Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Jane Eyre?


Is this Jane Eyre? No, surely not!
Red lips and finger-nails?
And the rose is red and passionate,
With all that that entails!
The Jane Eyre of my youthful days
Was grey, a little mouse,
Who crept around, unnoticed,
In the corners of the house.
Did she harbour thoughts of passion?
Quite certainly, it seems,
And Mr Rochester's virility
Inhabited her dreams.
But this was a tale of repression,
Of unrequited love.
Red finger-nails and pouting lips!
What are they thinking of?
No, here is my little heroine,
Just as she ought to be,
Suffering pangs of love, alone,
A picture of misery!



(An Acrostic)

Tip-top people all are we!
Our strength and great nobility
Gain us plaudits everywhere!
Enemies just stand and stare!
Think how all those lower folk
Have to slave beneath our yoke!
Everybody would like to be
Revered, and on our family tree!
When the peasants bow, perforce,
Eating humble pie, of course,
Sullen faces meet our gaze!
Turned from us! Where is the praise?
All we ask is they adore us;
Numbly genuflect before us!
Do not mock and do not scoff!

We're proud of the name of


forgetmenot said...

Love your poem. Doesn't matter which century we live in, we all have the same emotions and longings. We are just a lot more (make that, A LOT MORE) open about them now. Cute post!!! Mickie :)

clavs said...

Happy RT! mine is here: http://clavsupclose.blogspot.com/2011/05/mymbm-rt.html