The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gossip 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 at www.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. *** Title: Gossip 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 Clark Mona Gould Apple Orchard White as popcorn, was the tree And underneath it on the lea A little goat looked up at me. Bright and wicked was his glance In that orchard's sweet expanse In a mocking sort of dance Moved his hooves. He was Pan, and he was Spring With a sudden saucy spring Off he flew . . . Just a shadow in the air . . . Was he really ever there? For all Ear-Pinners There are some people Who delight In pinning people's ears Back tight. I'd love to be on hand That day When things work out The other way! To Snow ... or Not to Snow! Feather down soft deep snow Feather down . . . I implore you. The part of me that's Poet Simply adores you! The part of me that's "working girl" Equally abhors you! Snow is like thistledown Filigree-ing trees: But waiting for street cars . . . It's wet ankles and Knees! Counsel Heart, be very cautious now Remember . . . once before Love was like a bright room . . . Then a slammed door! In a Fit of Pique If you have not learned to give proudly Do not prate to me of "love"! There are those, who as children Clutch tight the bottom, of the candy-bag Saying "Help yourself" But making very sure The gift is limited. These children grow up to be Stingy lovers. I have no patience with them! It Doesn't Matter It doesn't matter much to me About a person's family tree Or what his special vices are Or if he drives a custom car Or if his Clubs are old and formal As long as he is nice and normal! Sherry Sherry . . . twinkling in a little glass Warm as snared sunlight A pool of golden light To make a flight of dreams. (I can see your eyes Twinkling back at the Sherry. Merry as all "get out"!) Even when I am a very ancient lady And the decanter goes round I shall remember you with a sweet shock . . . I'll be bound! Last of the Line Ah, primitive and hardy Our fathers were . . . of old . . . But even on my brightest days I can't quite shower . . . cold! Teen Age They talk of sooper dooper things And wear each other's pins and rings. They swim and dance and ski and smoke And get a bang from lemon coke. Play records . . . speak of Dizz and Duke And dance wherever there's a Juke. Chameleon-like, they change and vary And suddenly grow up . . . and marry! Top Toad He always said: "I'd rather be dead Than 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 you As you watched his steam-roller tactics down his narrow road He'd somehow . . . begun to resemble his own model . . . The big toad! War Weary Some ladies love to sleep alone In solitary state Chaste . . . unruffled and serene: This . . . I . . . hate! Ice-Steria Whenever it is "three below" I wish myself in Mexico Or dancing with a Hottentot Or anywhere where I am not! Aftermath After holiday food I feel so hell-ry I long to subsist On tea and cel'ry! Moot Question Why is it When the wind blows I get a red nose Some gals get all dewy-eyed And fresh . . . and sort of "jeune fille" You should see me! Lunch Hour The conversation murmurs in a steady "thrum" With little quick arpeggios Of treble laughter. The tables are arranged In precisely The same order. Nothing is changed Save the day . . . and the year . . . And the certain knowledge You'll not be here! Fair Warning It may be wisdom, dearest man, To subjugate me while you can. Because some day I do intend To seek the roadway's farthest end. Witch "I'll put a little 'hex' on you To make your drinks a bitter brew If you forget me!" This, I vowed And all you did Was laugh aloud. "Perched on an ice cube In your glass I'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 you With childish threats of how I'd haunt you! But still . . . I tell you, if I could O darling heart . . . of course I would! Ballet Moment Color, that is like the diffusion Of the bronze gong And little tinkling cymbals. Highlight on hands and cheekbones Flying Oriental brow Smooth hair! Points . . . piquant as almond buds Costumes like Chinese lanterns Swaying . . . Belling in . . . and out. Pity sleep in the curve of her palms Anger in the thrust of her shoulders. This is a mask Come to life And dancing! Brave Voyage Come, my Sweet Let us walk in the sleet (If you can keep your feet!) Creep like a couple of snails Clinging to rails When 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 and Well . . . I Warn Yuh I'm off like a streak To California! Black Coffee Smiling sweetly, respected trulls Drinking 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 thing But so is woman . . . Gossipping! Sufficient