April is the cruellest month, breeding
Fringe program deadlines, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull scripts with fresh ideas.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with club spots.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Underbelly
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Urban Garden.
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. [to be continued?]
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lovely stuff amigo.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds to me like Eliot's 'The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock' "...In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo....".
ReplyDeleteI like that stuff and I like this too: you're a poet! How much more will you surprise me, Giac? Naughty Laura, why didn't she tell me about you before?
Jay, thanks.
ReplyDeleteMarcella, thanks too, of course it's a spoof of Eliot's "The Waste Land":
http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html
Marcella, sorry to disappoint you, maybe this is why Laura didn't tell you about me before :-)
ReplyDeleteOf course, The Waste Land.....I'm sorry I'm getting old and words shuffle in and out of my mind. But you know when you read something you like, this turns a light back on and .... you find out you're even older than ever!
ReplyDeleteThanks to Laura... ;-)