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This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
*** This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg eBook. Details Below. ****** Please follow the copyright guidelines in this file. ***
*** This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg eBook. Details Below. ***
*** Please follow the copyright guidelines in this file. ***
Title: GossipAuthor: Mona GouldRelease date: November 15, 2010 [eBook #34330]Language: English
Title: Gossip
Author: Mona Gould
Author: Mona Gould
Release date: November 15, 2010 [eBook #34330]
Language: English
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOSSIP ***
Copyright (C) 1949 by the Estate of Mona Gould.
Foreward The two Monas, whose joint name has confused Gossip readers these long years, have finally come out on the Canadian scene as the two distinct people they are - Mona Gould, the poet, whose verse has charmed and intrigued, and Mona Clark, the editor, who brought this verse to Gossip's pages.
The two Monas hope that this collection has all the poems you have liked best.
Sincerely,Mona ClarkMona Gould
Apple Orchard
White as popcorn, was the treeAnd underneath it on the leaA little goat looked up at me.
Bright and wicked was his glanceIn that orchard's sweet expanseIn a mocking sort of danceMoved his hooves.
He was Pan, and he was SpringWith a sudden saucy springOff he flew . . .Just a shadow in the air . . .Was he really ever there?
For all Ear-Pinners
There are some peopleWho delightIn pinning people's earsBack tight.I'd love to be on handThat dayWhen things work outThe other way!
To Snow … or Not to Snow!
Feather down soft deep snowFeather down . . . I implore you.The part of me that's PoetSimply adores you!The part of me that's "working girl"Equally abhors you!Snow is like thistledownFiligree-ing trees:But waiting for street cars . . .It's wet ankles andKnees!
Counsel
Heart, be very cautious nowRemember . . . once beforeLove was like a bright room . . .Then a slammed door!
In a Fit of Pique
If you have not learned to give proudlyDo not prate to me of "love"!There are those, who as childrenClutch tight the bottom, of the candy-bagSaying "Help yourself"But making very sureThe gift is limited.These children grow up to beStingy lovers.I have no patience with them!
It Doesn't Matter
It doesn't matter much to meAbout a person's family treeOr what his special vices areOr if he drives a custom carOr if his Clubs are old and formalAs long as he is nice and normal!
Sherry
Sherry . . . twinkling in a little glassWarm as snared sunlightA pool of golden lightTo make a flight of dreams.(I can see your eyesTwinkling back at the Sherry.Merry as all "get out"!)Even when I am a very ancient ladyAnd the decanter goes roundI shall remember you with a sweet shock . . .I'll be bound!
Last of the Line
Ah, primitive and hardyOur fathers were . . . of old . . .But even on my brightest daysI can't quite shower . . . cold!
Teen Age
They talk of sooper dooper thingsAnd wear each other's pins and rings.They swim and dance and ski and smokeAnd get a bang from lemon coke.
Play records . . . speak of Dizz and DukeAnd dance wherever there's a Juke.Chameleon-like, they change and varyAnd suddenly grow up . . . and marry!
Top Toad
He always said:"I'd rather be deadThan be a small toad in a big puddle.I like the huddle and power I have in a small town" . . .Then, (with a black frown)"I prefer to be a big toad in a little puddle"!The only thing that struck youAs you watched his steam-roller tactics down his narrow roadHe'd somehow . . . begun to resemble his own model . . .The big toad!
War Weary
Some ladies love to sleep aloneIn solitary stateChaste . . . unruffled and serene:This . . . I . . . hate!
Ice-Steria
Whenever it is "three below"I wish myself in MexicoOr dancing with a HottentotOr anywhere where I am not!
Aftermath
After holiday foodI feel so hell-ryI long to subsist On tea and cel'ry!
Moot Question
Why is itWhen the wind blowsI get a red noseSome gals get all dewy-eyedAnd fresh . . . and sort of"jeune fille"You should see me!
