Best Lass Poems
A Constanza (in Connie's own precious poetry form) written in tribute to this amazing friend and poet:
A lass so beautiful is she,
and like a dear friend I recall,
she brightens our world, for she’s Fall!
Like golden leaves on friendship’s tree -
when spring, then summer, we see pass -
for a short while stays this sweet lass.
.
So very beautiful to me,
she’s wistfulness and so much more -
an old friend that I’m longing for.
Her moments oh so quickly flee.
Then death arrives as Winter’s frost.
yet memories are never lost.
Within her grace again I’ll be,
for Fall may pass, but even then,
sweet lass – my friend – I’ll see again.
A lass so beautiful is she -
like golden leaves on friendship’s tree -
so very beautiful to me.
Her moments oh so quickly flee.
Within her grace again I’ll be.
Sept. 23, 2022
For "In Remembrance Of Connie -Autumn Theme Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Suzanne Delaney
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass had never learned to cope;
once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope.
She fled the curse of worlds perverse by shooting shots of dope,
and stalked discreet’ Asylum Street her daily horoscope.
The stray was struck by passing truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire
(born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire)
for no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
though faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul stained red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
(the twisted grin seemed dark and thin behind the robed façade).
“She’ll burn in hell with sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
When I was a lass, we didn’t have much
Funny how we liked it though, just as such
We played in the street with a whip and top
In the school playground on a hopscotch we’d hop
Streets were quiet ‘cause there weren’t many cars
Falling off our bikes to leave a few more scars
Dandelion and burdock to drink with Sunday dinner
Yorkshire pudding first, that was always a winner
I remember when I did the hula hoop real good
I can’t do it anymore but really wish I could
Blackjacks, fruit salad, sweets and sherbet dips
Pear drops in our penny mix along with cherry lips
Love hearts, fruit gums and liquorice shoelaces
Sports days at school, the egg and spoon races
The three legged race and the sack race too
There were lots of sports we had to try and do
We had to behave ourselves when we were young
At school in the assemblies hymns were sung
Snowball fights and sledging we had in the snow
Where did all those lovely years really go
Then we grew up and things moved on
All those years as a child had now gone
I remember it so well but it was long ago
I wish I was a lass again, knowing what I know
Along the harbor shores at Gammel Strand
where other costumed fishwives ply their trade,
I trudge along the cobbled Danish dock
and barter with the catch to earn my pay.
My voice is harsh and roughened by the chore,
when once my petticoat was pink and lace,
yet now it reeks of fish and nothing more
while wind and sun is drawn upon my face.
But here, within, I'm still a princess bride,
whose dreams anew float on the evening tide,
yet start awake and washed with mornings ebb -
another day to wear a calloused pride...
Food, ale, smoke, sleep, and solitude—
these are the things which I live for.
Provide for me lamb barbecued,
and I'll demand of you no more!
O lovely lass, whatsoever's the matter—
why so downtrodden and alone?
Be not vexed, if you feel so much fatter
than most, dear, for we love our own.
Sweet lass, let me tell you a secret:
if I were a young lad again,
I'd chase you for your gorgeous asset.
But as I am three-score and ten
years old with wife not dead, then never
could I be your white knight with steed.
So have hope, lass! For time, however,
in its fullness will meet your need.
There once was a young lass named Mary,
Whose lips were as sweet as a cherry.
Boys lined up to kiss her,
But then they dismissed her,
Cause Mary was just too darn hairy!
