The river and the sea
Why mother ocean do you fight,
With father river on this night?
Such a pair do you both make,
Your true feelings you cannot fake.
You should be holding each other tight.
You both protected me with your might,
Keeping me safely out of sight.
Comforting me on the nights I lay awake,
The river and the sea
Do you remember when I wore my gown of white?
And how we thought it would be all right.
Now I live in constant heartache;
I could not bear it if you made my mistake.
So I shall help you protect your loving light.
The river and the sea.
Amber Keener
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ReplyDeleteRondeau
DeletePart 1
Chris and I agreed to meet,
By the rails, at six past three.
At the stairs I took a seat;
Patiently rubbing my knee.
Chris was late. I stretched my feet,
And chewed on a stalk of wheat,
In late July’s summer-heat,
Wondering where the hell he’d be,
As I kindly wait.
I’d sing songs, and then repeat,
Think of bards, who hailed from Crete,
And make sure my hair is neat,
As we’re a bit late aren’t we,
As I kindly wait.
Did Chris skive out of deceite,
I thought, watching two men greet,
As we’re a bit late, aren’t we,
As I kindly wait.
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ReplyDeleteRondeaux
ReplyDeleteI studied all that afternoon
For this essay, that I must write
I shall be having supper soon,
That’s frying on the stove tonight.
The night is pale. The moon is white,
Like some maggot in her cuckoon,
Wriggling in her observer’s light;
I studied all that afternoon.
Out came the stars after the moon;
Sitting in space, in such great height.
Now clear my desk and take that spoon,
For this essay, I have to write.
Then I’d cook with remaining might;
A frail and giggling, tiny moon.
The meat was brown. The veg was white;
I shall be having supper soon.
I could swallow, a whole baboon,
And would not have to chew or bight;
Her bronze hair and her blood maroon,
That’s frying on the stove tonight.
My trousers would stretch, being so tight,
After guzzling that vicious goon,
Then sipped a coke and gulped a sprite,
I studied all that afternoon.