Monday, January 10, 2011

2 early poems

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by rhoda penmarq



madness




doctor, am i going mad?
please be the friend i never had
tell me, are things what they seem
or are they only just a dream?

doctor, doctor, please tell me
is this life but a fantasy?
why in all the wide world free
must only i have eyes to see?

now am i afraid to sleep
lest creatures from the the swirling deep
rise up and swallow not just me
but all so-called humanity

why must i who had such faith
be now a disappearing wraith?
why must i lie in this dark room
my brain the screen of universal doom?





*


at the club




my grandfather soames
who made the family fortune
had difficulty getting his point across
to my grandmother emily

or to women in general
or to servants, foreigners, cab drivers, birds, cats or even dogs
but with horses and men of his own class
he got on very well indeed

when the automobile replaced the horse
he was devastated
and never really recovered

his eldest son, my cousin edmund
who had heretofore
(am i using that word correctly?)
languished in his father's shadow
became a champion race car driver



and quite the most famous
member of the family
his exploits had to be followed
in the new york times

because the transcript, of course
regarded them as unworthy of notice
i could go on in this vein for a while yet
but i fear that i am boring you

please forgive me
would you like another drink?




*


2 comments:

human being said...

mad is better than bad... no?

Dan Leo said...

Ha -- just keep 'em comin', rhoda.