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  Cheeriozy! James Brenan.. 1837-1907 (Irish country girl,) Cheeriozy! Play of one act, one set. Characters: An anonymous man. Pete..a supervisor. Keith..plumber. John M. ..Builder. Scene : Man sitting at the front bar, he takes a sip from a pint glass of beer. Turns as if talking to yourself sitting on the next stool in conversation. Man: “Funny you should mention that..was sitting here in this exact spot Friday, a month or so ago talking to Pete on this very subject..about losing one’s parents..I ‘spose because we are all older now ourselves, so it comes as no longer an immediate sorrow, but rather one lived through so many years ago. And we got onto all the reactions one experiences at the funeral, what with all the rellies gathered and friends and some strangers one doesn’t even know but is informed later on in hushed whispers or whatever.” (He pauses to drink from his pint of beer and motions to the barperso...
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  Love is an Equation. Scholar of Natural Sciences, 1880 by Carl Spitzweg . Love is an Equation. With every new friendship, and all its entice, Love doesn’t decrease at all, it just multiplies, With every passing of breath, in that ending demise, Life doesn’t cease at all ; it’s just a compromise. (chorus) Love is an equation, A moment of sudden elation, The pause before persuasion. A catch of breath before it calls. * When we fall again in love, even not young at all, We be as youthful lovers, when love it comes to call, And it may be many reasons, and maybe any cause, The hunger it never ceases, it’s just a long, lonely pause. (chorus) For love it is an equation, A moment of sudden elation, The pause before persuasion. A catch of breath before it calls. * If we are waiting answers, like a train before it calls, We could be waiting forever, like a spoiled expectant...
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  Affection granted. Wilhelm Marstrand (1810-1873), Italian osteria. Affection granted. She draws himself to her, Like a moth to a lamp, And should she lower coquettish eyes to him, Would signal an inviting vamp. What would the measure of manhood be, If this moment comes he not ready be, Refusing her comely company, In exchange for some banal pleasantry? A man must read such signals fine, Should she consider or change her mind, For ‘tis woman’s privilege to hold control, Choosing surrender or turning a shoulder cold! These signals given with so delicate touch, Are taught, boyhood till becometh a man in truth, Father to son..peer to peer..old man to youth. ‘Twould be grave error to misread those signs, Like stumble naked into a thicket of thorns, More than scraped knees would suffer forlorn! So gentle man I would remind thee and warn, Heed astute those feminine signals code, L...
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  Sacred Heart. Aphrodite 1902.. Briton Riviere Sacred Heart. It is written that God is a jealous God, But would he envious be if I serenade thee? For thou is given as one of his “brides”, Yet would he deny us a secret covent of desire, Better surely should he look down and smile, For himself has ordained that man to woman be one, And if I cannot sing my songs of love to you, What measure of achievement be his deeds done, What measure of compassion be his wisdom, To deny one so lesser the simple joy of admiring you, Let your soul be his, for so it is destined to be, But when evening settles it debt, let thy heart belong to me, Let Aphrodite direct instead these lovers’ desires, So that when we come to the end of our time, The innocence of intent, the purity of passion spent.. Such enduring joy of what was yours, what was mine, Let this elation of heart’s desire, be lift’d to a height sublime.
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  Wasted Chance.. A wasted chance. When the others are all gone, When the flatterers are all done, And the daylight hours seem empty, And the nights interminable long, With age not being kind to thee, That has left you tired and lame, It’s then that you may remember me, It’s then that you’ll recall my lover’s song. I wrote the words with tender rhyme, My heart full on my sleeve all that time, But of my sincerity you saw but dross, And of myself scorned as no loss, As you described me as just a toss. It saddens me to think a chance was there, To touch heart to heart, joy to share, For rare are such chances given, When strangers touch through life’s cloth woven, Even though we be not similar driven, ‘Tis insult upon Aphrodite’s blessing given, Instead to callously take such tender cloth.. and riven.
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  The Handkerchief.. The Handkerchief. . If memory serves, and doth serve me well, ‘Twas a chance meeting on the steps of St. Paul’s, Was a service for some civil event or other, Tho’ what, for the life of me, one no longer recalls, But I was passing on those wide, gracious steps, When it caught my eye that her hanky she dropped, Was pure chance I was there to snatch it from the wind, And I remember thinking ; “what a delicate thing”… Unusual for a woman of these times, When forceful character is demand of the independent kind, To clutch an embroided haberdash’d cloth so fine, Seemed to me to frame a delicate but thoughtful mind. Another fortunate stroke of fickle luck, Happened as I politely proffered it back, For that sprightly wind then tried to snatch her hat, And she had to act quickly to repel such attack, So she, and me with hat and hanky in tow, Made our way to a sheltered elbow, ...
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  A Murmur of People. A Murmur of People. Like the murmur of starlings sweeping across the sky, With no discernible reason nor why, They change direction with little more than sudden swing, So does the human mob sweep all before its fickle whim, Like a murmur of birds in full flight, The petulance of demand backed with political might, Be it completely foolish, demented or just profit scented, So does the human mob sweep all before it strikes, To break, smash, destroy every created thing, The vacuous cry of its right, a trumpet of raucous note, No melodic tune, just  blunt, abstract screeching rote, Spoken in a stuttering, stumbling, ill-conceived trope, One in all in murmur of blind faith sweeping across the sky, No logic, no inspiration, no discernible reason why, Just one long petulant, lamenting cry!
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