Poems Both Greasy and Graceful
Those who have been checking this blog faithfully (because you're awesome like that) know that this post wasn't here last Wednesday.
What happened was that I actually looked at the calendar and realised that I wouldn't have a 35 September to fall back on if I didn't start posting the poems I promised this week. =P
Besides, it just came to my attention that I now owe
Keep checking back as I post them one by one . . . UPDATE: Bat's poem is done! Two more to go . . . UPDATE: So is Stilwell's! (Sort of!) One more to go . . . UPDATE: And it only took over a year, but now I'm done with Antiaphrodite's too! =)
Question: Might she introduce me to that mysterious bright-eyed damsel by her side?
Grease the wheels of your romance, you ask?
Play cupid for another dear friend?
She already knows how the story will end . . .
Always the maker, never the match.
Always the batter, never the catch.
Always the serenade, never the ear.
Always the foam, never the beer.
Always the shooting star, never the wish.
Always the sinker, never the fish.
Always the wizard, never the spell.
Always the bucket, never the well.
Always the goblet, never the wine.
Always the prayer, never the sign.
Always the oyster, never the pearl.
Always the buddy, never the girl.
Grease the wheels of your romance, she will.
Always trust a romantic at heart.
She always knows how the story will start . . .
Question: Did you get very far?
Grace goes no distance, makes no time,
does not race with speed.
Grace is arriving when you should,
being where you said you would,
receiving what you need.
GreaseUPDATE: Grace (I'm sorry, Stilwell, but I just couldn't do it with "grease".)
Question: Was it love at first sight?
Had they known you would ask, they'd have paid more attention
To each meeting, appointment, encounter or mention
And now tell a true tale of romantic convention
. . . But love is not planted in times of such tension.
No greater mystery in love than the sowing
Of seeds in good ground and the place of pure knowing
No greater grace than the spring with the growing
. . . But green love is silent and never quite showing.
As the deep, rocky roots of a new world that waited
In light yet unseen, with a name yet unstated
The youth of creation can never be dated
. . . But love's age we presume easily estimated.
Question: Did she put up a fight?
Like Jacob with the Angel in the night,
She thought that Grace would come with the first light;
And later learned, like Noah in the ark,
That sometimes Grace,
Will come disguised as dark:
A secret from our sight.
While I take even more of my precious time keeping my promise, please visit everyone else's blogs, read their poems, and give them some encouraging feedback. =)