16. Lines Written at the Request of BETTY

I long to feel you near me,
To caress your silken hair,
To slip my arm about your waist
And tell you that I care.

I yearn to take you in my arms
And crush you to my chest,
To feel the heavy rhythm
Of your palpitating breast.

I crave the heavenly nectar
Of your soul-destroying kiss,
To live though for a moment
In an ecstasy of bliss.

Alas, I am rejected
For you hold no answering flame,
With a chap like Jim so handy
You are not the one to blame.

Comments:  This poem was written during World War II.  The "Jim" of the poem was Jimmy Fishbourne, who later became my Father's "best man."  Betty was Jimmy's bride.

15. Lines Written after Reading "The Stray Lamb" by Thorne Smith

I fain would be a little bird
And flit amongst the trees,
I'd flit and fly and dive and swoop
And live a life of ease.

I'd sit upon your window sill
And sing a cheery song,
And when at night you go to bed
I too would go along.

Who wants to be a little bird
And flit amongst the trees?
With you, my dear, so near at hand
Who wants a life of ease?

Comments:  I do hope that "my dear" was my mother!

Thorne Smith was an American author best known for the three "Topper" books. In his Wikipedia entry, "The Stray Lamb" (1929) is described thusly:  Mild-mannered investment banker, cuckold, and dipsomaniac T. Lawrence Lamb gains perspective on the human condition during a series of mysterious transformations into various animal forms. ... This novel is included with "Turnabout" and "Rain in the Doorway" in "The Thorne Smith 3-Decker" (Sun Dial Press, 1933).

14. The Morning After

'Tis the day after Christmas and all through the flat
Not a creature is stirring, not even the cat.
The tree once displayed to the people who pass
Is now but a shambles of tinsel and glass.
The bright coloured playthings just fresh from the store
Lie battered and broken all over the floor.
The fifteen-pound turkey, so fat and so sleek
Is going to be used to make soup all next week.
And where are the dishes?  Well, where do you think?
As high as a mountain, they're piled in the sink.
My head aches like fury, my stomach complains,
My body is tortured with aches and with pains.
Though Christmastime brings all its good will and cheer,
I'm glad that it only comes once every year.


Comments:  With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore!  This is another poem that is out-of-time, with respect to our current calendar, but it's the next one in my Dad's collection.  (I disclaim all knowledge of cat or broken toys.)

13. Amateur Night, or Our Church Puts On a Play

It seemed a good idea just about six weeks ago,
For us to stage a play or two and make a little dough.
We chose a bunch of guys and gals to play the different parts,
We practiced and we practiced till we knew the thing by heart.

Then came the night, the grand premiere was just about to start,
The actors paced the dressing room, each one reviewed his part.
The lights went up, the curtain rose, a hush came o'er the place,
The Heroine tripped on the stage, and fell flat on her face.

The Hero hastened to her side, so quickly did he fly,
He slipped upon the well-waxed floor and gaily sailed right by.
We settled down to business then to do the play just right,
But nearly all the actresses were suffering from fright.

We missed our cues, forgot our lines, and stumbled on the stage,
Our quiet voiced director had by now worked up a rage.
One incident that brought a roar of laughter from the crowd:
The prompter stepped out on the stage and read the play aloud.

The Hero and the Villain fought to prove who was the boss.
The overanxious Villain threw the Hero for a loss.
The Father with a shotgun chased the Hero off the farm.
The Heroine with loving eyes swooned in the Villain's arms.

When the play was over, we came out to take a bow.
Someone in the back row shouted, "Let 'em have it now."
The air was thick with rotten fruit and age-old eggs to boot.
An overripe tomato caught the Hero on the snoot.

Though we made a lot of blunders and we muffed our lines a bit,
The play was quite a big success, it really was a hit.
We cared not for our victory or merits we had won.
To us the play had merely been a lot of good clean fun.