Greensleeves

Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.

Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
but still thou hadst it readily.
Thy music still to play and sing;
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

Love

The End of the Affair

When you talk to me
like I'm worthy of it
I'm the prettiest girl
in the whole fourth grade--
but then I remember
that tonight your wish
was to escape me.
When morning comes
you will leave again
and will I sit up in bed
remembering everything you said
and how it's no longer your problem
what, to me
your words have meant.

War

How could that little body grow up so hard?
I watched him as he trained
and I saw it when he changed
with visions of order
marching cleanly through his mind.
I finally asked him, Why aren't you afraid?
Why don't you worry over you like I do?
When he stood, his small frame towered over me.
Why should I be afraid? he asked.
I'm so ordinary.  They won't notice me.

Love

The Ex-Husband

I haven't mentioned you in months
and I won't again after this
but the house has never felt full
since your underwear was folded on the bed.
Nothing has been there since you.
I wonder if you remember
how it made you feel when I came home
your expectant face like an open door
and the words that filled us
like fire and water.

A Poem

Great-Grandpa, 1942

My grandmother's father had small, brave hands.
They decapitated chickens, churned butter to gold
and cut free the corpses of German deserters
hanged from the trees like black cocoons.
I'd like to ask him, Were you never frightened?
But of what? he would say, sounding like Grandma.
I was ordinary.  Who would notice me?

A Poem

Gentle Reader,

Here is a poem that I wrote in college.  That would have been 1998 or thereabouts.  I don't think it's fit for publication, but I like it enough to waste post it here.

* * *

Princess and Dragon

She hears him alight beside her bed
then sees his wings by the light of her candle.
Now the same claws that rended shields
gently yet tightly affix to her wrists.
His tail forms a ring, drawing her closer
snout against lips and scales upon breast
pulling her toward the moon, the window
with talon, tooth, and horn in turn.

Being ripped so abruptly from the deep of sleep
she has no prayer of resisting.
So he takes her up, into wind and cloud
and far beyond forest, mountain, and stream
until come morning he lets them both fall
along with the dew to unfamiliar ground.

* * *

I think I was reading way too much Yeats.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy

About the Blog's Name

Gentle Reader,

Not that anyone has asked me where the title of this blog came from... but in case someone wonders, here is the story behind it.

The title is from the last line of a poem that I wrote back in college.  This would have been around 2000 or 2001.  We had an assignment to write a piece about a relative or ancestor that contained particular elements.  I chose my great-grandfather, my mother's mother's father, as he was on my mind at the time.

Here is the piece that I wrote.

* * *

Grandfather, 1939

My grandfather wore a peculiar mustache
but he took his last good razor to it
as Germany picked at the bones of Poland.
I imagine him
through lean years as a refugee
when a fresh blade was a happy dream
and his lip's only comfort
was the mercy of calluses.

* * *

The title will also play a prominent role in an upcoming project.

Ever Yours,
Fauntleroy