Lunch Hour
The conversation murmurs in a steady "thrum"With little quick arpeggiosOf treble laughter.The tables are arrangedIn preciselyThe same order.Nothing is changedSave the day . . . and the year . . .And the certain knowledgeYou'll not be here!Fair WarningIt may be wisdom, dearest man,To subjugate me while you can.Because some day I do intendTo seek the roadway's farthest end.
Witch
"I'll put a little 'hex' on youTo make your drinks a bitter brewIf you forget me!"This, I vowedAnd all you didWas laugh aloud.
"Perched on an ice cubeIn your glassI'll scowl and say;"A pretty pass!To snatch a lady's heart … and run . . .Egad! me lad! It isn't done!"Silly of me, my Sweet, to taunt youWith childish threats of how I'd haunt you!But still . . . I tell you, if I couldO darling heart . . . of course I would!
Ballet Moment
Color, that is like the diffusionOf the bronze gongAnd little tinkling cymbals.Highlight on hands and cheekbonesFlying Oriental browSmooth hair!
Points . . . piquant as almond budsCostumes like Chinese lanternsSwaying . . .Belling in . . . and out.Pity sleep in the curve of her palmsAnger in the thrust of her shoulders.This is a maskCome to lifeAnd dancing!
Brave Voyage
Come, my SweetLet us walk in the sleet(If you can keep your feet!)
Creep like a couple of snailsClinging to railsWhen all else fails.Poets have sung of walking in rain,Or even snow . . .Fain would I go in the sleet . . .(If you can keep your feet!)
Ultimatum
Another blizzard andWell . . . I Warn YuhI'm off like a streak To California!
Black Coffee
Smiling sweetly, respected trullsDrinking coffee from polished skulls.A touch of arsenic, "One lump, or two?"And the cups go round with their deadly brew.The Atomic Bomb is an awesome thingBut so is woman . . .Gossipping!
Sufficient Reason
I prostitute my ArtBecause it's tactical;For starving in a garretIsn't practical!
His Mistress is Heard Singing
"I long to turn to you and say:Hullo my Darling. . .How was your day"What did you doAnd who did you meetAnd what was the 'to-do'Down the street?"These are the littleThe darling thingsThat go togetherWith wedding rings!
Wide World
O when you lock your doors each nightYou either shut the world outsideOr else your own four walls enfoldA planet twice as far and wide!
Tsk! Tsk! Mister Santa!If Santa Claus comes down my chimneyThis yearAnd puts sooty big foot marksAll over my white hearth rugI'm going to give him What for!
Last yearHe not only knocked half the ornaments off the tree,And generally bunged things up,But he insisted on putting beer bottle topsIn the twins' stockingsInstead of the annual quarter.If Santa Claus comes down my chimneyThis yearAnd doesn't mind his "p's" and "q's" . . .I'll send him off to bedAnd finish the job myself!
Sorcery
What is this shock of sweet delightThat puts all sober thoughts to flightOn hearing someone speak your nameThis little candle in my heartThat glows and burns and warms each partOf day and night. This friendly thingThat stirs in me till I must sing.Your look and voice, the enchanting wayYou pin a flower on my day!
Everywoman Song
O some men are married to gorgonsWho swallow them at one swallow,And some are married to frigidairesAnd dwell in an icy hollow.And some there arc, that are bound in chainsAs golden as they can beBut you're the luckiest one of allFor Darling . . . you've just got me!
Sung in High Dudgeon!
I'd like to be the deadly typeWho plunge the knife . . . before they wipeThe previous victim's flowing goreFrom off the blade. Sad to relate I seem to beThe victim! … A chicken-hearted sort of thingI've no desire for "skewering"My fellow man.But by observing I may learnTo give that rapier lightning turn!
Wise Child
To sing to you would be absurd.You'd not believe a single word!To touch you would be madder still,And so I sit and fill . . . and fillMy eyes with looking. Like a childWho sees an iced cake,But knows from sad experienceThe tummy ache!
