| 
  • If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • Stop wasting time looking for files and revisions. Connect your Gmail, DriveDropbox, and Slack accounts and in less than 2 minutes, Dokkio will automatically organize all your file attachments. Learn more and claim your free account.

View
 

Ode To An Empty Jam Jar

Page history last edited by Ann Vipond 7 months, 2 weeks ago

Ode To An Empty Jam Jar

 

O’ artefact sublimely simple, so vitreous so glassy,

Not ancient porcelain nor gold, assuredly not Grecian,

You could come from far off Tomsk, or hail from Tallahassee;

But I’m as sure as sure can be, you’re not a jar Venetian.

Like a lambkin led, meekly to the slaughter,

Unceremoniously doused into Fairy Liquid water,

Your label’s gone, sails among the suds,

As flotsam floats, adrift on Springtime floods.

Did you O’ jar, when filled with jam or marmalade

At Robinson’s or Hartley’s, reflect upon your fate?

Were you proud to be a jar, not fearful, unafraid

To face a future wed, to mono sodium glutamate?

Before a harried housewife your sonsie self espied,

Did you within Ye Corner Shoppe reside?

Or was it in a market super sat on plastic ledge,

That you were on display for sale, behind the soup and veg?

Your label is no longer readable, not whole,

It’s just a soggy mushy mess in centrifugal motions,

Destined to sink, then block the straining draining hole.

I must imagine-visualise exotic fruits. Potions

Syrupy and sweet, an orange golden from Seville;

Berries red, purply blue,a pineapple to fill you yellow,

Until, replete, a robot clamps on tight your lid:

Where then O’ jar –

Sainsbury’s in Cleethorpes, or Miguel’s in Madrid?

These are but visions in my mind, you bear no fruits within,

You’re washed, you’re shining bright, O’ what shall be your fate?

‘Twould be a crying shame, a sin, to end up in the wheely bin

That sits outside; beside the rustic garden gate.

Fear not O’ worthy jar, she who washed you is old fashioned,

A survivor from the days long gone, when marmalade was rationed;

You’ll see, come fruitful Autumn, to mellow lanes she goes,

To garner berries red and black, from bush and green hedgerows.

She’ll lift you then from pantry shelf, where patiently you wait,

And fill you full of home made jam: O’ jar, a happy fate.

 

Written by Eric McAuley 

 

(Published by ‘Arrival Press’ in ‘Tickle Your Fancy’. An anthology of

humorous verse.) 

 

 

Comments (0)

You don't have permission to comment on this page.