To say thank you for visiting, here is a ballad:
ā
I would say, tween grin and grin,
And what Iād say be true:
That if I were the mountain grass,
Then wouldnāt you be dew?
ā
And if I were that valleyās stream,
Iād run from cheek to cheek.
And if you were a heronāthen
Iād let you run your beak.
ā
Tween smirk and smileāIāll keep this pace
And ask youāif I couldā
To think of what youād say to me
If I were made of wood.
ā
If you were made of wood, my dear,
Iād lose you to loveās flame.
Put ashes in a golden urn
And think of you the same.
ā
If I were in an urn, Yvette,
In anger, I would rust.
If on that gilded-glowing box
You would neglect to dust.
ā
If so, Iād say my love was vain:
If specks of dust could bug.
For here you lie in dirt and grass,
Yet still you bear my hug.
ā
Keep singing me this song of rhyme,
This song of times yet wrote.
And let me be a violin,
Iāll hold the stringy note.
ā
Some ends are best unwrote, my dear,
Letās lie in days gone long.
Sing me those tales of Solomon:
Iāll hear a mirthful song.
ā
Such songs are otherās ends, dear Vette,
And to such ends weāre lured.
So lay between this tree and I
And just hear that there bird.
ā*ā
We would say tween grin and grin
And what weād say be true:
That if I were I and you, you,
Weād lay till night was new.
Thank you for reading this ballad.
The hamster wheelās good exercise
For hamsters wanting stronger thighs!
With stronger thighs, away they steal
No further, though faster, on the wheel.
Itās the damn hamster human condition.
And this reminds me of another ballad. You can read it here:
A secondās all I gotāyou bird.
So let your song be slim.
It takes too long to smell youārose.
Your scent is far too dim.
By morning, I go westādear sun.
Iād see you if I could.
So meet me in the east at dusk?
Catch up then, we should!
And brunch would waste two sides of morn.
Mimosas aināt my bag.
That cafƩ is some rocks at sea.
Forgive meāI canāt lag.
And if I met that girl I like
in serendipity.
Iād snatch my groceries from the clerk,
Then home for Jeopardy.
Just tell me how it ends, my friend.
I havenāt time to watch.
And while youāre at it, hereās your hat!
My schedule youāll botch.
I wear my god upon my wrist.
It ticks on like a whip.
So long it shines upon my face
It guides me not to slip.
And if I would recall a dayā
In poesy or in prose.
Iād smash the glass upon my wrist
And wonder of the rose.
You like ballads, eh?
Hereās one about the Garden of Eden (this is where human beings came from if you take the story literally):
I ate a plum from that there tree.
Theyāve asked me since to leave.
If every soul just took a plum
Thereād be no plumb for Eve.
Iām early to the garden, then.
Iāve still a rib to spare.
There hops a silly animalā
I think Iāll call her Hare.
There flies by one I gave a nameā¦
That name I canāt recall.
Iāll have to give another name,
For now, Iāll call it Gall.
But no, the first that I forgot
Was better, twice as grand.
What was that name I gave that bird
That squawks and flaps and lands?
That name, it flies right back to me
As bare feet rub the moss.
That was the name I gave to it!
It was the Albatross.
And if you hate ballads (and poets in general)⦠youāll get a kick from this one:
āI am the Bard of Leigh,ā said he.
āFor iambs are my drum.
And if you said my meterās off,
Iād say go shove your thumb!ā
āI bear the voice of God,ā said he.
āMy words appreciate.
And those who take the chair you warm
Will call me Laureate.ā
āYou give us sins we lack,ā said Leigh,
āFor prophets we all love.
But if you are an asshole, then
Weāll show you what to shove.ā
And if you donāt love nor hate ballads⦠hereās one about indecision:
My stickers lie inside the drawer,
The film Iām yet to peel.
For in every spot I chose to stick
Uncertainty I feel.
I hold the sticker in my hand:
To be or not to be
A flair upon my notebook, or
In drawer to shuffle free.
Suppose that once I chose to stick
Iād find a better place.
Then wasted would that sticker be.
Iām taunted by its face.
I hold my sticker down and ask
āWhat is it then you want?ā
āFor you to rip this back off me
Itās you who is the taunt.ā
That oneās titled āto stick a pearl on swineā
And this next one is called āDad, can I rob the bank?ā
There is a bag of gold in there
That nobody would miss.
It hides there like a drop of dew
In the dumb field of bliss.
The father replies:
This is true of that old vaultā
Yet one thing I implore:
There may be too much gold to count
but still, there is one door!
The son schemes:
Suppose Iād meet the guard at night
And cut him to my ruse?
For he has few to feed his kin
And what would he to lose?
The father rubs his eyes:
No silver tongue have you, dear son,
And what then if youād fail?
For if he were to shake your bribe
Would pistols then avail?
The son thinks for a moment, then:
If such a deal fell to the floorā
I couldnāt tell you whyā
Iād fear that man a fool would be
And fools are known to die.
The father canāt even look him in the eye:
Then woe would prey on me, dear son,
And age would trouble more.
For if you brought me gold turned red
I would then still be poor.
The son shakes his old man:
Dear Father, you have tilled this land,
Yet only you would know.
The seeds drink only from your sweat.
The sun has failed to show.
For he who meets the gold in dirt
Knows nothing of the vault.
And if he knew that he had lack
Then would he be at fault?
Now, the father looks him in the eye:
Donāt tell me of this world, dear son,
Donāt think on what is just!
Youāll find the lust of what is fair
Will spread you like the dust.
There will be no end to running
And it will be in vain.
In every town you dare to step
Youāll bear the mark of Cain.
Thatās all for today.
Send me an email: writing@chrishughes.ca because I sometimes get lonely.
God bless & be well.
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