Women are Like That
"Here, in the drift of the dunes" he said,"Turn your head"!"Now the curve of your throat is a troubling songYour face is a flower, dreaming and white,My heart cries out in the rapturous night.Give me your lips and your heart", said he,But she shook her head . . . emphatically!"Gee, but you're sweet!", the other said,And tilted back her little headAppreciatively.He didn't call her "fairest one",She didn't mind … or think it queer …But looked on him, adoringly,And whispered . . ."O my Dearest Dear"!
Tea-Party
They get their heads together,The honeyed malice drips.And all the gentler little wivesGet out their blacksnake whips.
It's such a pleasant pastimeThe hours simply fly.Before they know it's time to goBut who will make the tryO who will have the fortitudeTo rise and first departKnowing full well the hungry hordeIs dining on her heart!
Hobson's Choice
Life is a roseAnd life is a thistle -And life is the screech of a steamboat's whistleBut nevertheless - if you asked the DeadThey'd probably choose to be in your bed!
Letter from Paris
You write of Paris like a manTelling of the woman he loves.There is love in the lines that draw the city under rain;The higgeldy-piggeldy garretsThat climb crazily against the tender pink of the sky;Montmartre, with the cafés, just as you'd read they'd be!Everything just as glamorous . . . just as excitingA gay … a mocking . . . a shining, shimmering placeA feminine city!Your regret at leaving ParisIs like parting from a woman.Paris has wounded youWith her loveliness!
Conjecture
Why should I think of youAs a Perewinkle?Retired . . .Out of sight in your shell . . .Safe!I wonder what would happenIf once again in your lifetimeSomeone, armed with a sharp pin,Pricked you into the daylight?
Time Was
When you were here, life did not runIn prim and ordered placid rowsThe sky was full of spinning starsAnd laughter danced upon its toes!
"Track"!
This is release;This, the sloughing off of the outer husk;The spruces leanTo clutch you in a green embrace;But your spirit has already outstripped themFlying in arrowy rhythmRound a sudden turn In the ski trail!
Travellers
We traveled down a grassy roadO sweet it was to wander!And parted at the forks of itAnd this is what I ponder:Would it have been a braver thingFor us to stay together,In spite of any single thing . . .Against whatever weather?
Ailurophile
When neighbours' cats begin to yowl and yammerYou always want to hit them with a hammer!But when your own puts on this spring displayYou almost always wonder "Should we spay?" …Or "Shall we add another to our flockAnd just have kittens, all around the clock"?O isn't it a thing both true and queerThat one cat's "calling" falling on the earIs troublesome . . . a noisome impositionWhile with your cat it's just his disposition,And all his other graces far outnumberThe yearly Spring nocturnal break of slumber!
Word to the Wise
Little lady never prayA ring of gold to wearLest you find it in your nose -Much to your despair!
Results
I have never asked for muchFrom this world's anointed:Strange to say from day to dayI've not been disappointed!
Why?
The lady 'neath the smallest hatIs often very short and fat;While "slivers", slick and very tallWear cartwheels, like a parasol!
Aspiration
I'd like to be a criticBut one who didn't writeThen, when I gouged their eyes outThey couldn't turn and bite!
Island Parting (Muskoka)
How hard it is to say "good-by" to an Island,Rising tall, with its trees out of clear waterTawny in the shallows.Here, white birches bare their shining bonesTo summer moonlight;And one blue heron lifts himself with terrible beautyInto the evening.I cannot say why Islands do this to me.I only know that putting out into the open gapBound for the MainlandIs like loosing hands with one you loveToo much!
Photogenic
It must be nice to be photogenic;To not have to get in to a panicWhen you "see the birdie".To just sit there . . . smug . . .While they snap your mug.And to know you'll look likeGarbo . . . or Hedy LamarrIn the finished photo.Not . . . Mr. Moto!
Salad Bar
There's nothing sadder in this worldThan stale stuffed celery, over-curled!
In The Swim
O to be a Petty galNow that summer's here,With thigh and breast and tawny crestAnd slick and stream-lined "rear"To lounge against the gilded sandsAs in a billboard adWhile some Adonis, thick of neck,A great athletic cadLeans over one with tender sighAnd whispers soft and low"The Company who made your suitDesigned these trunks, you know"!
