Part of me is sad as sad And part of me is glad as glad. Part of me is pure as pure, And part of me . . . I'm not so sure. At odds within myself I be, And blame it on my Family Tree!
Mask
You may make your mouth up
Scarlet as a courtesan's . . .
Thin sophistication
Lurks in scarlet paint
Even masked in satire
Still your eyes betray you
Playing tarnished lady
Funny little saint!
If This be Good …
If this be good
Then it shall last
Far past the rasp Of Sexton's spade . . .
Far past the snow of winter laid
On sleeping garden;
Some part of this will still endure
On Time's wide stream;
Some single sure enchanted moment
Caught up in space will shine forever.
And in my heart I'm very sure
Which little moment will endure!
Disenchanted
They always say, "Be good, sweet child
And let who will … be clever".
But does this course pay dividends?
I answer . . . hardly ever!
Figment
It's snowing feathers to-day.
Bits of maribou
From some very frivolous angel's
Bed-Jacket!
Unbiased Comment
Small furry creatures part with life
To deck each plutocratic wife.
And many a tender throat is wrapt
In silky softness someone trapped.
I don't condemn this savage rite
Nor wince to see the endless sight
Of lovely ladies wrapt in fur . . .
Egad! I only wish I were!
Venomous Woman
She has avaricious fingers
On which there lingers
The bitter scent of almonds.
Poisonous woman!
How her nails
Glitter in the candlelight.
Only her eyes
Suddenly tear you apart.
There is a look in them
Of one who gazed on death
And found it
Beautiful!
Bookshops
Bookshops have a lovely smell
Sweet and sour . . . heaven and hell.
Dust and mould, and something magic,
Laughter, cheek by jowl with tragic
Songs the Muses used to sing . . .
I love bookshops, in the spring!
Powder Room
At every little crystal square
Grave women creatures sit and stare
At what the day has done to mar
Frail personal beauty; puff and jar
And lip rouge tubes are taken out
To dye each thoughtful waiting pout;
No hurried smear . . . a careful rite
Then infinite scansion in the light.
The final look,
The little smile
Triumphant . . . careful . . . full of guile
Absorbed completely in her task
Each "Eve" adjusts her powdered mask!
Bend Your Head
Bend your head and kiss my hand
And tell me tales of Samarkand.
Weave a web of lovely words
That I may count like singing birds
That I may set upon my sill
When you have left me . . . As you will!
Promise
I shall not weep when you go
But don a scarlet dress
And I shall sing a gay song
And you shall never guess.
And I shall dance when you go
With other eager men
And make my heart forget you . . .
And you shall want me, then!
Remnant
You promised me Fidelity.
I got a ring -
I got a vow -
And now . . .
I got a ring!
Aware
I hope I never quite get over
The smell of rainy summer clover;
Or how a willow tree at night
Can make a silver sort of light;
Or how a child with lifted face
Can make a holy sort of place!
Out of Loneliness …
Out of a loneliness more deep
Than quiet death.
Out of a sleep
As cold as ice . . . more drear, more chill
I hunger up toward dreaming;
Fill my hands with flowers,
Tread a measure against bright candles,
Bare my throat to Autumn moonlight
Cry to the stars that love rides by
Against whatever midnight sky!
Chalk Talk
Sometimes I tell myself
"Chumley! It's about time you acquired a little dignity.
Not much.
Just a touch.
Take to wearing a hat
And the like of that.
Quit enjoying the society of youth in the formative stage
In other words . . . "Act your age"!
I've gone into this subject with myself before
But it's such a bore!
I know what will come of it.
One day they'll be saying
"What a silly old person she is . . .
Flighty . . .
Maybe touched in the head" . . .
And will my face be red!
But I fancy in the final analysis
We follow our natural bent.
So I shan't relent.
Dignity comes to us all
Dressed in a shroud.
Forgive . . . if just for a little . . .
I laugh aloud!
On the T. T. C.
Assorted people sit or ride
Forced intimates: and "hide to hide"
As close as in a double bed
They touch at thigh and arm and head
And then get off . . . and go away
To ride again . . . some other day!
Ode
If this is spring
You can have the thing!
Old Hand
Love is a dream
And love is pain,
Love is a song
And love is a chain.
But love is a thing
We can't forego
Take my word for it
I've tried . . .
I know!
Observation
A mermaid was a fabled sea creature
Cold-eyed
But beautiful of face.
Enchanting . . . heartless.
Half woman.
Half fish!
Do you know,
I looked about me to-day
And thought
Of how many women
Are really
Mermaids!
Fall Fires
O scudding sky-O windy day
You snare my soul.
And fey . . . as fey
I wander down a curving street
To scuff the leaves against my feet
And smell the smoke that curls the air
And find the Autumn wondrous fair!
Now is the Time
Now is the time when falling snow
Drifts soft as flowerlets.
Far below
The dark earth stretching in her sleep
Is full of secrets.
Children keep one little ear above each cover
Lest in the night they might discover
The sound of hoofbeats in the air
And know that Santa Claus is there!
Self-Portrait. (Drawn in Dust on a Table Top)
Tho' I'd love to be neat
I admit defeat.
Some women's shoes are on racks
Mine are in stacks.
I can never find a needle or pin
They're never in what I put them in.
And when I emerge in confusion
From this rudderless fog
I closely resemble a something
You'd find under a log!
Be Good!
"Be good, my child" the sages said
And packed me off to early bed.
I didn't mind when I was small
And never loitered in the hall
But climbed the stair and clicked the light
And closed my eyes against the night.
But now . . . upon the sill I lean
And feel the wind across my throat
And tremble when the moon is new
And watch the stars the whole night through
For love has set his sign on me . . .
And I am neither young . . . nor free!
Camouflage
I said:
"I will sing you a song in the night
How your eves wear desire and your voice holds delight
But I'll sing it so softly you'll never believe
That this thing is my heart that I wear on my sleeve.
Observation
To find an oyster in a seafood salad
Is quite a surprise to the average "palad".
Sixteen
How can a guy absorb this knowledge
And get himself ready for ruddy college;
How can he concentrate at all
When he just passed a dream in the upper hall!
Hush
There is an hour
When earth and sky
Merge in the twilight
With a sort of sigh.
Trees touch the skyline . . .
Birds, the earth,
And stars are shaken
With twinkling mirth.
And it's just as well
If you're all alone
To plug the line
Of your telephone!
First Snow
Just a thin flurry
But the first snow!
Always exciting . . .
Full of pictures . . .
Overstockings of red wool,
Mittens to match,
And a toboggan cap
With a bob on it.
Bruised thumbs
From struggling with tight overshoes -
A plaid kilt
With a green velveteen jacket
And a real lace collar.
A teacher's face,
Slightly harried
Bending over solicitous buttons.
The beautiful breathlessness
Of the first belly flop
On the small red sleigh.
Just a thin flurry
But the first snow!
Mirror
I looked in a mirror
And all I saw
Was the pitiless scar
Of Time's sharp claw.
But over a candle
I looked in your eyes
And there, reflected
To my surprise
Was a lovely person . . .
Unflawed . . . soignée . . .
So you'll be my mirror
After to-day!
Portrait
She's sure of herself
Safe as the Mint.
And her soul is made
Of flowered print!