What is Love? 'Tis not Hereafter, Present Mirth hath Present Laughter

8/2/2019 What is Love? 'Tis not Hereafter, Present Mirth hath Present Laughter

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LOVE'S WANDERINGS

All the following poems reflect some aspect of love relationships between menand women (with the exception of a poem containing a dialogue between a flyand a spider), progressing in a somewhat general way from Biblical andclassical models or at least allusions to everyday situations in the modernworld. I deliberately contrast traditional and even archaic modes of languagewith colloquial forms. This selection includes a short dramatic sketch based onthe device of presenting a conversation between a desperate young manseeking advice from a telephone counseling service and a lost property officer.

EVOCATIONS OF FIRST LOVE (Personal tone)

WORLD'S END AND GENESIS

Till the last rose fade on a withered stem

and the sun last set in the sky,

may our love abide, though night condemn

that we dream of a day passed by,

when our first love rose with the morning sun

ere the early dew of the dawn

to vapours turned, dissolved to one,

and to where by the wind were they borne?

WHEN WE SIPPED CIDER, EVE AND I

How sweet was cider in that year

we sipped our fill before the fall!


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How gold and glorious, the sky;

so rosy-red, the stones around;

how long the shade of Michael's tower.

In each other's arms entwined,

we sipped sweet cider and we kissed,

beneath the Cross in Coventry.

O Eve, my love, where are you now?

My dear, and where am I?

MUCH KISSED, MUCH MISSED

My first love was much kissed,

and when she went, much missed,

for I was young, romantic,

and loving drove me frantic.

One evening, just as it got dark,

I put on Beethoven or Bach.

Though I had things sublime in mind,

she, more sensuously inclined,

to my surprise lay on her back,

and I, a callow youth , alack,

grew much distraught, indeed perplexed,

not knowing rightly what came next.


3/31

DEPARTED

Departed, the cold night and the sea,

the night, black, sullen, and the sea,

severed for ever

what had seemed should never,

never, parted be.

What was colder than the night?

Those eyes like glass, your frozen glance?

Or blacker yet than that black night?No hope the night at length should pass?

Dawn came. The sea was light.

Eternal, vast, its restless calm.

The waves, as once our hearts,

still beat, and lesser loves

than Love itself had passed.

TOO PROUD TO WEEP, TOO PROUD TO SMILE

You were proud who would not weep,

and I too proud to smile.

Our words, O words unspoken,

the box of costly ointment, left unopened,

are the things stolen from us

that never shall return.


4/31

Beneath a bridge unbuilt,

a once calm stream,

a now tempestuous sea,

where phantom ships

sail on in ageless quest,

to find no home,

to reach no haven's rest.

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LOVE MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH (Biblical and ClassicalEvocations)

THE CHOOSING WELL

To choose one girl from many

is a task that's sweet and sour,

for every girl is wonderful,

or should be, like a flower.

Some dazzle with their beauty,

though they may prick or sting,

but each one has her glory,

come summer, winter, spring,

and when we make the choosing

we know not that we do.

The process is mysterious,

Man's way with maid is pathless,

and pathless is the sea.


5/31

Thee choose I black and beautiful,

The reason none enquire!

'Tis vain to count her virtues,

or balance them with vices,

to mark if nimble paces

or lame gait attend her way.

'Tis vain. She's mine I say.

CAPILLARY DISTRACTIONS

But a brush and a touch, one parting more,

Delilah, Moon-girl, you stole my strong light.

I, your Sun-boy, am shorn, having blackout,

but remember my close shaves, the honey,

dead days, my foes jaw-struck, the longwinded ass

my aid. Drawn by love's waves, I come to.

With influence silverish, drowning

my golden locks, the yolk-eating fish-god wins

for a period till dawn's yellow round.

I shake gold pillars that in Ashdod

uncut dye, for at noon I burn for you,

Daily I die for you, O Delilah.