3/22/14
For Andrea' s Perfect Limerick II
Nay greet for me, I yet live
ne'er was I a bairn to ye
mind me ere I once were
when drouthy neibors met
t'were to tak a dram or two
then tak the gate
na think on lang miles
nor of sulky dame
as frae her ye flee 'd
na catch'd wi' a skellum
blethering lik a blellum
ah lass na greet for me
by the auld haunt kirk
auld Nick a towzie tyke
nay catch'd this bogle
who scre'd the pipes and
gart them all a skirl
til skies a' did dirl
an in cauld hand held a candle
his ain soul now bereft
bides her lass, nay greet for me
translation
Do not cry for me, I yet live
never was I a baby to you
mind me as I once was
when thirsty neighbours met
it was to share a dram or two
then take the road home
do not think of long miles
nor of sullen wife
as from her you fled
not to be caught as a waster
rambling like a boaster
do not cry for me lass
by the old haunted church
Old Nick a shaggy dog
could not catch this ghost
who screwed the pipes
and make them squeal
until the heavens all ring
and in his hand a candle held
his ain soul now bereft
bides her, lass do not cry for me
I want to go across the sea to Dublin.
Immediately is when my journey must begin.
There is a pretty Irish lass waiting for me there.
She has cool blue eyes and lovely red hair.
Here in the states, I miss her all the while.
The lady waits for my return to the Emerald Isle.
My woman is really a great beauty to see.
She gets me higher than a shot of Irish whiskey.
I want to book my Aer Lingus flight.
Over the ocean is where I will fly overnight.
I will arrive at Dublin’s airport before sunrise.
I cannot wait to gaze into those blue eyes.
I want to hug and kiss her, and take her by the hand.
Big 747, I am in a hurry to get to Ireland.
Am a lass fae Govan
There a wiz born n breid
When a wiz wee a wiz playing tig on the dykes
N a split ma poor wee heid
Fae Glesga to Fife
Wiz where we went
To a flat in Methil
That ma maw goat fur rent
To skool a went like
A scaredey cat, didny know wit ti expect
2nd year it the high skool
Wiz a bit eh a pain in the neck
Home eckie wiz the class
A wanted it to be fun
Skool went well n a started wurk
Tull a wiz cooking a bun
Am a mammy eh 3 noo
Bit wit kin a say?
A replaced the telly
Nae mare tumbles in the hay
Ma weans are getting big fast
Aw gawn ti skool their self
But if a dont shake ma **** now
A might get left oan the shelf
There once was a lass from near Brampton
Who felt she was "God's" most holy high gun
It turns out she was mistaken
Those she stalked quite unshaken
Her vile and vicious quips were quite undone
There was a sweet lass from Sassafras
Who each morn rode a large burrow to class
But once after school
Near killed a fellow pupil
Who remarked on the size of her ass!
A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the pirate queen,
All for her mother’s wish to succeed,
To the world a boy was she seen,
Elizabethan trews were her screen,
So male in dress, in thought and deed.
A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the pirate queen,
Avast, she swapped the widow’s weed,
The pirate’s code became her scene,
The woman’s world that might have been,
A place she felt she didn’t need.
A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the pirate queen.
Form: Rondel Prime
Limericak crochetés: Once a shy lost lass so-called Orga-San
Once a shy lost lass so-called Orga-San
Had much difficulty getting what you can
Heard of fly-catcher
Good at swatting lair
Gave him a lift bare-back over Japan
Trouble he wouldn’t get off Mama-San
She went without doing what on bed-pan
Right over Fuji Yama
Leap-frogged like No-diva
Earth sudden shook Tsunami filled her pan.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Across the green meadows over the deep blue sea,
I will wait for my bonnie lass to come back to me.
She promised me that she would return with the summer rain,
She's been gone for so long my life is not the same.
When the moon is full a lonely piper will play,
the sad music moves through the air until the break of day.
In my heart I know she will not come back to me,
because my bonnie lass was taken by the sea.
JSergi
I wish I were in valley far
Where heat and sand lie
Deep, for there lies down
My true love’s heart, in sun
And shroud to sleep
And when the trumpet hails
Good men, and horse from
Golden hay; it’s then that
We will meet again and
Frolic in the bay
I wish upon a heart so broke
And through an eye so teared,
That whispers when the friendly
Wind, pass in the valley feared
And in this place he left for good
Not mention hurt or pain, for true
I know when trumpet sounds
He’ll lead my horse again