Alfred, Lord Tennyson‘Lord Tennyson’s Scissors’ by James A. Tweedie The Society November 20, 2017 Humor, Poetry 6 Comments Note: Years ago I read an essay by R.P. Blackmur entitled “Lord Tennyson’s Scissors” which cited Tennyson for saying that “he knew the quantity of evey English vowel except those in the word scissors—where each vowel is enclosed and made of uncertain quantity by two consonants.” I got to thinking about that and wrote this poem. Lord Tennyson once said, I think, That “taking pen and putting ink On paper is not hard to do. ‘Tis easy if one thinks it through.” But e’en Sir Alfred had a time Of it when forced to find a rhyme For one word, simple, often heard, But one he would not use; the word __________Was Scissors. He wrote of love, he wrote of war, He wrote “The Crossing of the Bar.” He wrote of both the live and dead But still one word was left unsaid. Not once in “Lady of the Lake” Did Guenivere, while sewing, take A shining pair of blades in hand; Those blades well known throughout the land __________As Scissors. He’d rather face the Light Brigade And leave the battle torn and frayed Than dip his poet’s standard down And use a word he thought a clown. The word he fled from all his life Was used quite often by his wife Who proved that love is often blind By simply asking him to find __________The Scissors. Lord Tennyson now rests within Westmin’ster Abbey’s dust and din. There to the right, just off the nave You’ll find this verse upon his grave: “Oh give me ‘orange’ or ‘cantaloupe.’ At least with these there is more hope In English etymology Than I could ever find in Thee, __________Damn Scissors.” James A. Tweedie is a recently retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He likes to walk on the beach with his wife. He has written and self-published four novels and a collection of short stories. He has several hundred unpublished poems tucked away in drawers. Related Post ‘A Grief Observed’ by James A. Tweedie In dactylic hexameter Turgid the sea as it billows and foams in the face of the tempest. Wind-lifted wave-crests explode into diamonds agleam in the... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 6 Responses Amy Foreman November 20, 2017 Delightful, witty, and amusing! This made me smile! Reply Carole Mertz November 20, 2017 Oh, how charming, Mr. Tweedle! Reply David Watt November 21, 2017 Clever and amusing Mr. Tweedie! Tennyson would agree you have easily ‘Made the cut’ in golfing parlance. Reply Joseph S. Salemi November 27, 2017 There is no proper rhyme for “scissors” Except the vulgarism “whizzers” (A term that ill-bred persons speak To reference those who take a leak). –J. S. Salemi Reply James A. Tweedie December 1, 2017 Joseph, Lord Tennison would doubtless find your verse Quite droll. Perhaps quite good–perhaps quite awful. Yet in reply (for better or for worse) I must admit, your poem left me ROFL. Reply James A. Tweedie December 1, 2017 Oops–Please excuse the typo! Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.