APHRODITE, SIRENS AND BUTTERFLIES

TO CYPRUS


6/31

I know that isle, to Love the long-lost home

the sea's white waves, the sun's hot rays caressed.

Necessity, that most cruel fate of all,

has banished Love, yet may not quite suppress

the present fragrance of a sacred past.

On Trodos pines dispense their sweet incense.

The while it lasts, no honeymoon can end.

Oh do not mark the boot-prints in the sand,

but hope that Love shall one day conquer all. The sea shall even, long shines the patient sun.

What mars when Love, long-absent, claims her own?

ON THE ROCKS

You name a traitor and I shall name a heart,

for hearts alone forsake the sought-for good.

The captain Will surveys his seaman's chart

and plots a course to guide his ark of wood.

Yet he forgets, each sailor is a man.

'Gainst mortal foes a man be brave and strong!

Whoso is valiant, bid him join the van

to prove his manhood in the battle throng,

but what fears that combatant beset

who, standing single, lonely in the ring,

beholds the trident and ensnaring net


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of him that is the raging tempest's king!

Aye, some outwitted Neptune's rocks and ire,

yet perished they: - A man withstands a siren's lyre?

IT'S NOT THE RESULT; IT'S THE STYLE THAT COUNTS

Leaving his men to fight it out in the rigging,

a boy chasing a butterfly,

he followed her gilded galleonwith purple sails to Egypt's sands.

There the rough Roman blew his exit,

his salto mortale being performed

with something less than a surgeon's skill.

So inconsiderate and unnecessary

the ensuing nasty mess.

Only she knew death to be a royal repose,

and dying an exquisite languor,

within a chamber scented with Arabian sap

above the balmy shade of palms.

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KNIGHTS,TROUBADOURS, SONNETS AND MISTRESS'S EYEBROWS(Medieval and Shakespearean Echoes)


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HOW SIRE GADDABOUTE UNTO HIS NUPTIALS CAME

(after "RITTER KURT'S BRAUTFAHRT, a ballad found in the poetry of JohannWolfgang Goethe)

Sire Gaddabout one springtide morn

his sturdy dappled steed did mount.

for he would wed the highly born

Maid Ethrelda Holyfount.

He plucked his lute and sang an air,

but scarce a league was trod

than came a cry. "Beware, beware!

Here comes the knave, Sire Heaviplodde.

"Sire Heaviplodde, my mortal foe?

Seeks he THIS day a fight?

'Tis him or me a mortal blow

must soon dispatch to endless night."

Sir Heaviplodde in armor black

rode up to mock and jeer.


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Then said he, holding high a a sack:

"Your head shall be my souvenir."

"Make good, black knight, your foolish boast,"

stern-faced Sire Gaddabout did cry,"

or by ye Saints your wretched ghost

anon the Stygian strait must ply."

The shields did clash, the horses snort,

the dust did fly, the swords did ring,

and, to cut a long tale short,

'twas Heaviplodde who felt death's sting.

A fullsome wench with babe at breast

stood steadfast in the way.

Sire Gaddabout at her behest

stopped for to hear what she did say.

She raised her babe for him to see,

she cocked her head and made a sneer:

"Knight-at-arms, remember me?

You left behind this souvenir."


10/31

On seeing this the knight did blush.

He bade his squire go fetch some beer.

Then said he to that woman "Hush,

this bag of gold should help out, dear."

Past hill and hamlet, wood and mire,

he rode with noble carriage.Might even yet the fates conspire

to dash all hopes of marriage?

Who stood with visage grim and old

to guard the way before?

A man in black held up a scroll,

whereon were writ his debts of yore.

Not all the gold the knight did hold,

not lands, not herds, nor dowry,

could e'er redeem his debts of old

accrued in youthful folly.


11/31

"I have sinned," the knight did weep,

"and mercy is my plea.

I must to church my pledge to keep

in holy matrimony."