Adversary
She stuck her little hat pin inAnd gave a practiced twist.The only thing that saves my prideOn someone with a tougher hideShe'll break her little wrist!
Traitor
You said my faceWas like a maskA little white unstirred expanseWhere no emotion came to dance.
You said my eyes were secret eyesThat wore a mocking shy disguise.
You said, "No matter how you tryYour mouth betrays you, by and by?"
Sheepskin
An education used to beA thing of strict gentilityWith Classics solid as a rockAnd stresses laid on culture talk.Now . . . when he graduates - a manMust just make money with élan!
Alien
O I am homesick every dayFor places I shall never stay.For tinkling bells in SamarkandWhere shadows weave a saraband,And London streets and Paris nightsAnd O a thousand warm delightsIn places strange and far from hereAnd . . . (naturellement) doubly dear!
Cameo
I can't insult my heart againBy crying over gentlemen.But rather trot it out to teaWith ladies of gentility,Whose talk and bread sliced neat and thinWill lift me from the straits I'm in!
Renegade
Mask
You may make your mouth upScarlet as a courtesan's . . .Thin sophisticationLurks in scarlet paintEven masked in satireStill your eyes betray youPlaying tarnished ladyFunny little saint!
If This be Good …
If this be goodThen it shall lastFar past the rasp Of Sexton's spade . . .Far past the snow of winter laidOn sleeping garden;Some part of this will still endureOn Time's wide stream;Some single sure enchanted momentCaught up in space will shine forever.And in my heart I'm very sureWhich little moment will endure!
Disenchanted
They always say, "Be good, sweet childAnd let who will … be clever".But does this course pay dividends?I answer . . . hardly ever!
Figment
It's snowing feathers to-day.Bits of maribouFrom some very frivolous angel'sBed-Jacket!
Unbiased Comment
Small furry creatures part with lifeTo deck each plutocratic wife.And many a tender throat is wraptIn silky softness someone trapped.I don't condemn this savage riteNor wince to see the endless sightOf lovely ladies wrapt in fur . . .Egad! I only wish I were!
Venomous Woman
She has avaricious fingersOn which there lingersThe bitter scent of almonds.Poisonous woman!How her nailsGlitter in the candlelight.Only her eyesSuddenly tear you apart.There is a look in themOf one who gazed on deathAnd found itBeautiful!
Bookshops
Bookshops have a lovely smellSweet and sour . . . heaven and hell.Dust and mould, and something magic,Laughter, cheek by jowl with tragicSongs the Muses used to sing . . .I love bookshops, in the spring!
Powder Room
At every little crystal squareGrave women creatures sit and stareAt what the day has done to marFrail personal beauty; puff and jarAnd lip rouge tubes are taken outTo dye each thoughtful waiting pout;No hurried smear . . . a careful riteThen infinite scansion in the light.The final look,The little smileTriumphant . . . careful . . . full of guileAbsorbed completely in her taskEach "Eve" adjusts her powdered mask!
Bend Your Head
Bend your head and kiss my handAnd tell me tales of Samarkand.Weave a web of lovely wordsThat I may count like singing birdsThat I may set upon my sillWhen you have left me . . . As you will!
Promise
I shall not weep when you goBut don a scarlet dressAnd I shall sing a gay songAnd you shall never guess.
And I shall dance when you goWith other eager menAnd make my heart forget you . . .And you shall want me, then!
Remnant
You promised me Fidelity.I got a ring -I got a vow -And now . . .I got a ring!
Aware
I hope I never quite get overThe smell of rainy summer clover;Or how a willow tree at nightCan make a silver sort of light;Or how a child with lifted faceCan make a holy sort of place!
Out of Loneliness …
Out of a loneliness more deepThan quiet death.Out of a sleepAs cold as ice . . . more drear, more chillI hunger up toward dreaming;Fill my hands with flowers,Tread a measure against bright candles,Bare my throat to Autumn moonlightCry to the stars that love rides byAgainst whatever midnight sky!
