En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The War Within

Deep inside the most desolate regions of my mind, I sit in an open field
This domain is my inner sanctuary, where I can go and be one with my thoughts
Sitting in the middle of a field of vibrant colorful flowers all around, bird making sweet sounds
It is truly a happy place meant for the gods, then something happen that was pretty odd
Out of nowhere I start to smell smoke, so I take a quick look around the habitat
From a far distance was a dark silhouette surrounded by a grim demonic aura
Trying to make out who could it be here with me in my most secret place
It didn't take long, within an instance he was right in front of me like he vanished and reappeared
My face dropped, he was the splitting image of me except with deep void purple eyes
All around him the vegetation died and withered away as if no life could sustain his present
I asked, "who are you" he grinned hard and only said one thing, "Jacob the OG"
Then he strike without warning hitting me dead in my face, throwing me back a few feet
I landed on my back holding my face, it burned so bad, I was still trying to comprehend what happen
I didn't have much time, he was persistent and came at me with full force
Shuffling to my feet, I took my stance, but it wasn't quick enough, he strikes again
This time my face got introduce to his foot, flying me back
I caught myself before hitting the ground, to see he was right on top of me
He moved with the speed of Zeus, I couldn't believe what my eyes was seeing
Coming down with destructive power, I manage to shift to the side as he hit the ground
It pounded the area into rubble, I took advantage and land two leg punches to his spine
It paralyzed him for a few seconds, I speared no time waiting, this was war
Hitting him one time in the neck and three times in the face, it seem not to work
He didn't even move, once his paralysis wore off he grab my arms and looked me deep in my eyes
He spoke some few words, "Get stronger if you want to contend with me Mr. MK"
Then he punched me in my stomach and I came back to reality with a shock
Sweat from head to toe, I was in the middle of class looking disturbed
Didn't know what happen to my happy place, but I know it was no long my inner harmony
So it looks like I lost the first fight of the war within

poem by Murasaki Kitsune
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The War Within 2

Nothing to do as the day passes on, with dull moments filling the seconds
Why not meditate, so without hesitate I laid down on my bed
Took one long breathe in and on the exhale I fell into a trance
What is this, how can this be, thing here have gone to hell
A once peaceful place looks like fire rose up and rebelled
Looking to the left and looking to the right there was nothing in sight
No reminisce of what had used to be, the inner peace I used to seek
Only one person has the capability to have such a horrible thing done
I went to look for the other half I need to expel
It took me no time to fine the lord of the demons
Just like the Titian Cronus he hunger and desire power
Jacob the OG sat in the middle of the world undisturbed
His aura just as last, demonic pass the point of no return
A butterfly flew pass him and instantly go burned
The time for talking was over, I flung in with a kick to the dome
It plunged him back hitting the ground sparking up dust
I didn't want to give him time to recover so I dashed towards where he landed
Out of the dust a rock hit me right in the forehead
I was stunned; he wind milled me right in the stomach
Standing my ground I grab his foot and broke it with my elbow
It didn't stop him, leg broken and out of breathe he was still able to stand
Lunging at me with lighten reflexes he manage to chock me in the neck
I fell to the ground almost coming back to consciousness but I stood fast
I already lost once and will not lose again, this time I will win
With the last bit of energy I punched him in the face as he stood over me thinking he won
The force was so powerful it created both a shock and a sound wave
He was projected into the air coming down hitting the ground creating a huge crater
I walked over to check out his condition, instead in the hole was nothing
He somehow retreated, I laid back and saw thing in my inner mind was changing back to normal
I close my eyes knowing I have won this battle but the war within have only just begun

poem by Murasaki Kitsune
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At play

Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.

Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!

Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!

poem by Eugene Field
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My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant

—he's a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar

he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business

first time I met him, he said,
"hey! ya gonna make a
killin'?"

"maybe," I answered.

next meeting it was:
"hey, Ramrod! what's
happening?"

"very little," I told
him.

next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.

next time I was
alone.

"hey," he asked, "where's the young
chick?"

"I left her at home...."

"Bullshit! I'll bet she dumped
you!"

and the next time
he really leaned into the car:

"what's a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I'll bet you inherited your
money, you didn't get this car with your
brains!"

"how'd you guess?" I
answered.

that was some weeks ago.
I haven't seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Joe Ramsbottom

Joe Ramshottom rented a bit of a farm
From its owner, Squire Goslett his name;
And the Gosletts came over with William the First,
And found Ramsbottoms here when they came.

