Poems
by Mary Cresswell
Santa Sings The Blues
Shall I compare thee to a bottomless pit
whose sides reverberate to “Gimme, gimme,
gimme more – is this all I’m gonna get?”
before I’m bloody halfway out the chimney?
Oft-times too hot thy little pinkies clutch
and too heavy thy dulcet grizzles weigh
to justify my giving overmuch
to such as thee. I can but only say:
How many diamonds can one woman wear?
How many Manolos or Jimmy Choos?
To fulfil thy lusts is more than I can bear
and keep a credit balance to peruse.
I gift thee but thy greed, that glows so steady.
My angel, thou hast too damn much already.
How To Dedicate A Scholarly Work
Perhaps you should mark how the apples fell
or thank a village, toutes complete,
or add your mother’s name as well?
Put your audience under a spell —
that can keep your endeavour sweet
or make your swoop a little more fell.
Out in the world, who can foretell
whose recognition is most upbeat?
(Mama, Mama! I hear you yell.)
Dedication could be the chore from hell
Depending on whether you’ve milked the teat.
Maybe just note where the apple fell?
If you suss variation you’ll be able to tell
the top of the flock from its well-dragged feet
or who feels good and who feels well...
Whatever you do, be it on- or off-beat
you can give it a hard or a softer sell
if you know to mark how the apples fell
and say thanks that your mother did so well!
Observation [2023]
Busy old fool, unruly moon
Palm Sunday, Passover, blood-red eclipse
so many faces for three short nights
plus ça change
plus la même moon
Sonnenizio On A Line By Poe
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Auld lang syne is better than a rest
and a structured seance brings us joy
if not much sense. Memory in harness
preserves the sighings of the brain
leaving the world an easier place for scions
who grew up deferring to signs and symbols
and other things to which meaning is assigned.
You give us meaning for all seasons
a sensible way to approach truth, to learn
rather than just sigh and wring our hands.
Is this the way to see an end to unsigned poetic waffle?
Let others have their Erewhons and Zions,
but I’ll put my money on the joys of Science.
Snog Of Snogs
Which Never Was Solomon’s
You’re a garden enclosed,
O my beloved,
a sheep paddock fenced
a motorway blocked—
completely opposed
to talking it over
to any intrusion
of rational thought.
At letters and notes
you grumble and grunt
e-mails count as
intolerable drivel ...
Might I reach you by phone?
Perhaps just this once
we could sit down and talk
on a cellular level!