Reason I prostitute my Art Because it's tactical; For starving in a garret Isn'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 do And who did you meet And what was the 'to-do' Down the street?" These are the little The darling things That go together With wedding rings! Wide World O when you lock your doors each night You either shut the world outside Or else your own four walls enfold A planet twice as far and wide! Tsk! Tsk! Mister Santa! If Santa Claus comes down my chimney This year And puts sooty big foot marks All over my white hearth rug I'm going to give him What for! Last year He not only knocked half the ornaments off the tree, And generally bunged things up, But he insisted on putting beer bottle tops In the twins' stockings Instead of the annual quarter. If Santa Claus comes down my chimney This year And doesn't mind his "p's" and "q's" . . . I'll send him off to bed And finish the job myself! Sorcery What is this shock of sweet delight That puts all sober thoughts to flight On hearing someone speak your name This little candle in my heart That glows and burns and warms each part Of day and night. This friendly thing That stirs in me till I must sing. Your look and voice, the enchanting way You pin a flower on my day! Everywoman Song O some men are married to gorgons Who swallow them at one swallow, And some are married to frigidaires And dwell in an icy hollow. And some there arc, that are bound in chains As golden as they can be But you're the luckiest one of all For Darling . . . you've just got me! Sung in High Dudgeon! I'd like to be the deadly type Who plunge the knife . . . before they wipe The previous victim's flowing gore From off the blade. Sad to relate I seem to be The victim! ... A chicken-hearted sort of thing I've no desire for "skewering" My fellow man. But by observing I may learn To 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 fill My eyes with looking. Like a child Who sees an iced cake, But knows from sad experience The 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 song Your 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 head Appreciatively. 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 wives Get out their blacksnake whips. It's such a pleasant pastime The hours simply fly. Before they know it's time to go But who will make the try O who will have the fortitude To rise and first depart Knowing full well the hungry horde Is dining on her heart! Hobson's Choice Life is a rose And life is a thistle - And life is the screech of a steamboat's whistle But nevertheless - if you asked the Dead They'd probably choose to be in your bed! Letter from Paris You write of Paris like a man Telling of the woman he loves. There is love in the lines that draw the city under rain; The higgeldy-piggeldy garrets That 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 exciting A gay ... a mocking . . . a shining, shimmering place A feminine city! Your regret at leaving Paris Is like parting from a woman. Paris has wounded you With her loveliness! Conjecture Why should I think of you As a Perewinkle? Retired . . . Out of sight in your shell . . . Safe! I wonder what would happen If once again in your lifetime Someone, armed with a sharp pin, Pricked you into the daylight? Time Was When you were here, life did not run In prim and ordered placid rows The sky was full of spinning stars And laughter danced upon its toes! "Track"! This is release; This, the sloughing off of the outer husk; The spruces lean To clutch you in a green embrace; But your spirit has already outstripped them Flying in arrowy rhythm Round a sudden turn In the ski trail! Travellers We traveled down a grassy road O sweet it was to wander! And parted at the forks of it And this is what I ponder: Would it have been a braver thing For us to stay together, In spite of any single thing . . . Against whatever weather? Ailurophile When neighbours' cats begin to yowl and yammer You always want to hit them with a hammer! But when your own puts on this spring display You almost always wonder "Should we spay?" ... Or "Shall we add another to our flock And just have kittens, all around the clock"? O isn't it a thing both true and queer That one cat's "calling" falling on the ear Is troublesome . . . a noisome imposition While with your cat it's just his disposition, And all his other graces far outnumber The yearly Spring nocturnal break of slumber! Word to the Wise Little lady never pray A ring of gold to wear Lest you find it in your nose - Much to your despair! Results I have never asked for much From this world's anointed: Strange to say from day to day I've not been disappointed! Why? The lady 'neath the smallest hat Is often very