Neville

Miss. Esme G. Cameron

Miss. Esme G. Cameron

 

Despite the fact she

knew all

the Latin names for

garden plants

and was a dab hand

at ikebana ..

She also played viola,

flute and piano ..

Every now and then,

she would also

appear in church on

Sundays

and was renowned

for writing

an occasional novel ..

It is said

she may have looked

like a nun

and dressed like some

old librarian

but she thought and

wrote like a

well-versed dockyard

hooker ..

Although to be fair,

somewhere

beneath her pince-nez,

the tartan shawl

and tweeds, our not yet

quite famous

Miss. Grace Pratt didn’t

only sweat,

but she also, did bleed

some of the

most exquisite poetry

you are ever

likely to read and the

more risqué,

the better it seemed ..

But then that was her

secret you see ..

At times in-between

her verses

and stanza’s or prose,

only a handful,

the privileged few, ever

knew she

would occasionally puff

on a cigar,

or one of those French

cigarettes,

that she always kept in

a drawer filled

with old fountain pens,

a few saucy postcards

and a single

letter marked Flanders,

France 1918 ..

Grace Pratt helped me

one hell of a lot

while I was growing up

and falling in

love with this beautiful

beast that

we now all call poetry ..

But the reason

I write now, is I recently

read that

Miss. Esme G. Cameron

formally known

as Grace Pratt, died at

home in

her sleep then aged one

hundred

and one whole year’s

young, but who’s counting ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because she was worth it

  And for anyone who might be interested, Esme G. Cameron was Graces pen name ..