Chalk Talk
Sometimes I tell myself"Chumley! It's about time you acquired a little dignity.Not much.Just a touch.Take to wearing a hatAnd the like of that.Quit enjoying the society of youth in the formative stageIn other words . . . "Act your age"!I've gone into this subject with myself beforeBut it's such a bore!I know what will come of it.One day they'll be saying"What a silly old person she is . . .Flighty . . .Maybe touched in the head" . . .And will my face be red!But I fancy in the final analysisWe follow our natural bent.So I shan't relent.Dignity comes to us allDressed in a shroud.Forgive . . . if just for a little . . .I laugh aloud!
On the T. T. C.
Assorted people sit or rideForced intimates: and "hide to hide"As close as in a double bedThey touch at thigh and arm and headAnd then get off . . . and go awayTo ride again . . . some other day!
Ode
If this is springYou can have the thing!
Old Hand
Love is a dreamAnd love is pain,Love is a songAnd love is a chain.But love is a thingWe can't foregoTake my word for itI've tried . . .I know!
Observation
A mermaid was a fabled sea creatureCold-eyedBut beautiful of face.Enchanting . . . heartless.Half woman.Half fish!Do you know,I looked about me to-dayAnd thoughtOf how many womenAre reallyMermaids!Fall FiresO scudding sky-O windy dayYou snare my soul.And fey . . . as feyI wander down a curving streetTo scuff the leaves against my feetAnd smell the smoke that curls the airAnd find the Autumn wondrous fair!
Now is the Time
Now is the time when falling snowDrifts soft as flowerlets.Far belowThe dark earth stretching in her sleepIs full of secrets.Children keep one little ear above each coverLest in the night they might discoverThe sound of hoofbeats in the airAnd know that Santa Claus is there!
Self-Portrait. (Drawn in Dust on a Table Top)
Tho' I'd love to be neatI admit defeat.Some women's shoes are on racksMine are in stacks.
I can never find a needle or pinThey're never in what I put them in.And when I emerge in confusionFrom this rudderless fogI closely resemble a somethingYou'd find under a log!
Be Good!
"Be good, my child" the sages saidAnd packed me off to early bed.I didn't mind when I was smallAnd never loitered in the hallBut climbed the stair and clicked the lightAnd closed my eyes against the night.But now . . . upon the sill I leanAnd feel the wind across my throatAnd tremble when the moon is newAnd watch the stars the whole night throughFor love has set his sign on me . . .And I am neither young . . . nor free!
Camouflage
I said:"I will sing you a song in the nightHow your eves wear desire and your voice holds delightBut I'll sing it so softly you'll never believeThat this thing is my heart that I wear on my sleeve.
Observation
To find an oyster in a seafood saladIs quite a surprise to the average "palad".
Sixteen
How can a guy absorb this knowledgeAnd get himself ready for ruddy college;How can he concentrate at allWhen he just passed a dream in the upper hall!
Hush
There is an hourWhen earth and skyMerge in the twilightWith a sort of sigh.Trees touch the skyline . . .Birds, the earth,And stars are shakenWith twinkling mirth.And it's just as wellIf you're all aloneTo plug the lineOf your telephone!
First Snow
Just a thin flurryBut the first snow!Always exciting . . .Full of pictures . . .Overstockings of red wool,Mittens to match,And a toboggan capWith a bob on it.Bruised thumbsFrom struggling with tight overshoes -A plaid kiltWith a green velveteen jacketAnd a real lace collar.A teacher's face,Slightly harriedBending over solicitous buttons.The beautiful breathlessnessOf the first belly flopOn the small red sleigh.Just a thin flurryBut the first snow!
Mirror
I looked in a mirrorAnd all I sawWas the pitiless scarOf Time's sharp claw.But over a candleI looked in your eyesAnd there, reflectedTo my surpriseWas a lovely person . . .Unflawed . . . soignée . . .So you'll be my mirrorAfter to-day!
Portrait
She's sure of herselfSafe as the Mint.And her soul is madeOf flowered print!