Poems

Interlude

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Amy Lowell
From the Book: Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell

When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread on them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries
And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working;
What then?
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberries,
And needles in and out of cloth
If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter,
How much more beautiful is the moon,
Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree;
The moon
Wavering across a bed of tulips;
The moon,
Still,
Upon your face.
You shine, Beloved,
You and the moon.
But which is the reflection?
The clock is striking eleven.
I think, when we have shut and barred the door,
The night will be dark
Outside.

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Decade

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Amy Lowell
From the Book: Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell

When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.

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Seuss on Clinton – extended remix

If Dr. Seuss were President Clinton’s lawyer, his deposition might have read something like this.

I did not do it in a car
I did not do it in a bar
I did not do it in the dark
I did not do it in the park

I did not do it on a date
I did not ever fornicate
I did not do it at a dance
I did not do it in her pants

I did not get beyond first base
I did not do it in her face
I never did it in a bed
If you think that, you’ve been misled

I did not do it with a groan
I did not do it on the phone
I did not cause her dress to stain
While talking to Saddam Hussein

I did not do it with a whip
I did not fondle Linda Tripp
I never acted really silly
With volunteers like Kathleen Willey

There was one time, with Margaret Thatcher
I chased her ’round, but could not catch her
No kinky stuff, not on your life
I would not, could not, with my wife

Now, that Miss Flowers’ tale of woes
Was paid for by my right-wing foes
And Paula Jones, and those State Troopers
Are just a bunch of party poopers

I did not ask my friends to lie
And then just hang them out to dry
I did not do it last November
And if I did, I don’t remember

I did not do it in the hall
I could have, but I don’t recall
There was no sex at Arlington
There was no sex on Air Force One

I might have copped a little feel
And then endeavored to conceal
But never did these things so lewd
At least not ever in the nude

These things to which I have confessed
They do not count if we stayed dressed
I never used that big cigar
You must believe me, Mr. Starr

I did not know this little sin
Would be retold on CNN
I broke some rules my Mama taught me
I tried to hide, but now you’ve caught me

But I implore, I do beseech
Do not condemn, do not impeach
I might have got a little tail
But never, ever did inhale

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Phenomenal Woman

In the poem below, on the line after “the stride of my steps” there should not be any asterisks. But for some reason my content management system blows up whenever I try to take them out.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I’m not cute or built to suit a model’s fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I’m telling lies.
I say
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
t*h*e*c*u*r*l*o*f*m*y*l*i*p*s
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It’s in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.

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Down South Valentine

author unknown

Kudzu is green,
my dog’s name is Blue
And I’m so lucky
to have a sweet thang like you.

Yore hair is like cornsilk
A-flapping in the breeze.
Softer than Blue’s
And without all them fleas.

You move like the bass,
Which excite me in May.
You ain’t got no scales
But I luv you anyway.

You’re as graceful as okry
Jist a-dancin’ in the pan.
Yo’re as fragrant as SunDrop
Right out of the can.

You have all yore teeth,
For which I am proud;
I hold my head high
When we’re in a croud.

On special occasions,
When you shave yore armpits,
Well, I’m in hawg heaven,
I’m plumb outta wits.

And speakin’ of wits,
You’ve got plenty fer shore.
‘Cuz you married me
Back in ’74.

Still them fellers at work
They all want to know,
What I did to deserve
Such a purty, young doe.

Like a good roll of duct tape
Yo’re there fer yore man,
To patch up life’s troubles
And stick ’em in the can.

Yo’re as strong as a four-wheeler
Racin’ through the mud,
Yet fragile as that sanger
Named Naomi Judd.

Yo’re as cute as a junebug
A-buzzin’ overhead.
You ain’t mean like no far ant
Upon which I oft’ tread.

Cut from the best pattern
Like a flannel shirt of plaid,
You sparked up my life
Like a Rattletrap shad.

When you hold me real tight
Like a padded gunrack,
My life is complete;
Ain’t nuttin’ I lack.

Yore complexion, it’s perfection,
Like the best vinyl sidin’.
Despite all the years,
Yore age, it keeps hidin’.

