ON ANGELS

ON  ANGELS

All was taken away from you: white dresses,

wings, even existence.

Yet I believe in you,

messengers.

 

There, where the world is turned inside out,

a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,

you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seems.

 

Short is your stay here:

now and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear,

in a melody repeated by a bird,

or in the smell of apples at close of day

when the light makes the orchards magic.

 

They say somebody has invented you

but to me this does not sound convincing

for the humans invented themselves as well.

The voice - no doubt it is a valid proof,

as it can belong only to radiant creatures,

weightless and winged (after all, why not?),

girdled with the lightening.

 

I have heard that voice many a time when asleep

and, what is strange, I understood more or less

an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue:

 

day draw near

another one

do what you can.

 

                                   Czeslaw Milosz

MOON - LOVER

MOON - LOVER

 

I

The Moon is like a ping-pong ball;

I lean against the orchard wall,

And see it soar into the void,

A silky sphere of celluloid.

 

Then fairy fire enkindles it,

Like gossamer by taper lit,

Until it glows above the trees

s mellow as a Cheddar cheese.

 

And up and up I watch it press

Into appalling loneliness;

Like realms of ice without a stain,

A corpse Moon come to life again.

 

Ruthless it drowns a sturdy star

That seeks its regal way to bar;

Seeming with conscious power to grow,

And sweeter, purer, gladder glow.

 

Dreaming serenely up the sky,

Until exultantly on high,

It shimmers with superb delight,

The silver navel of the night.

 

II

 

I have a compact to commune

A monthly midnight with the Moon;

Into its face I stare and stare,

And find sweet understanding there.

As quiet as a toad I sit

And tell my tale of days to it;

The tessellated yarn I’ve spun

In thirty spells of star and sun.

 

And the Moon listens pensively,

As placid as a lamb to me;

Until I think there’s just us two

In silver world of mist and dew.

 

In all of spangled space, but I

To stare moon-struck into the sky;

Of billion beings I alone

To praise the Moon as still as stone,

 

And seal a bond between us two,

Closer than mortal ever knew;

For as mute masses I intone

The Moon is mine and mine alone.

 

III

 

To know the Moon as few men may,

One must be just a little fey;

And for our friendship’s sake I’m glad

That I am just a trifle mad,

And one with all the wild, wise things,

The furtive folk of fur and wings,

That hold the Moon within their eyes,

And make it nightly sacrifice.

 

O I will watch the maiden Moon

Dance on the sea with silver shoon;

But with the Queen Moon I will keep

My tryst when all the world’s asleep.

 

As I have kept by land and sea

That tryst for half a century;

Entranced in sibylline suspense

Beyond a world of common-sense.

 

Until one night the Moon alone

Will look upon a graven stone. . . .

I wonder will it miss me then,

Its lover more than other men?

 

Or will my wistful ghost be there,

Down ages dim to stare and stare,

On silver nights without a stir-

The Moon’s Eternal Worshipper?

 

                               Robert Service

MATERNITY

MATERNITY

There once was a Square,

Such a square little Square,

And he loved a trim Triangle;

But she was a flirt and around her skirt

Vainly she made him dangle.

Oh he wanted to wed and he had no dread

Of domestic woes and wrangles;

For he thought that his fate was to procreate

Cute little Squares and Triangles.

 

Now it happened one day

On that geometric way

There swaggered a big bold Cube,

With a haughty stare and he made that Square

Have the air of a perfect boob;

To his solid spell the Triangle fell,

And she thrilled with love’s sweet sickness,

For she took delight in his breadth and height -

But how she adored his thickness!

 

So that poor little Square

Just died of despair,

For his love he could not strangle;

While the bold Cube led to the bridal bed

That cute and acute Triangle.

The Square’s sad lot she has long forgot,

And his passionate pretensions ...

For she dotes on her kids - Oh such cute Pyramids

In a world of three dimensions.

 

                             Robert Service