short and fat; While "slivers", slick and very tall Wear cartwheels, like a parasol! Aspiration I'd like to be a critic But one who didn't write Then, when I gouged their eyes out They 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 water Tawny in the shallows. Here, white birches bare their shining bones To summer moonlight; And one blue heron lifts himself with terrible beauty Into the evening. I cannot say why Islands do this to me. I only know that putting out into the open gap Bound for the Mainland Is like loosing hands with one you love Too much! Photogenic It must be nice to be photogenic; To not have to get in to a panic When you "see the birdie". To just sit there . . . smug . . . While they snap your mug. And to know you'll look like Garbo . . . or Hedy Lamarr In the finished photo. Not . . . Mr. Moto! Salad Bar There's nothing sadder in this world Than stale stuffed celery, over-curled! In The Swim O to be a Petty gal Now that summer's here, With thigh and breast and tawny crest And slick and stream-lined "rear" To lounge against the gilded sands As in a billboard ad While some Adonis, thick of neck, A great athletic cad Leans over one with tender sigh And whispers soft and low "The Company who made your suit Designed these trunks, you know"! Adversary She stuck her little hat pin in And gave a practiced twist. The only thing that saves my pride On someone with a tougher hide She'll break her little wrist! Traitor You said my face Was like a mask A little white unstirred expanse Where no emotion came to dance. You said my eyes were secret eyes That wore a mocking shy disguise. You said, "No matter how you try Your mouth betrays you, by and by?" Sheepskin An education used to be A thing of strict gentility With Classics solid as a rock And stresses laid on culture talk. Now . . . when he graduates - a man Must just make money with élan! Alien O I am homesick every day For places I shall never stay. For tinkling bells in Samarkand Where shadows weave a saraband, And London streets and Paris nights And O a thousand warm delights In places strange and far from here And . . . (naturellement) doubly dear! Cameo I can't insult my heart again By crying over gentlemen. But rather trot it out to tea With ladies of gentility, Whose talk and bread sliced neat and thin Will lift me from the straits I'm in! Renegade Part of me is sad as sad And part of me is glad as glad. Part of me is pure as pure, And part of me . . . I'm not so sure. At odds within myself I be, And blame it on my Family Tree! Mask You may make your mouth up Scarlet as a courtesan's . . . Thin sophistication Lurks in scarlet paint Even masked in satire Still your eyes betray you Playing tarnished lady Funny little saint! If This be Good ... If this be good Then it shall last Far past the rasp Of Sexton's spade . . . Far past the snow of winter laid On sleeping garden; Some part of this will still endure On Time's wide stream; Some single sure enchanted moment Caught up in space will shine forever. And in my heart I'm very sure Which little moment will endure! Disenchanted They always say, "Be good, sweet child And let who will ... be clever". But does this course pay dividends? I answer . . . hardly ever! Figment It's snowing feathers to-day. Bits of maribou From some very frivolous angel's Bed-Jacket! Unbiased Comment Small furry creatures part with life To deck each plutocratic wife. And many a tender throat is wrapt In silky softness someone trapped. I don't condemn this savage rite Nor wince to see the endless sight Of lovely ladies wrapt in fur . . . Egad! I only wish I were! Venomous Woman She has avaricious fingers On which there lingers The bitter scent of almonds. Poisonous woman! How her nails Glitter in the candlelight. Only her eyes Suddenly tear you apart. There is a look in them Of one who gazed on death And found it Beautiful! Bookshops Bookshops have a lovely smell Sweet and sour . . . heaven and hell. Dust and mould, and something magic, Laughter, cheek by jowl with tragic Songs the Muses used to sing . . . I love bookshops, in the spring! Powder Room At every little crystal square Grave women creatures sit and stare At what the day has done to mar Frail personal beauty; puff and jar And lip rouge tubes are taken out To dye each thoughtful waiting pout; No hurried smear . . . a careful rite Then infinite scansion in the light. The final look, The little smile Triumphant . . . careful . . . full of guile Absorbed completely in her task Each "Eve" adjusts her powdered mask! Bend Your Head Bend your head and kiss my hand And tell me tales of Samarkand. Weave a web of lovely words That I may count like singing birds That I may set upon my sill When you have