backing for the benefits of regularly expressing gratitude, but I don’t know if any studies have been done on the direct benefits of activating resonance with mythic geographies. Although I don’t doubt such benefits exits, the lack of science means I can’t assume that this idea would appeal to the same audience.   

I have dabbled in heroic verse. In fact, I have almost completed a mini epic set in Britain, all based on a sacred geometric plan for the nation. This poem just needs finishing off. Who knows, it could find its way into a later publication. It might seem like a vain project given that such mythic geographies in the past have become effective only after many generations of fame have strongly imprinted the morphic field, but I hoped to speed things up by developing out of the geometric plan a Hermetic as-above-so-below planetary scheme (using the associations of planets with gods) plus the enhanced resonance that comes from following the muses and enlisting the help of synchronicity. But it would be wrong to include the poem here, in a site about gratitude poems.

Why then, do I mention heroic verse here? Partly, I always wanted this series of posts to have twelve sections, even though the plan I had roughed out for it didn’t have that many. Twelve’s a good round number, isn’t it? Twelve months, twelve astrological houses, twelve hours in the day and twelve in the night, twelve disciples, twelve tribes. 2 x 2 x 3. Three squares or four triangles. But it’s also because I think it’s worth admitting that there’s more than one way to do these things. A river generally keeps its bounds for the full extent of its journey but ultimately joins the sea, and it’s the same for these posts – they deal with odes but now as we get to the end we can look up and remember there’s a wider landscape; there’s not just one type of poem.

Are there yet other poetic roads that lead to Elysium, beyond ekphrasis, odes and heroic verse? Probably, but I can’t at present think what they would be. But what can definitely be said is that there are other roads using different modes other than poetry. For example, there is song. In song you don’t just assign one beat to a syllable. You can stretch a syllable out over several notes. You can also place the stress in syncopated places. Some use this as an excuse to be less precise about things, but actually it doesn’t necessarily mean taking short cuts and saying what you want to say with less crafting. It can actually work the other way round. You can do it artfully, only stretching or syncopating or squeezing for deliberate musical reasons, with a very skilled level of crafting to the wording to make it fit this chosen musical pattern. When you get “take a sad song and make it better” in one verse, and “you have found her, now go and get her” in the next, not only is there a rhyme occurring across verses, but also the same pattern of the last syllable of the line moving over the same notes, in the same rhythm, and not to make the words fits, but conversely to improve the melody. And of course the melody itself, as well as the harmony and overall progression and the sonic textures and rhythm, add further levels of feeling and beauty and dynamism. And from music are born other modes of expression, such as dance.

Music is definitely worth mentioning here before we end, because it is undoubtedly an enhanced way for humans to get to know what amplified, intense rapture feels like. In other words, music, like fasting, can help you learn about gratitude (and as you know, I think you should combine the two with Hungry Dawn Raving).

What is the musical equivalent of a gratitude ode? It depends whether you’re talking about i) the rapturous emotion itself upon which the poet is reflecting, or whether you are thinking of ii) the ode as an act of calm reflection after a moment of rapture, or instead you could have in mind iii) the longer term general boost to mood that comes from regularly expressing gratitude.

  1. There’s no doubt in my mind that there is no other form of music that comes anywhere close to certain sub-genres of electronic Trance music for invoking the feeling of rapture. These subgenres (which overlap a fair bit) are Uplifting, Emotional, Progressive, Epic and Orchestral. You can’t communicate the rush of rapture without that racing pulse, that throbbing, shamanic beat at the human celebration/bounce frequency of between 130-140bpm (i.e. the most comfortable leaping/jumping pace – the speed at which we naturally dance when dancing means leaving the ground between steps). This beat is firmly hardwired into us as the activator of the Celebration Response.
  2. If you’re thinking of the ode as a later moment of calm, considered reflection, on the other hand – well-measured, carefully composed, highly ordered – then you’re probably looking at some kind of mellow classical music on piano or lute or strings, perhaps an adagio or sonata or prelude, or something like that.
  3. If you’re thinking of the longer term mood boost from regular expressions of gratitude, then it’s just going to be something upbeat and positive and chirpy.  It could be some summery reggae, or some jaunty jazz, some perky bluegrass, or, well, whatever happy music takes your fancy in the moment. Communal group singing has been shown to be a great way to uplift mood, and I can see how something like, say, gospel, could carry feelings of gratitude.

Having opened things up to consider other artistic modes, finally it remains for this river, in its final moment of dissolving into the sea, to open up completely by reminding you that I’m just one writer with my own take on these matters, but there are many other valid takes out there, including your own, so…over to you.

I’m going to continue with my own ode journal, and may continue to post some of the odes to this site, but I won’t be doing any more blogging about the process of it. I may go off and turn the 12 post into some kind of book, but this won’t be posted online.