The grim collector smiling said:

"As bridegroom you are free.

Your past is like a shadow fled.

What counts today is what shall be."

AFTER A POEM IN MIDDLE HIGH GERMAN BY AN UNKNOWN POETESS

I am yours. You are mine.

This is the sure and certain sign.

You are imprisoned within my heart.

Its little key no man shall find.

Here then remain as long as time.

LAURA

(after Petrarch)

Mine ne'er to be, yet mine always;

Laura, of dawn fair spirit. Darkest night

cannot hide thee, nor obscure thy rays.

Though Black Death hath by his temporal right


12/31

Claimed thee, dost thou, my love , indwell this heart.

Though Charon's hammer this clay vessel break,

the winds ne 'er scathed by Time's envenomed dart

shall of its pure content aye possession take

and spread abroad thy fragrance to all Man,

fill the valleys and linger o'er the seas.

'Tis not my part all future times to scan,

but thankfully to muse by pastures, groves and leas,

await thy returning, nightly count the hours

till I rejoice with singing birds and flowers.

FEMININE RHYMES

Though few of us sigh like furnace

with ballads made our mistress's eyebrow

these days k

a poem is still as good as a bunch of flowers

when it comes to expressing our feeling

about a woman we like.

A poem is rather like a woman, come to think.

A good poem may have a pleasing form,

or by inward virtues compensate for this.

A good poem does not reveal too much at once

but leaves a lot to imagination's powers;

rather it teases without being coquettish. It is reticent but not prudish,


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for a poem that gives nothing away

may well end up on the shelf.

A good poem is not unapproachable, remote,

like some model with a past.

Too much logic jars in poems, too.

Smooth rhymes can be a shade too glib.

A good poem saves from complacency

without haranguing day and night.

It can, of course, be taken to bed.

It wife-like serves us food for thoughtand tells home truths with good intent.

And, of course, there's little prospect for divorce.

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A LOST HEART RETURNED (A DRAMATIC SCENE)Distraught Youth:

Ere to Lethe's brook the woeful way I take, one final phone call shall I, Owretch, now make.

Person receiving the call:

Do-dee-dum-diddle-do. Good afternoon, Matcham Junction Lost Property Office.Can I help you... sir ...madam?

(aside) Oho, we have a right one here, I fear, from the sighs and deepbreathing, it would at least appear. --- Sir, this is not "Counsel for theDespairing." Their number ends 2190. Ours ends 2191. As you might expect,these numbers often get confused. I repeat, this is the Matcham Junction LostProperty Office.

Distraught Youth:


14/31

O noble counsellor, wise comforter. You speak so soon the quintessential truth!What spirit-mentor whispers in your ear that you speak of lost things? Aye,there's the rub! How great, how irretrievable the loss, how sanctified tomemory is the lost, how miserable, how wretched is the loser, I withal!

Lost Property Officer:Oh, very well, sir. If you insist on me helping out, I'll try my best for you. In fact,I've become something of a professional - both in my capacity as an LPO andas a "counsellor" - for want of a better word. Sir, could you give me adescription of this lost article, this 'ere heart that appears to be missing?

Youth:

Describe the heart! What man has art enough for that i' faith? Is depth so deepthat ne'er the heart shall plumb it? Is height so high, the heart ne'er reach itssummit? In length so long, the heart ....

Officer:

Sir ,sir, I do get your point, sir. The heart is indeed an incommensherubblething! Silly of me ask. Let's try another tack. Could you give me an account of the circumstances under what you lost this article - like, time, place and that?

Youth:

Speak not of circumstance, but speak to me of fate! Star-crossed am I likeRomeo, betrayed like Samson, Cupid's arrow has hit the mark, it has laid me

low.Officer:

Just as I thought, sir, just as I thought. Some young lady has had a part to playin the matter of this loss.

Youth:

A young lady you call her! You are too kind and moderate. A vixen, I say, a Jezabel, a Celimene and Delilah on top of it.

