06-19-2015, 07:11 AM
I spent an evening with a poem.
I was certain that I could encourage her
to open up and let me savour her hidden delights.
I gave her flowers from my garden
and an ice sculpture that I had made.
I cooked a delicious meal using my own recipe.
I played piano, Beethoven then boogie-woogie.
I performed a recital, Hamlet then Muppet Christmas Carol.
I told some jokes that I had written,
I showed her pictures that I had painted.
Improvisational tap dance, sensational juggling,
rabbits from hats, elephants from balloons
and a triple backward somersault with a flourish.
I even gave an hour talk on my love for Japanese landscape art.
Nothing happened.
Everytime I looked at her
she was a question mark.
So...
I tied her to the dining table
and proceeded to execute
several different methods of truth extraction.
Waterboarding, water torture,
electrocution, election manifesto.
White noise, pink noise, noise noise,
double speed Barry Manilow,
half speed Barry White.
And still,
she remained silent,
refusing to share
anything but oxygen.
I gave her a hug and introduced her
to the stormy autumn evening.
She prefers red wine and that is all I know.
She spoke only once to answer my solitary question.
I doubt I'll ever see her again, which is fine by me;
I don't need her and all her metaphorical madness anyway.
In my world a spade is a,
"heavy metallic projection attached to the trail of a gun carriage that embeds itself into the ground and reduces recoil.",
and that's the way I like it.
I was certain that I could encourage her
to open up and let me savour her hidden delights.
I gave her flowers from my garden
and an ice sculpture that I had made.
I cooked a delicious meal using my own recipe.
I played piano, Beethoven then boogie-woogie.
I performed a recital, Hamlet then Muppet Christmas Carol.
I told some jokes that I had written,
I showed her pictures that I had painted.
Improvisational tap dance, sensational juggling,
rabbits from hats, elephants from balloons
and a triple backward somersault with a flourish.
I even gave an hour talk on my love for Japanese landscape art.
Nothing happened.
Everytime I looked at her
she was a question mark.
So...
I tied her to the dining table
and proceeded to execute
several different methods of truth extraction.
Waterboarding, water torture,
electrocution, election manifesto.
White noise, pink noise, noise noise,
double speed Barry Manilow,
half speed Barry White.
And still,
she remained silent,
refusing to share
anything but oxygen.
I gave her a hug and introduced her
to the stormy autumn evening.
She prefers red wine and that is all I know.
She spoke only once to answer my solitary question.
I doubt I'll ever see her again, which is fine by me;
I don't need her and all her metaphorical madness anyway.
In my world a spade is a,
"heavy metallic projection attached to the trail of a gun carriage that embeds itself into the ground and reduces recoil.",
and that's the way I like it.
wae aye man ye radgie
thoroughly enjoyed it