Tuesday, November 22, 2005
my dear em el one six four eight
To: ml1648@atown.net
my dear em el one six four eight
i know you don't appreciate
my scathing-er attempts at satire
(my writing now goes over like a flat tire
on a refurbed, shiny delta eighty-eight)
but dearest em el one six four eight
who but me would know how really great
your loving heart is, how sweetly delicate
your sensibilities? -- alas i am too late
to reach you, you've fled from me in haste
the mike you once could tolerate
is now the mike you love to hate
my dear em el one six four eight
i know you don't appreciate
my scathing-er attempts at satire
(my writing now goes over like a flat tire
on a refurbed, shiny delta eighty-eight)
but dearest em el one six four eight
who but me would know how really great
your loving heart is, how sweetly delicate
your sensibilities? -- alas i am too late
to reach you, you've fled from me in haste
the mike you once could tolerate
is now the mike you love to hate
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Our Heroine At Seventeen
Our heroine at seventeen
Loitering upon the stair
Outside the church
On French Church Hill
Waits for Father Miller there
A lacy kerchief o'er her hair
Looking rather Italianate
She is quite a fashion plate
And though this is way upstate
It might be a district of Milan
The way her bag, her blouse, her skirt,
Her shoes all match with such elan
For when one goes to worship God
It's needful to be quite well shod,
Scarved, coiffed, and dressed, don't you agree?
Least that's how it seems to me
Her mother was a Celtic girl
Thus her eyes, her skin are fair
And, under lace, her sleek blonde hair
Loitering upon the stair
Outside the church
On French Church Hill
Waits for Father Miller there
A lacy kerchief o'er her hair
Looking rather Italianate
She is quite a fashion plate
And though this is way upstate
It might be a district of Milan
The way her bag, her blouse, her skirt,
Her shoes all match with such elan
For when one goes to worship God
It's needful to be quite well shod,
Scarved, coiffed, and dressed, don't you agree?
Least that's how it seems to me
Her mother was a Celtic girl
Thus her eyes, her skin are fair
And, under lace, her sleek blonde hair