One day Joe were ploughing his three-acre field
When the front of his plough hit a rock,
And on closer inspection o' t' damage he found
As the coulter had snapped wi' the shock.

He'd got a spare coulter at home in his shed,
But that were some distance away,
And he reckoned by t' time he had been there and back
He'd have wasted best part of the day.

The accident 'appened not far from the place
Where the Squire had his sumptuous abode;
He thought he might borrow a coulter from him,
And save going back all that road.

He were going to ask... but he suddenly stopped,
And he said " Nay-I'd better not call;
He might think it cheek I borrowed from him,
I'd best get my own after all."

He were going off back when he turned to himself
And said "That's a gormless idea;
The land you were ploughing belongs to the Squire,
It were 'is rock as caused all this 'ere!"

This 'eartened Joe up, so he set off again,
But he very soon stopped as before,
And he said 'Happen Squire'II have comp'ny to tea,
Nay I'd, better go round to t' back.

Then he answered himself in a manner quite stern
And said "Here's a nice how-de-do!
You can manage without him when all's said and done,
And where would he be without you?"

Joe knew this were right and he knew it were just,
But he didn't seem happy somehow,
So he said "Well, there's no harm in paying a call,
And I needn't say owt about plough."

This suggestion that he were afraid of the Squire
Were most deeply resented by Joe;
He said "Right! I'll show you... I'll go up at once,
At the worst he can only say 'No.''

Then he said "After all as I've done in the past
He would have a nerve to decline;
He ought to be thankful to give me his plough,
Seein'' damage his rock did to mine.

Then he said "Who is he To be puffed up wi' pride,
And behave as if he were King Dick
He's only a farmer the same as myself,
As I'll tell him an' all- Jolly quick."

Then he turned round and looked himself straight in the face,
And he said "What you're scared of beats me;
Ramsbottoms was landlords when Gosletts was nowt,
And it's him should be working for thee!"

Then he said "I'm surprised at myself, so I am,
To think I should so condescend
As to come hat in hand to a feller like 'im
And ask if he's owt he can lend."

This argument brought him to Squire's front door,
It were open and Squire stood inside;
He said "Hello, Joe... What brings thee right up here?"
"You'll know in a tick," Joe replied.

He said "P'raps you think yourself better than me,
Well, I'm telling you straight that you're not
And I don't want your coulter... Your plough-or your farm,
You can-do what you like with the lot."

poem by Marriott Edgar
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A Domestic Tragedy

Clorinda met me on the way
As I came from the train;
Her face was anything but gay,
In fact, suggested pain.
"Oh hubby, hubby dear!" she cried,
"I've awful news to tell. . . ."
"What is it, darling?" I replied;
"Your mother -- is she well?"

"Oh no! oh no! it is not that,
It's something else," she wailed,
My heart was beating pit-a-pat,
My ruddy visage paled.
Like lightning flash in heaven's dome
The fear within me woke:
"Don't say," I cried, "our little home
Has all gone up in smoke!"

She shook her head. Oh, swift I clasped
And held her to my breast;
"The children! Tell me quick," I gasped,
"Believe me, it is best."
Then, then she spoke; 'mid sobs I caught
These words of woe divine:
"It's coo-coo-cook has gone and bought
A new hat just like mine."

poem by Robert William Service
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Fragment

At last I entered a long dark gallery,
Catacomb-lined; and ranged at the side
Were the bodies of men from far and wide
Who, motion past, were nevertheless not dead.

"The sense of waiting here strikes strong;
Everyone's waiting, waiting, it seems to me;
What are you waiting for so long? --
What is to happen?" I said.

"O we are waiting for one called God," said they,
"(Though by some the Will, or Force, or Laws;
And, vaguely, by some, the Ultimate Cause;)
Waiting for him to see us before we are clay.
Yes; waiting, waiting, for God to know it." ...

"To know what?" questioned I.
"To know how things have been going on earth and below it:
It is clear he must know some day."
I thereon asked them why.
"Since he made us humble pioneers
Of himself in consciousness of Life's tears,
It needs no mighty prophecy
To tell that what he could mindlessly show
His creatures, he himself will know.

"By some still close-cowled mystery
We have reached feeling faster than he,
But he will overtake us anon,
If the world goes on."

poem by Thomas Hardy
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A Snake Yarn

"You talk of snakes," said Jack the Rat,
"But blow me, one hot summer,
I seen a thing that knocked me flat -
Fourteen foot long or more than that,
It was a reg'lar hummer!
Lay right along a sort of bog,
Just like a log!