An Ode to Herbs

I

For aromatic oils in herbs and shrubs
Let thanks rise to the gods, from whence they fell
When one but holds the leaves and gently rubs
There issues forth a mystic, fragrant smell
   The living plants will ornament
      A tended garden plot
The plants will then provide yet further gifts
   For sprigs of these ingredients
   When added to the cooking pot
         The taste uplifts

II

Hellenic folk in golden ages old
These perfumes of the plants sought to explain
With stories down the generations told
Of how such shrubs some pretty nymph contain
   How when Apollo yearned to kiss
      Sweet Daphne, she, forlorn
With all speed did attempt to run away
   Then saving metamorphosis
   The pretty maiden did transform
         To odorous bay

III

O Sage! O Thyme! O Rosemary! I praise
Your power to boost our health, our pain to ease
Our memory to strengthen, moods to raise
Our sense of sight and smell and taste to please
   It must have been when we first burnt
      Dry incense, or with mint
We first less pleasant tastes and smells disguised
   That we, now that at last we’d learnt
   To add a subtle herbal hint
         Were civilised

Introducing the Gratilude

A recurring theme in the Glory of Glad has been the way Odes can reframe things in a dignified manner. The idea I’ve been reiterating is that while you could just keep a basic gratitude journal to raise mood, if you really feel glad about something, why not show that it really matters to you by writing something far more dignified – a full blown Ode.?

But there will be draw back if this is all you do. Why? Because it’s likely to be consistently serious. The whole point of what we’re doing here is to raise mood by practicing gratitude. The self-image of the serious poet has become rather infused with the picture of the suffering artist, condemned by their nature to sink from time to time into the miserable, maudlin depths of gloom. To have an ongoing good mood, on the other hand, it is obviously vital to be able to lighten up, to see the funny side.

Yes, we want to harness the power of the heavenly ode; no, we don’t want to become po faced.

So I’ve come up with a solution, one that is a lot of fun and which will only expand your options for expressing gratitude. You see, one of the things that’s been found about keeping a gratitude journal is that it doesn’t matter hugely what you express gratitude for, as long as you express gratitude for something. It is the act of expressing gratitude that raises mood. Enter the Gratilude ( “gratitude” + “interlude”.) After a few serious odes, stick in a Gratilude to lighten things up. Gratiludes are short, and easy to compose, and give you the chance, therefore, to quickly bump up the number of things you’re expressing thanks for in your journal, while simultaneously lightening the mood after your more lofty odes. This really is the final ingredient that makes the whole recipe zing. Here’s one:-

To a Doily (A Gratilude)

What a marvellous thing is a doily!
What a wonderful thing to possess!
How divine to be able
To fling on the table
The essence of delicateness!

Gratiludes, therefore, are little, light-hearted poems, almost like limericks. They still express gratitude for something, but in a more frivolous way. They’ll tend to take a mere material object as their theme. They might be partly tongue in cheek – a bit of a parody of a proper ode. They don’t have to be side-splittingly hilarious, though, because comedy is not their sole purpose – they are still, at the end of the day, gratitude poems, they’re just not so weighty.

Here’s another example. Some more follow lower down.

To a Tea Cosy

O Tea Cosy! Tea Cosy! Tea Cosy!
What endeavour could ever be finer
Than, as if it did live,
To most gallantly give
A warm coat to your favourite china?

A lead here comes from the theatrical Dionysia festival of ancient Athens. Even before the Athenians began including full blown comedies as well as the tragedies in the Dionysia, already they had the satyr plays. Each playwright would put on one satyr play and three serious performances. These satyr plays provided comic relief, and were full of bawdy fun, satire and general merriment. The Gratilude is very much like the satyr play – a short interlude for light relief. If we go with the same 3 : 1 ratio as for the satyr plays, then with as few as, say, five short gratiludes, you have enough to cover a full fifteen lofty odes, and believe me a Gratilude doesn’t take long to write. Here’s another:

To a Bed

Oh how grand are clean duvets and sheets
On a well-made and comfortable mattress!
Yes it has to be said
What a boon is a bed
And big pillows all plumped up with fatness

Does this mean your journal will be pulling in two directions at once? Not at all. We’re not talking about undermining that sense of dignity we’ve been establishing with our odes; we’re just talking about introducing a lightness and fluidity and adding another string to the bow. The very act of dignifying ourselves reminds us that we deserve good things, and laughter itself truly is one of life’s good things. Here’s another Gratilude:

To Galoshes

What ecstatical things are galoshes!
(The name that we call’em, I mean)
It’s half “gallop” / half “slosh”,
Oh my word! Oh my gosh!
The whole concept is just such a dream!