Officer:Oh, really, sir. Never mind. But perhaps you could give me a description of thisyoung -er - vixen-cum-celery of yours, in as far as she has tangible assets, thatis, sir, if you see what I mean.

Youth:

The locks that lap her temples were woven on the loom of dawn.


15/31

Officer:

I see, sir, er - honey-blonde. Could you continue your description?

Youth:

How can poor words describe the gilded dawn, the taste of honey melon, thescent of morning rose? She walks on high where angels walk, she talks intongues that angels talk. The fairest of ten thousand she, unto what comparedis she, the one who daily tortures me?

Officer:

Surely you can tell me the colour of her eyes, sir.

Youth:

Her eyes, choice sapphires of the rarest hue!

Officer:

I take it, sir, her eyes are blue.

Youth:

O man of prose, write what you will - write "blue." To see her eyes glister likediamonds, or of Venus the star when eve's purple o'erlays the gold of theHesperides!

Officer:

Oh, very well, sir: Blue under normal lighting conditions, otherwise there's notelling. Any other characteristics?

Youth:

More seductive than Salome at dance, she could weedle from Herod hiskingdom all, or tempt Joseph more sorely than the wife of Potiphar?

Officer:

A good-looker, eh, sir?

Youth:

She gambles on the mount of Lebanon like the doe, she is supple of foot, sheis nimble of toe.

Officer:


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Got something of a middle eastern or Levantine allure with it, sir, has she?Hmm. It's only a hunch, but I've got the feeling that this - er -vixen-cum-celeryof yours called by at this office the other day. Funny, she was also complainingof the shaggrins damn'er, too.

Youth:Compare my deep woes to those of some cheap girl! You do me a great injury,sir! No one but me has felt so inwardly deep the turning knife, the bitter gall of love. I'll brook no trifling with the common herd, for sorrows like theirs aretwo-a-penny.

Officer:

Well, sir, all I can say is that she did rather fit your description, though I onlysaw her eyes under normal lighting conditions - fluorescent tube, to be precise.She complained of losing her heart under circumstances not altogetherdifferent to them under what you lost yours. She had apparently lost her heartto ..

Youth:

To whom?

Officer:

Well, sir, to quote her words: "to a rather non-descript young gentleman whoinsisted on flopping all over the place like some latter-day Lord Byron".

Youth:

Aye, that's her all right. None but she has so cutting, so malign a tongue.

Officer:

Reading from my notes, sir, I gather that the young gentleman in question hadforsaken her for another.

Youth:

Has some Iago whispered falsehoods in her ear? For whom , pray?

Officer:

Apparently for a very enticing young lady quite outside of this world. I quote,sir: "She walks on high where angels walk, she talks in tongues as angelstalk .."

Youth:


17/31

Enough! She mocks me. Oh, cruelle ! Oh drag me to the highest cliff, Oh castme in the deepest sea, to a great millstone fasten me, and toss me awf thewind-tossed skiff!

Officer:

Far be it from me, sir, to put me off your stroke just as you're really gettinggoing, like, but I wouldn't advise you to do anything extreme. She tagged on amessage.

Youth:

More vitriole! To Lethe yet I come.

Officer:

I'd stay around, personally, sir, if I were you. I'll read the message to you if I

may. Here goes: "If the ubiquitously flopping latter-day Lord Byron should turnup some time in the day on Thursday the 22nd of this month" - which is today'sdate, sir, is it not? - " Would he pick me up at the Bricklayers' Arms around 7p.m. There's a good horror film on at The Odeon.Then we can go to Kwei Fu's inStation Road for take-away Chop Suey or have a pizza at Romeo'sPalace."................... No, that's all right, sir, quite all right. Don't mention it. ....Quite, quite. I couldn't agree more. You're a very lucky young man. .... Well, Iwas young once, you know. That's going back a bit, mind you. Anyway, have tobe getting back to work, sir. Glad to have been able to help out there, Tarathen.

