Lars Raun
J.P. AT OLIVE GARDEN
asks for a ballade* (note the final 'e')
I managed the solemn but missed-out on the classical references!
(I'm really quite a cheery soul!)
We yowl and cry and flail the air;
Sans clothes, sans words, sans sense, sans hair.
We scream for milk, we grasp at life
And all is light and sound and strife!
Then comes the time we lie and doze,
All washed and clean in baby clothes.
We learn to love, we learn to trust,
But, everything, in the end, is dust.
We grow apace, learn common-sense,
Learn that we're small, the world immense.
We're school-bag laden, uniformed,
We're puzzled and we're tantrum-stormed.
One day we see a world of dreams;
Next day a hell on earth it seems.
But we conform, because me must,
Though, everything, in the end, is dust.
So on through life we wend our way
Day follows day, day follows day,
And romance shines a beacon on
A youthful life that's quickly gone.
We are, it seems, illuminated
By stars that we've, ourselves, created
Until we learn that love is lust.
And everything, in the end, is dust.
We dwindle down, gold starts to rust,
And then, although we feel nonplussed,
We die. It should not seem unjust
For everything, in the end, is dust.
*
* Poetic Form: Ballade
The ballade (NOT ballad) was one of the principal forms of rhythmic and poetry in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century France. It contains three main stanzas, each with the same rhyme scheme, plus a shorter concluding stanza, or envoi. All four stanzas have identical final refrain lines. The tone of the ballade was often solemn and formal, with elaborate symbolism and classical references.
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Diana Leonard
HESITATION
Shall I? Shan't I? Will or Won't?
Could I? Can't I? Do or Don't?
Hesitation back and forth;
West and East and South and North.
Decisive people make me feel
As though my brain cells will congeal.
When I'm tempted to say 'Yes!'
Then I start to make a guess
At all the possibilities
That may result! I sort of freeze.
Suddenly I change my mind,
Leaving 'Yes' way, way behind.
'No!' I shout with exultation.
I have avoided tribulation!
Ah! But that other, daring route,
Who knows, it may have brought forth fruit.
Have I been a silly duffer?
Am I, therefore, going to suffer?
I toss and turn and bite my sheet;
My agony of mind's complete.
I want someone to so adore me
That he makes my decisions for me.
I must bite the bullet! Yes! I must!
Where are instincts I can trust?
Shall I? Shan't I? Will or Won't?
Could I? Can't I? Do or Don't?
*
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