"The ugly thing was lyin' there
And not a sign o' movin',
Give any man a nasty scare;
Seen nothin' like it anywhere
Since I first started drovin'.
And yet it didn't scare my dog.
Looked like a log!

"I had to cross that bog, yer see,
And bluey I was humpin';
But wonderin' what that thing could be
A-lyin' there in front o' me
I didn't feel like jumpin'.
Yet, though I shivered like a frog,
It seemed a log!

"I takes a leap and lands right on
The back of that there whopper!"
He stopped. We waited. Then Big Mac
Remarked: "Well, then, what happened, Jack?"
"Not much," said Jack, and drained his grog.
"It was a log!"

poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Not to Keep

They sent him back to her. The letter came
Saying... And she could have him. And before
She could be sure there was no hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her sight,
Living. They gave him back to her alive
How else? They are not known to send the dead
And not disfigured visibly. His face?
His hands? She had to look, and ask,
"What was it, dear?" And she had given all
And still she had all they had they the lucky!
Wasn’t she glad now? Everything seemed won,
And all the rest for them permissible ease.
She had to ask, "What was it, dear?"

"Enough,"
Yet not enough. A bullet through and through,
High in the breast. Nothing but what good care
And medicine and rest, and you a week,
Can cure me of to go again." The same
Grim giving to do over for them both.
She dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he asked her not to ask.
They had given him back to her, but not to keep.

poem by Robert Frost
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The ABC

'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"

Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"

"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."

C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."

"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."

"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."

X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."

poem by Spike Milligan
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I like your books

In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"

"uh huh," I answered.

"I like your books," he went
on.

"thanks," I answered.

"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.

"uh uh," I answered.

"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.

I made my bet and went back
to my seat....

the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.

"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."

"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."

"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."

I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."

after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:

lost another reader.

I lose 2 or 3 each
week.

fine.

let 'em go back to
Kafka.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Pressure

There was a kind of pressure, in the room,
I mean, it wasn't anything tangible but it was there
and he looked about him to try to spot the culprit.

A suspicious character was drinking brandy,
he could certainly be the one, but wait,
there she was, a tall red head with hawk like eyes.

They looked at each other and then she crooked her finger,
"yes… you" she mouthed! "Come here, talk to me"
He slowly walked towards her, settling at her side.

"It's cold for the time of year", he whispered.
"Not cold enough" was the coded reply.
Then she took out a yellow glove from her bag.

"When are you going to introduce me? " she asked
"That's right, " she said, "I'm from the ministry"
and I want you to act as though we're old friends.

"O.K." he replied, "slip me the key first and I'll
take you over. The stooge is that small,
rather portly man in the black bow tie."

"But can he lead us to Nightingales, " she asked
They've killed two of our spies already.
At that she dropped the yellow glove on the floor.

The lights went out and as they fumbled in the dark
the pressure grew……….do you feel it?
Nah, its just that dodgy guy sitting next to you.

************************************* ************

Footnote:

No spies were killed or yellow gloves
dropped during the making
of this episode.
However, some fumbling
did take place.

*********************************** ***************
Next episode:

Dazed and sore, Montague came round,
feeling pressure on his head
which seemed to be warm and comforting.
It was Marjorie's soft hand.

"Are you alright, my dear" she said,
looking concerned and worried.
Blood dripped down Montague's cheek,
he'd been hit on the head with a sharp object!

"Where is she? " he stammered, "She still has the key"
"Leave her to us" said the man in the black bow tie
"We've got it all under control,
Just tell us who sent you! "

Monty's eyes rolled back in his head.
The pressure was all too hard to take
and Marjorie's perfume had
triggered off his allergy.

Or was this a counter plot to extract the truth?
Did they know he was allergic to Channel no 5?
Too late! A sharp pain in Montague's chest
saw the end of him…….

poem by Ruth Walters
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The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands

"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel
glances?"
"I will keep them piercing my
heart."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Home Burial

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
To raise herself and look again. He spoke
Advancing toward her: "What is it you see
From up there always? -- for I want to know."
She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,
And her face changed from terrified to dull.
He said to gain time: "What is it you see?"
Mounting until she cowered under him.
"I will find out now -- you must tell me, dear."
She, in her place, refused him any help,
With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.
She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,
Blind creature; and a while he didn't see.
But at last he murmured, "Oh" and again, "Oh."

"What is it -- what?" she said.

"Just that I see."

"You don't," she challenged. "Tell me what it is."