Replacing the receiver:

Another satisfied customer!!!

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POEMS IN A GENERALLY HUMOROUS VEIN WITH ELEMENTS OFPARODY


18/31

AFTER WILLIAM COWPER'S BOADICEA

Best spoken win a Cockney accent

When once a lovelorn callow swain,

heartbroken by a maid's rebuff

sought balsam for his heart's deep pain,

of female wiles had had enough,

Grave listener at the local pub,

sat Tom inured to pangs of love,who spoke as lion to his cub

Or to a chick a turtledove.

"Son, weep not! I know thy disarray,

and I recall that time ah! Long gone by

when I, a callow youth of Harringay,

did to my first love like a furnace sigh.

With ardent kisses she the fire would stoke.

oh how the temperature did rise,

till one day she give it such a soak (accords with cockney dialect)

that out it fizzled to my woeful cries.

Nought could relieve my darkness until Alice,

a fulsome wench from Walthamstow,

changed my gloom into a Crystal Palace.


19/31

Bang crash the day she found another beau!

Oh nothing salved my bitter bitter spleen,

no medicine, herb, apothecary's lotion,

till I met a luscious blonde from Woodford Green.

How she set my heart and soul in motion.

All went well until I met her mother,

who asked in innocence how much I earned.

My honest answer love's fickle flame did smother,so once again I got my fingers burnt.

By now I'd grown cynical a bit,

so when true love came knocking at my door,

I lost my nerve and had a fainting fit,

And so she went. I saw her nevermore.

Thus, my son, I live to tell the tale.

Renounce the frolics of thy frivolous youth.

A loaf but nibbled soon is hard and stale.

Let wisdom early teach this hard-won truth.

VIGNETTES AND CAUTIONARY DITTIES

LIKE AN ANGEL


20/31

My love is like an angel.

Her eyes are wide and blue.

Her hanging locks are golden,

but is her heart so too?

When shall my arms next clutch her?

At the rising of the sun?

Or when the full moon glimmers

ere the course of day has run?

To this I have no answer,

and now is darkest night.

The star of eve and morning

eludes my powers of sight.

Behold! There looms a rose-bush,

which is budding in the gloom.

May yet that knave named Jack Frost

snatch summer's scarlet bloom?

My love is like an angel,

but one who rarely sings.

She finds new perches easily

thanks to her fluffy wings.


21/31

"BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST" (LORD TENNYSON)

Have you no tongue? So faint of heart?

Go tell her there's no other

so wonderful, and that apart,

so very like her mother!

Declare your hand, say it out loud

and never mind the lingo.

Why hide your ardor in a cloud.

She'll be yours, by jingo!

"Ich liebe dich!," "O, je t'adore!"

"ik houd van jou!," "behebuk!"

But when you're prostrate on the floor?

And when she shows you to the door?

Don't lose your nerve, or run amuck,

read Tennyson for better luck.

PLAIN JENNY

Shes not exactly a stunner

or a beauty contest top-runner.

Sometimes she slips up on grammar.

but is that a reason to damn her?

Some men want gold and not copper,

and more often than not come a cropper.


22/31

George married a pretty blue stocking.

That divorce case, how horribly shocking.

Giles got hitched to a bunny,

who soon hopped off with his money.

Cyril, with his eye for good looks,

is now happy with someone who cooks.

Poor Herbert fell for a hooker,

and then most sadly mistook her

for his faithful, his heaven-sent wife.

(In fact, they were hell-bent on strife).

Such examples truly are many.

You can get two belles for a penny.

But Ill keep to good-hearted Jenny.

Plain Jenny, youll do for my life

***

WHAT'S A YEAR IN TIME'S VAST FLOW

When a sailor man bade his sweetheart good bye

he said she should tarry a year

until he sailed back with silver and gold

and a ring to dry her last tear.