left me . . . As you will! Promise I shall not weep when you go But don a scarlet dress And I shall sing a gay song And you shall never guess. And I shall dance when you go With other eager men And 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 over The smell of rainy summer clover; Or how a willow tree at night Can make a silver sort of light; Or how a child with lifted face Can make a holy sort of place! Out of Loneliness ... Out of a loneliness more deep Than quiet death. Out of a sleep As cold as ice . . . more drear, more chill I hunger up toward dreaming; Fill my hands with flowers, Tread a measure against bright candles, Bare my throat to Autumn moonlight Cry to the stars that love rides by Against 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 hat And the like of that. Quit enjoying the society of youth in the formative stage In other words . . . "Act your age"! I've gone into this subject with myself before But 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 analysis We follow our natural bent. So I shan't relent. Dignity comes to us all Dressed in a shroud. Forgive . . . if just for a little . . . I laugh aloud! On the T. T. C. Assorted people sit or ride Forced intimates: and "hide to hide" As close as in a double bed They touch at thigh and arm and head And then get off . . . and go away To ride again . . . some other day! Ode If this is spring You can have the thing! Old Hand Love is a dream And love is pain, Love is a song And love is a chain. But love is a thing We can't forego Take my word for it I've tried . . . I know! Observation A mermaid was a fabled sea creature Cold-eyed But beautiful of face. Enchanting . . . heartless. Half woman. Half fish! Do you know, I looked about me to-day And thought Of how many women Are really Mermaids! Fall Fires O scudding sky-O windy day You snare my soul. And fey . . . as fey I wander down a curving street To scuff the leaves against my feet And smell the smoke that curls the air And find the Autumn wondrous fair! Now is the Time Now is the time when falling snow Drifts soft as flowerlets. Far below The dark earth stretching in her sleep Is full of secrets. Children keep one little ear above each cover Lest in the night they might discover The sound of hoofbeats in the air And know that Santa Claus is there! Self-Portrait. (Drawn in Dust on a Table Top) Tho' I'd love to be neat I admit defeat. Some women's shoes are on racks Mine are in stacks. I can never find a needle or pin They're never in what I put them in. And when I emerge in confusion From this rudderless fog I closely resemble a something You'd find under a log! Be Good! "Be good, my child" the sages said And packed me off to early bed. I didn't mind when I was small And never loitered in the hall But climbed the stair and clicked the light And closed my eyes against the night. But now . . . upon the sill I lean And feel the wind across my throat And tremble when the moon is new And watch the stars the whole night through For 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 night How your eves wear desire and your voice holds delight But I'll sing it so softly you'll never believe That this thing is my heart that I wear on my sleeve. Observation To find an oyster in a seafood salad Is quite a surprise to the average "palad". Sixteen How can a guy absorb this knowledge And get himself ready for ruddy college; How can he concentrate at all When he just passed a dream in the upper hall! Hush There is an hour When earth and sky Merge in the twilight With a sort of sigh. Trees touch the skyline . . . Birds, the earth, And stars are shaken With twinkling mirth. And it's just as well If you're all alone To plug the line Of your telephone! First Snow Just a thin flurry But the first snow! Always exciting . . . Full of pictures . . . Overstockings of red wool, Mittens to match, And a toboggan cap With a bob on it. Bruised thumbs From struggling with tight overshoes - A plaid kilt With a green velveteen jacket And a real lace collar. A teacher's face, Slightly harried Bending over solicitous buttons. The beautiful breathlessness Of the first belly flop On the small red sleigh. Just a thin flurry But the first snow! Mirror I looked in a mirror And all I saw Was the pitiless scar Of Time's sharp claw. But over a candle I looked in your eyes And there, reflected To my surprise Was a lovely person . . . Unflawed . . . soignée . . . So you'll be my mirror After to-day! Portrait She's sure of herself Safe as the Mint. And her soul is made Of flowered print! *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOSSIP *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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