An Aesthetic Christmas
Fair Lily lounges in the window seat
from a glass of chardonnay,
While Bosie pouts and stares down at his feet.
The lady of the house sits down to play.
plays a concerto in dancing notes,
Evocative of love and long-lost friends;
Light-hearted staves flowing like anecdotes.
the leaded window, snow descends.
Says Lily, tartly, "Lord, this snow is foul!"
La Bernhardt disagrees, "But it's divine!"
Bosie curves his lips into a scowl,
or introspective to opine.
Then Oscar says: "It's nothing, I declare,
But genie dust descending
through the air."
© 2002 Sara L. Russell
Christmas is very close to Panto Time,
are girls and girls are boys withal,
When stage managers weave their wanton rhyme,
And Cinders really shall
go to the ball.
Come sing of mighty, strapping men in tights,
With faces painted Widow Twankee style,
raise the curtain on such stunning sights
As bring pantomime-horse backsides to smile.
Behold, in fifteen
minutes I am on,
To strut the boards in boots and velvet hose;
The villain of the drama - and anon,
IT'S BEHIND YOU" sounds, as tension grows.
Young tubers laugh, I flee the scene of crime.
Lock up your sheep,
my friends, it's Panto Time!
Love and rockets,
© The Potato of Terror (P.O.T.), 2002
An Ululation to Panto-Spud,
by Extra Virgin Olive
Ah Pomme, the fairest maiden of the night,
You, gentlest succor of my World's
caress my heart with tendrils, slender, bright
to give, who takes delight in fancy's flight.
To take who
gives me pleasure when in sight.
No less in memory's eye, a mystic rite
of adoration, fertile troglodyte,
glance my joy incite;
whose touch a conflagration may ignite:
more hot, more firey than hot anthacite,
more kind, most like Snow-White;
more rousing of my fiercest appetite.
Legumes to your superiority
your grand authority.
© EV (extra virgin) Olive, 2002