"The wonder is I didn't see at once.
I never noticed it from here before.
I must be wonted to it -- that's the reason.
The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it.
Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
There are three stones of slate and one of marble,
Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.
But I understand: it is not the stones,
But the child's mound ----"

"Don't, don't, don't,
don't," she cried.

She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look,
He said twice over before he knew himself:
"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"

"Not you! -- Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.--
I don't know rightly whether any man can."

"Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.
Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
"There's something I should like to ask you, dear."

"You don't know how to ask it."
"Help me, then."

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.

"My words are nearly always an offense.
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught,
I should suppose. I can't say I see how.
A man must partly give up being a man
With womenfolk. We could have some arrangement
By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you're a-mind to name.
Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.
Two that don't love can't live together without them.
But two that do can't live together with them."
She moved the latch a little. "Don't -- don't go.
Don't carry it to someone else this time.
Tell me about it if it's something human.
Let me into your grief. I'm not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.
I do think, though, you overdo it a little.
What was it brought you up to think it the thing
To take your mother-loss of a first child
So inconsolably -- in the face of love.
You'd think his memory might be satisfied ----"

"There you go sneering now!"

"I'm not, I'm not!
You make me angry. I'll come down to you.
God, what a woman! And it's come to this,
A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."

"You can't because you don't know how to speak.
If you had any feelings, you that dug
With your own hand -- how could you? -- his little grave;
I saw you from that very window there,
Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly
And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.
And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs
To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.
Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice
Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,
But I went near to see with my own eyes.
You could sit there with the stains on your shoes
Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave
And talk about your everyday concerns.
You had stood the spade up against the wall
Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."

"I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.
I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."

"I can repeat the very words you were saying:
'Three foggy mornings and one rainy day
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.'
Think of it, talk like that at such a time!
What had how long it takes a birch to rot
To do with what was in the darkened parlour?
You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.
No, from the time when one is sick to death,
One is alone, and he dies more alone.
Friends make pretense of following to the grave,
But before one is in it, their minds are turned
And making the best of their way back to life
And living people, and things they understand.
But the world's evil. I won't have grief so
If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!"

"There, you have said it all and you feel better.
You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.
The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up?
Amyl There's someone coming down the road!"

"You -- oh, you think the talk is all. I must go --
Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you ----"

"If -- you -- do!" She was opening the door wider.
"Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.
I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will! --"

poem by Robert Frost
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I want to see

I don't know about what a way to feel?
Not to express in open but still!
I earnestly feel that she belongs to me
Only she has to respond and make me feel free

"She will come like rain and shower"
"Deplete all her energy and power"
Such words from her drive me to craziness
But I get lost in her glitter and shining face

"I love you" may come to me as recognition
That shall clam me down and need no ignition
She has descended from far and distant land
Taken a vow to stand fast till the end

"Only your picture of thumb impression" I plead
She opens her eyes and coolly tries to read
Extends her hand and invites me to lead
I pick the chance and tie a knot with thread

I float on water with no wish for any more ground
She is there for me to be always found
I can't afford to loose her at any time
Such thoughts invade my mind many a times

Will she emerge on my eye window screen?
What will she be looking like when actually seen?
So far she has eluded me from seeing her in real
Beauty is hidden purposefully and concealed

"I am here" open your eyes and see it happen
You have pulled me near heart is taken
I am at your gate point and wait for entry
What will you be doing to lift me and carry?

Her magical words hunt my memory
I try to pick each word but feel sorry
She is no where around but airs the presence
"I want to see you by chance" and at once

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A.d.d

She told me that she had A.D.D
I asked her what was one plus two, she said: "three"
I was so impressed that I asked her again
What was seven plus three, and she said: "ten"
I asked her more additions and she got them all correct
She was very intelligent by what I could detect
Then as I tried to talk to her more, but she got distracted
I then tried to get her attention then she overreacted
She then told me something that threw me for a shock
Her having A.D.D, wasn't what I had thought
She could add quickly and correctly which was true
But paying attention to others she could not do
She was easily distracted from the projects she was on
And also forgetful from the tasks she's undergone
She said she is sometimes forgetful from day to day
Then she looked at me and asked; "what did I say? "
I asked her some more questions and she never listened
So I spoke directly to her, and her eyes they glistened
She spoke to me, then she called me someone else's name
"And I don't like to follow instructions! " to me she did exclaim
"I won't finish my work or duties or chores and I never will"
"Only thing that helps me, if and when I take a small pill"
"I will avoid the things that will take a lot of mental strain"
"As this is who I am, and my thoughts and my brain"
Then I asked her what was one plus one and she said: "two"
She then looked at me and walked away, and said: "adieu."