"To me you are more than silver and gold,"


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said the maid in sorrow and pain.

"The ocean is cruel and the wind, it will change,

and we'll meet no never again."

The sailor laughed at his love's deepest fear,

"What's a year in Time's vast flow?

Wait for the day my good ship returns,

then the truth of this promise you'll know."

The maid remained faithful and constant in lovein this world where few things are clear,

till she met a young man with no silver and gold.

What he did have was abundant, - and near.

ROXANA'S CURSE

Hey you guys, why leave your town

to find a bride and settle down?

Take a tip and dont philander

somewhere remote like Alexander.

He married a princess called Roxana,

it seems, to make her hill tribes calmer.

To equalize the world by sex

was a worthy aim subject to checks.

Pneumonia, poison or whatever


24/31

The emperor from his wife did sever.

So poor Roxana was alone

cut off from people, friends and home.

she made her way to Macedonia

there to die not of pneumonia.

She, much sinned against, did sin.

She did in some foes and got done in.

Want to learn more? Surf to Cassander

and read some books on Alexander.

Before they placed her in a hearseshe pronounced an awesome curse.

To conquer my land shall many strive

who neer shall leave that land alive.

I fear this curse still ails her land,

which nought can lift save God's own hand.

Name this land if that you can.

Take this hint. It ends with stan.

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF VIENNA

She was only a girl who served breakfast and tea,

but, Oh, the difference to me!

She was dark and petite,

her smiles honey sweet.

I almost went dotty

when she served extra coffee,


25/31

and how my heart jumped

when accidentally we bumped.

I say nothing false :

I dont walk now, I waltz.

BUZZ OFF WORDS TO A SPIDER

A silver spider spied a golden fly,and to it most amorously did sigh:

"O most glorious of flies!

What fine wings you have, what eyes!

No earthly thing shows beauty more.

I shall weave in silver thread

a garb for you, a vestment fair,

that we be forever wed,

a common destiny to share.

I in you, and you in me,

O how happy we shall be.

You shall be my metaphor.

To you I'll pose reality."

"I'm sure what moves you is benign,"

the fly replied in dulcet tone.

"Yet I regretfully decline


26/31

your offer of a common home.

My gold is - like your silver - pure,

and may such purity endure,

for purity, if once alloyed,

as sure as fate, must be destroyed.

To sun and moon it was decreed

not fusion but duality

should constitute reality.

Cohabitation I debar!I shall admire you - from afar!"

GETTING WISE AT SHEPHERD'S BUSH (recalling the "swinging London" of theSixties)

So she finally decided to do

what she'd always said she'd do.

She left him! Slam went the door

with a deafening, mighty wham!

But scarcely had the landing and

the top of the banisters been cleared,

Then she stopped in her tracks,

and paced back very sprightly,

opened the door of his seedy flat:

the same old tatty, sordid scene!

Number eighteen, Wormwood Scrubbs Terrace.


27/31

It had all looked so different by candle-light.

Romantic glows conceal cobwebs and grime;

so too the tinged, dog-eared papering passed unrecorded.

It was the night, so many moons before,

when they met. "I'm your host, Mike Randle!"

"l'm Pauline Day, a friend of Jack Huntley."

From that moment Mike got to work fast.

"Up from the country are you, dear.

I expect you find London quite bewildering. You'll soon get with the swinging city scene.

Have some wine, dear, red or white?

Help yourself to all you fancy on the buffet.

Bill, could you pass that platter--Edam, cheddar?

No one who's been to a party of mine

Leaves hungry, believe you me.

Care for a little dance in a minute?"

"A dance, oh dear!" she thought all in a stew.

She remembered Grandma's warnings about the sin

devised by the devil and his wicked band

to make a girl lose grip of all

she should keep to herself until her wedding day.

"Try some of this, dear, just a sip."

Mike had a shrewd idea where things were heading.

