Where is the sun
Where is all fun?
You look like November!
My name is Barbie-Polly
I have a house of my own
And lots of nice gowns
And I love the strawberry lolly.
My little palace is wonderful
I am fond of it indeed
And I love to read
To be both clever and beautiful.
But my house is my prison
I am attached to it
Must sleep there, or sit
Will I lose there my reason?
It’s six in the morning:
Your alarm clock is screaming
A greyish dull day knocking at your door
Promising boring hours and nothing more
Your office is waiting for you
For you and your colleagues, too
Your alarm clock will triumph again
As you leave, in sleet or rain,
And a crowded tube will carry you away
Towards a senseless, bleak day…
Who would have thought
Or expected such glow
So many days in a row…
My white dahlia at the picture smiles, anyway,
Making a great day
In spite of the terrible heat
At the portrait it looks lovely and neat…
I admire my dahlia’s love of life
And don’t see the slightest sign of strife.
Life is beautiful
And unbelievably plentiful.
In peaceful hours, and alarms,
My truthful friend and mate,
Reliable, at any rate,
Welcome and thankful
For every word and phrase,
Never wanting to erase
anything… though my old laptop
Loved to delete, and crop.
Nevertheless, I didn’t mind
And found another kind
Of tools, and a new way
For fixing my humble day.
Strict as day and night
Old movie, nice and dear,
Brings you to tears.
The past and present times live side by side
And you can neither flee nor hide
Yesterday seems as real as today
And they meet for a while
You can only smile, with tears in your eyes…
And then the magic scene dies.
The car is failing again
But Life is great
Friends come never late!
And that’s what it seemed to say:
— Why don’t you look at me any more
As often as you did some time before?
I didn’t care to reply
Reluctant to tell the truth, or to lie.
My mirror looked a bit sad.
At last it sighed hard and said:
— Well, it seems I know why…
Take care, please, and good-bye.
OSCAR WILDE. SYMPHONY IN YELLOW
An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there, a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.
Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moved against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.
The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.
A yellow ship floats
Across the river
A girl stands and shivers
By a restless boat.
Big barges crawl
Through the thick twilight
Soon does come the night
The fog falls down like a yellow shawl.
The leaves lose their colour
And fly down from the grand elms
And the tired old Thames
Radiates some kind of valour.
A. Š. was my teacher when I was in my teens
But I still see Him like on a magic screen
A.Š. was demanding, but just
And our relations were built on trust.
A. Š. taught us literature,language and history
And He had a great private library
Being an avid reader our teacher infected us too
Not all, of course, but quite a few…
A.Š. was a great traveller and wrote tourist guides
And He was a stately handsome man besides.
Beautiful and nice
Where flowers smile every morning
Then you can smile back – that’s a real thing.
If you have books
Or just look
At them, then indeed
You are the happy one
Under this sun.
Life is rich in little treats and delights
Just don’t let them out of sight!