Sunday, 25 July 2010
Up and about a movie screen,
Celuloid dreams of stories past
Of rebels and gentlemen and beauty queens.
Images of stars project from the grave;
You dance, you laugh for us again and again,
You tell us your stories, and we all want to know--
We listen so quietly, admiring the picture show.
The scenes we observe,
It's strange to think,
Happened once, maybe 50 years ago,
Were played a million times more,
Watched by children and housewives and men sipping drinks
And trannies and grannies all over the globe.
And yet the seasons change, things disappear
Everyday people and things we hold dear
Vanish, colours fading,
Our memories will fail us,
Then we shall die too,
Others will forget us;
But then we see you,
From at least 50 years ago,
Your youth withers so slow, so slow
You've all grown old- or died-
But again and again we repeat, rewind
You're all so young and talented, in our minds,
But it's not only the acting,
It's that amazing feat you've managed:
Time is unkind, but I think you've done well,
Avoiding what I think is Hell.
Forever and ever, we'll all see
You and love you, your memory.
Though we all disappear
Sooner or later, now or in years,
You've clasped on to existence,
Reaching out for eternity.
In years to come, when society's moved on,
With robots and rockets and people on the moon,
Somebody will look back and remember you,
Observing how people lived, such a long time ago...
And a feeling will spark, a bond with all of us,
We watched you too.
Lens focus, a close-up of your face
Expressions so slight and full of grace.
The lights are bright, we watch tonight
A black-and-white motion-picture, tribute to the human race.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
A: No, nobody.
B: Not even one? Out of all the men you've been kissed by?
A: [giggling] Now that'd take some figuring. How many men do you think there've been?
B: I wouldn't know. Can't you give me a rough estimate?
A: Not without an adding machine. Do you have the adding machine with you?
B: I forgot to bring it.
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Between saintly statues and pews,
And thoughts will prowl in my head,
Getting closer, closer to you.
You can do nothing to stop them,
But succumb to my every whim;
I'll let all my passions run free
While we both hum along to hymns.
I'll let all my secrets run wild
And nobody will ever know
That in the church I once smiled,
Thinking of fictional sins.