Soon they were reeling to the disco sound.

"Make the next one slow, there's a good man,"


28/31

said Mike to Disco Dick. Little did she know

Mike had a nickname, which was Randy Randle.

Soon locked in his tight and firm embrace

she was in Heaven. Such sweet nothings he did bandy,

whispering his banter into her receptive ears.

While she was dreaming of a cottage and tiny tots

he was figuring where he'd left those darned dyspeptic pills.

"You're so ... different from the other girls one meets.

You so remind me of the one girl I truly loved.Leukemia, you know." Oh, how the tears did flow!

Muffling his sobs, his face he buried

in her flaxen locks. Down her spine

his fingers like a piper's nimbly raced.

Why don't we two meet tomorrow for a tete-a-tete?

There's a very nice little Indian place I know.

Look, how about me meeting you at Shepherd's Bush around eight?

So, over a curried chicken he emptied his heart.

While they were waiting for the suite, he clasped her hand.

"So like her," he sighed. She gave a little start.

Yet her hand remained in his. "Coming on nicely," Randle thought.

"Let's get back to my place for coffee...Waitress, the bill!"

"lt's rather late," said Pauline, "l'd better get back home."

"The night is young," said Mike, "Let's live and have our fill."

"Just for half an hour then, but not a minute more."


29/31

"I've got a new LP. Just your style. I'll play just one side,"

said Mike, his eyes twinkling, as he opened the front door.

She failed to notice his deft turning of the disc

and by the middle of the second side, he gently kissed her back.

At the end he held her in a clinch. Yes, his style was brisk.

Now with fully opened eyes she spied that same sofa,

and a tear now trickled down her rosy cheek.

Then she looked down on the floor. She sighed.

lt was there in that vicinity she lost

what Granny had warned her about not lightly letting go."There's none so blind as them that will not see."

Then their trial marriage, as he so aptly termed it!

Soon the sweet nothings turned so strangely sour.

To be at his beck and call she enjoyed the dubious privilege.

What was it first gave the lie? The smug assumption

that she was somehow in his eternal debt, or his habits.

his forgetting to clean the washbasin, to pull the chain,

his toe clippings on the sofa, his snoring, his moods,

his long reads of the Sunday paper at breakfast

that made it oh so clear that she was bloody boring.

But even after she'd found him out, still she lacked the will

to make a break. Habits, good or bad, like iron bands compel.

It seemed she would accept her thraldom as an fact of life

till she decided to eat out one night on her own.

In fact she went to that Tandoori place in Shepherd's Bush.


30/31

While waiting for the menu, she heard a not unfamiliar drone:

"You're so different from the other girls one meets.

You so remind me of the first girl I truly loved.

Leukemia, you know...." Oh how the tears did flow.

So she finally decided to do what she'd always said she'd do.

She left him! Slam went the door

with a deafening, mighty thud.

Surprised at her own strength, she left

never to turn back--a virginmaybe not--but very much the wiser.

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PARTING THOUGHTS

LOVE THAT REFUSES TO DIE

What killed our love?

Nought killed our love.

For Love, how can it die?

But the flourishing of Love?

Oh, that may seem to pass.

Ask Dido, ask Romeo, ask me.

Thwart Love, let's try,


31/31

bury Love and seal its tomb,

but it must surely rise again

and then pursue us day by day,

and haunt us night by night.

Forget Love, try, but know

it will invade each innermost recess

and in the Spirits catacombs

celebrate, though darkness reign,

what Reasons light forsook.

THOUGH YET I HAVE TO MEET YOU

With my eyes I do not see you

when I wander far and wide.

Though yet I have to meet you,

I sense you by my side

Then listen well and hear me

though earthly cares do blind.

For when the soul is freed from earth,

in all that grows and thrives and flows

I will meet you as a bride

What is Love? 'Tis not Hereafter, Present Mirth hath Present Laughter

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