unask

 

 

sunlight

 

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

Louis MacNeice

 

 

 

 

 

Polly

 

Polly: How about Salome, who danced and got a severed head as a reward? Delilah, who cut Samson’s hair and took away his manhood? Eve, who betrayed the human race? Cleopatra, who betrayed Mark Anthony? I specialise in dangerous ladies…

Geoffrey: Oh, yes, yes.

Polly: All of them? OK, no problem.

Comes forward, to audience.

Polly:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

But you need to be a bit tidier, sweetheart, don’t you think? You need a little haircut, maybe? We don’t want to look like a hippy, do we, precious?

I do like boys. I like to take away their toys.

When I dance, a thing I have noticed is, men tend to lose their heads.
What’s my secret? Oh, it’s what I eat. I only eat … forbidden fruit. Delicious, my dearest, quite delicious, no taste like it, forbidden fruit. Quite delightful, darling, you’ll really like it. Would you like some? I might let you taste my fruit, maybe, if you are good, if you let me dance for you, if you get your hair cut.

I do like boys, I like to take away their toys.

Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired. Did you know that? Not many people know that. My lovers tend to find that one out, though, when they have eaten my fruit, when I have taken their toys away. Disconcerting for them, poor dears, to find their strength has ebbed away, to find their head on a silver plate, but no more than I deserve, I’m sure, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I am the grocer’s daughter after all. And the Queen of the Nile. And the mother and the mistress and the murderer of all mankind.

There is a stunned silence. Then she bounces around playfully and roars with laughter. Everyone laughs with relief.

From the play Entrances, by Deirdre Burton and Tom Davis

 

 

 

 

 

a green wave of leaves

 

She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world

she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees

she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky

she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair.

Conrad Aiken

 

 

 

 

 

scamel

there is a new entry in our scamel blog.

 

 

 

 

rose

 

The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air.

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end--of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness--fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching.

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space

William Carlos Williams

 

 

 

 

 

performance

 

Shakespeare has the mood
And draws the music from the dullest heart.
This is our birthright, speeches for the dumb
And unaccomplished. Henry has the words
For grief and we learn how to tell of death
With dignity. "All was as cold" she said
"As any stone" and so, we who lacked scope
For big or little deaths, increase, grow up
To purposes and means to face events
Of cruelty, stupidity. I walked
Fast under stars. The Avon wandered on
"Tomorrow and tomorrow". Words aren't worn
Out in this place but can renew our tongue,
Flesh out our feeling, make us apt for life.

Elizabeth Jennings

 

 

 

 

 

cup

 

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men.

Robert Hunter

 

 

 

 

 

stone face

 

A stone face higher than six horses stood five thousand years gazing at the world seeming to clutch a secret.
A boy passes and throws a pebble that chips off the end of the nose from the stone face; he lets fly a mud ball that spatters the right eye and cheek of the old looker-on.
The boy laughs and goes whistling "ee-ee-ee ee-ee-ee." The stone face stands silent, seeming to clutch a secret.

Carl Sandburg