And when you get old
Like a ’67 Chevy,
Won’t put you on blocks
And let grass grow up heavy.

Me ‘n’ you’s like a Moon Pie
With a RC cold drank,
We go together
Like a skunk goes with stank.

Some men, they buy chocolate
For Valentine’s Day;
They git it at Wal-Mart,
It’s romantic that way.

Some men git roses
On that special day
From the cooler at Kroger.
"That’s impressive," I say.

Some men buy fine diamonds
From a flea market booth.
"Diamonds are forever,"
They explain, suave and couth.

But for this man, honey,
These will not do.
For you are too special,
You sweet thang you.

I got you a gift,
Without taste nor odor,
Better than diamonds
it’s a new trollin’ motor.

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Clone of My Own (Song Parody)

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The first verse and chorus are by science fiction writer Randall Garrett. The other verses are by Isaac Asimov.

This parody is to be sung to the tune of Home on the Range.

Oh, give me a clone
Of my own flesh and bone
With its Y-chromosome changed to X
And when it is grown
Then my own little clone
Will be of the opposite sex.

(Chorus)
Clone, clone of my own,
With your Y-Chromosome changed to X
And when I’m alone
With my own little clone
We will both think of nothing but sex.

Oh, give me a clone
In my sorrowful moan
A clone that is wholly my own.
And if she’s an X
Of the feminine sex
Oh, what fun we will have when we’re prone.

My heart’s not of stone,
As I’ve frequently shown
When alone with my own little X
And after we’ve dined
I am sure we will find
Better incest than Oedipus Rex.

Why should such sex vex
Or disturb or perplex
Or induce a disparaging tone.
After all, don’t you see
Since we’re both of us me
When we’re having sex, I’m alone.

And after I’m done
She will still have her fun
For I’ll clone myself twice ere I die.
And this time without fail,
They’ll be both of them male
And they’ll ravage her by and by.

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The Prophet "on Marriage"

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Khalil Gibran
From the Book: The Prophet

Then Almitra spoke again and said…
"And what of Marriage, master?"
And he answered saying:

You were born together,
and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together
when the white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together
even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea
between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress
grow not in each other’s shadow.

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The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

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Christopher Marlowe – 1599
From the Book: The Complete Poems and Translations

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant poises,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherds’s swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

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IF

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Rudyard Kipling
From the Book: Rudyard Kipling: Everyman’s Poetry Library

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting;
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating;
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

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In Excelsis

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Amy Lowell
From the Book: Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell

You — you —
Your shadow is sunlight on a plate of silver;
Your footsteps, the seeding-place of lilies;
Your hands moving, a chime of bells across a windless air.

The movement of your hands is the long, golden running of light from a rising sun;
It is the hopping of birds upon a garden-path.

As the perfume of jonquils, you come forth in the morning.
Young horses are not more sudden than your thoughts,
Your words are bees about a pear-tree,
Your fancies are the gold-and-black striped wasps buzzing among red apples.
I drink your lips,
I eat the whiteness of your hands and feet.
My mouth is open,
As a new jar I am empty and open.
Like white water are you who fill the cup of my mouth,
Like a brook of water thronged with lilies.

You are frozen as the clouds,
You are far and sweet as the high clouds.
I dare to reach to you,
I dare to touch the rim of your brightness.
I leap beyond the winds,
I cry and shout,
For my throat is keen as is a sword
Sharpened on a hone of ivory.
My throat sings the joy of my eyes,
The rushing gladness of my love.

How has the rainbow fallen upon my heart?
How have I snared the seas to lie in my fingers
And caught the sky to be a cover for my head? How have you come to dwell with me,
Compassing me with the four circles of your mystic lightness,
So that I say "Glory! Glory!" and bow before you
As to a shrine?

Do I tease myself that morning is morning and a day after?
Do I think the air is a condescension,
The earth a politeness,
Heaven a boon deserving thanks?
So you — air — earth — heaven —
I do not thank you,
I take you,
I live.
And those things which I say in consequence
Are rubies mortised in a gate of stone.

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