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Lead "me" to "me

What is this place?
Where have I reached?
I stand infront
The mirror,
As a stranger
Stares back at me.
Do I know her?
Have we met before?
Why do I see in her traces of' me'?
Or is this…
The new ‘me"?
Do I like her?
Brazen she stands…
Her hair wind swept,
Her eyes, wild
No longer windows
To the divinity of her soul.
But her smile has
Traces of "me".
That strange
Devil in "me".
As I shudder in peril,
Where have I reached?
Its miles and miles of mist,
Paths untread,
Lonely beings.
But…
Its this mysterious "me"
Which terrifies my soul.
Did I ever want to be
"her"?
Do I have a choice?
Is it too late to decide,
Revert, run back?
Where did I lose the "me"
I was so proud about?
Pray, give me your magic hand
Do lead "me to"me"…
For without "you" holding "me"
I remain not even "me"
Daddy…
your little 'ai'is all lost
Please lead "me" to "me"….

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Realization

I smiled with skeptic mocking where they told me you were dead,
You of the airy laughter and lightly twinkling feet;
"They tell a dream that haunted a chill gray dawn," I said,
"Death could not touch or claim a thing so vivid and so sweet!"

I looked upon you coffined amid your virgin flowers,
But even that white silence could bring me no belief:
"She lies in maiden sleep," I said. "and in the youngling hours
Her sealed dark eyes will open to scorn our foolish grief."

But when I went at moonrise to our ancient trysting place. . . . .
And, oh, the wind was keening in the fir-boughs overhead! . . . .
And you came never to me with your little gypsy face,
Your lips and hands of welcome, I knew that you were dead!

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The Seance

"The spirits do not like the light,"
The medium said, and turned the switch;
The little lady on my right
Clutched at my hand with nervous twitch.
(She seemed to be a pretty bitch.)

The moustached women on my left,
With spirits on hr heavy breath,
Lasciviously leaned her heft
On me as one who languisheth.
The sordid room was still as death.

"A shape I see," the medium cried,
"Whose face and name I do not know . . ."
"'Tis Robert service," soft replied
A voice - "I passed a month ago,
And I've come back to let you know.

"The Other Side is gay and bright;
We are so happy there and free,
And Dan McGrew I oft recite,
And follow up with Sam McGee . . .
But now excuse me, I must flee."

The fat dame leaned to get my ear,
(Her breast was soft as feather bed.)
"I love his verses; oh dear, dear,
I didn't know that he was dead."
"No more did I," I sourly said.

The little lady grabbed me hard;
(She looked to me a "yesful" dear.)
Said she: "Don't you adore the Bard?"
Said I: "Before he fades, I fear
I'd like to kick his astral rear."

So then I bravely broke away
From spooks and ectoplasic gauze.
Yet in the brazen light of day
I had to pinch myself because
Really! I wondered if I was.

poem by Robert William Service
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The Ruined Maid

"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"-
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

-"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"-
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.

-"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'
And 'thik oon' and 'theäs oon' and 't'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compan-ny!"-
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.

-"Your hands were like paws then, you face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"-
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.

-"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"-
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.

-"I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town"-
"My dear - raw country girl, such as you be,

Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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Heriot's Ford

"What's that that hirples at my side?"
The foe that you must fight, my lord.
"That rides as fast as I can ride?"
The shadow of your might, my lord.

"Then wheel my horse against the foe!"
He's down and overpast, my lord.
You war against the sunset-glow,
The judgment follows fast, my lord!

"Oh, who will stay the sun's descent?"
King Joshua he is dead, my lord.
"I need an hour to repent!"
'Tis what our sister said, my lord.

"Oh, do not slay me in my sins!"
You're safe awhile with us, my lord.
"Nay, kill me ere my fear begins!"
We would not serve you thus, my lord.

"Where is the doom that I must face?"
Three little leagues away, my lord.
"Then mend the horses' laggard pace!"
We need them for next day, my lord.

"Next day--next day! Unloose my cords!"
Our sister needed none, my lord.
You had no mind to face our swords,
And--where can cowards run, my lord?

"You would not kill the soul alive?"
'Twas thus our sister cried, my lord.
"I dare not die with none to shrive."
But so our sister died, my lord.

"Then wipe the sweat from brow and cheek."
It runnels forth afresh, my lord.
"Uphold me--for the flesh is weak."
You've finished with the Flesh, my lord!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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