Stone Variations
He moved by night. He went alone.
He crept through corridors of stone
Into her reveries of bone.
He’d drawn a blank. The bird had flown.
His friends were fled, his cover blown
And this time he was on his own.
In Peter’s Chair the Pope was Joan.
She cursed him in an undertone:
You reap the crap that you have sown.
He wouldn’t listen to the crone.
He heard his own testosterone.
Out there beyond the panic zone
The night was right as pheromone,
A scattering of starlight thrown
Across the void of the unknown,
The wind became a sousaphone
Beneath the howling of the drone,
His homicidal chaperon.
Her wildernesses overgrown,
Her staunch, indomitable moan,
He guessed, though he was never shown.
He moved by night. He went alone.
Fancy Flattery
You are so very wonderful,
So no way botch and blunderful,
Your fame so full and thunderful,
I worship at your shrine.
All excellence is made of you,
I kiss the very shade of you,
I swear I am afraid of you
And yet I wish you mine.
I scorn all filthy flattering,
The barren verbal battering
And lamentable nattering
That prattles just to please.
I’d fight the knights of Malory,
Refuse a banker’s salary,
Subsist on half a calorie,
I swear upon my knees.
Your Love is as imperious
As Nero or Tiberius,
And makes me so delirious
That no-one else will do.
The whole wide world your oyster is.
You’d make a bishop boisterous.
No monk would tarry cloisterous
If he could be with you.