Friday, July 20, 2007

The Language of Love

I gave my love my full attention, true
And rapt and deeply felt. I cried "Chérie,
Give up your solitude and rescue me!"
I saw it was a terrible miscue
That undermined the way we muddled through,
But much too late, and, understandably,
She was unmoved. Her spirit remains free,
Though I am surely chained. What could ensue?

My darling skewered love, murmuring "Ha!"
As she prepared to stow my heart away,
Down in the cellar, for another day.
J'espère que mon amour ne prendra pas
Mon cœur dans les belles mains, le mettre en bas
Avec les autres choses perdues et oubliées.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Eyebrows on Fire

Nobody dreams about eyebrows on fire –
Well, not until tonight, at ten past two,
When someone special will remember you
And that convicted arsonist for hire,
With the resulting flare-up rather dire.
I see you're thinking No, it isn't true!
But it's not your dream. If you think it through,
You'll come to understand what you require.

This dreamer is a notable new breed,
Whose frank nocturnal focus on your face
Has occupied the not-quite-empty space
Between your grace, your unbecoming greed,
And grief, grown grim. Here's what you seem to need:
Attention, harmony, and pride of place.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Style and Wit

I like those comedies with style and wit,
Not searing psychological effect.
There's one by Charles MacArthur and Ben Hecht
About reporters and romance, a hit
Since 1928. We'll still watch it,
Complaining, and explaining, I expect,
As long as men grow old, women reject,
And theatres remain too brightly lit.

I'd like it better if we kept things dark,
And let our instincts rule. I think they could
If we returned to the ancestral wood
And lived with the gorilla and the lark.
Some people think that too much wit will spark,
But forest fires make smoke, not light. That's good.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Rewriting History

You can't invent the past, unless you lie
About the present, and also the past.
You seem to change your story pretty fast,
So nobody believes you when you try
Taking the credit for saying good-bye.
You said you cried, but now you're laughing last,
So those are tears of joy discreetly massed
Along your cheeks, are they? You're rather sly.

This is an odd time to start your attack;
When troops, arrayed along a foreign shore
Prepared for battle, no one knew what for,
So everyone just waited, and stood back,
Expecting trouble, since you've got the knack.
The war is over now. There was no war.