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Chedia Gorgelski Poem
The first time I saw you - there -
Sophisticated, warm-blooded,
And for a kiss, you blubbered -
Barbary lipped, presenting the bill.
If I'd snuggle up, you'd cover me in fur.
Coo-ee! A real little nest egg,
Said you had it all laid out -
Liar!
Paid me up the river,
Rule of the rudder,
Waddling off -
As though your feet were webbed.
Then, as the tide ebbed -
More of me bled.
Keep your platitudes, Platypus!
Copyright © Chedia Gorgelski | Year Posted 2023
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Chedia Gorgelski Poem
I dained that I'd distress the Dutch,
Refrain the French with such - and - such.
'Gainst Germans I'd my victory forge,
Churchillian chants in Cheddar Gorge.
Send Poles packing from our building site,
Put the Belgians - bang - too right!
Sink Spain's Armada with her men,
Stop the invaders once again.
To close the ports to Portuguese,
Then finish off the Finnish line,
Destroy our own industries,
To beggar these children of mine.
'I'll be be no widow', was my boast,
From lake to lake and moor to moor,
My chalky skirts from coast to coast,
Will far-off suitors draw.
I'd host a jolly jamboree,
With Cornish scones, Welsh jam and tea.
I'd have no wish for crepes with brie,
They are no longer - well - tax free.
I'm Proud Olde Blighty,
A pauperess,
A Damsel - mightily -
In distress.
It seems that only yesterday,
We strolled together down the aisle,
Rolled like lovers making hay,
Marrying metres up with miles.
Farewell my groom - crowned with stars,
Your night-blue apparel disappears,
My red, white and blue crossed flags,
England's lion has torn to rags.
'I'll be no widow', was my boast,
Yet o'er my coasts soon swept my doom.
A cave my castle underground,
Economy entombed.
Whited by a skirt of chalk,
My heart sepulchered by the shore,
My epitaph - a pity be,
'Nostalgia No More'.
My epitaph - a pity be,
'Nostalgia No More'.
Copyright © Chedia Gorgelski | Year Posted 2023
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Chedia Gorgelski Poem
'Dinner won't be long, Dear.'
Burt puffed up his pillows and squeezed one out.
'Better wash your hands, now'.
The armchair smothered his glee.
Wallaby faggots,
Brown rice juices,
Lentils,
Barley and rye.
Jumbo morels,
Whatever she sells,
Liquid fish stock,
Brussels and hock,
Tranches of offal from Thebes!
Chilly jam and
Fruity brown sauce.
Round and round
The rotten rump,
The rancid ratchet rasped.
'It must've been that onion jus',
Was all that I could gasp.
Round and round
The rotten rump,
The rancid ratchet rasped.
'It must've been that onion jus',
Was all that I could gasp.
Copyright © Chedia Gorgelski | Year Posted 2023
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Chedia Gorgelski Poem
There we were - Alf and I - Pharaohs,
surveying those white pyramids -
Nests of ibis - ovulating -
Opera.
Across the bridge we danced,
Swaying o'er the waves below -
Spectred lovers on a phantom ship -
Drifting snug into port - oh, so were we.
Yes, There we were - Alf, you - left me,
As you cantered away on your white steed.
I'm diverting - like a white capped copper
By the Circular Quay - away -
From Darling Harbour - rolling -
Onto the Rocks.
Yet, in Neutral Bay,
I - last - heard you say,
You'd be selling me down
At King's Cross.
So bye - my Alfie - it's over -
Just city lights and squalor - for me -
With whisky and history - this old bag lady
Stares dreamily over the sea.
The ancestral shackles I feel - loosening,
Pushed out - by the will to be free.
Copyright © Chedia Gorgelski | Year Posted 2023
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Chedia Gorgelski Poem
I'd chosen you as my flunky -
Your hair - Neanderthal red,
You'd hurry towards my shrill calling,
De-cloth me and roll me to bed.
'Textured', you woo-ed, 'mild and creamy',
Said I'd never last long on the shelf,
I blushed, put out, yet warming within,
Soon began to value myself.
Brought you into my secrets - my tales -
My concerns for my daughter in New South Wales.
The fortunes she's had,
the good and the bad,
With losers and fellas playing the lad.
Alfred, all heirs and graces,
got her high - then let her heart fall,
Next was Burt, all joker - no aces -
A bad card - at least Alf had balls.
As I matured, you wielded my power,
Called me crumbly and vintage to boot,
Said I'd become too sharp and sour,
Couldn't even charm Burt's old cheroot.
Then one night, you crept through my cavern,
Up the back route - thought you wouldn't get caught,
Flew into my room like a raven,
There to club me, but this Olde Dame fought.
You'll not swindle my wares from my warren,
My henchmen will hang you to dry,
I'm as fertile as much as I'm barren,
It was futile for you even to try.
So they carried you swift from my sanctuary,
Beyond the gates and the forge,
Past the grave of Seamus Erectus,
Then threw you head first in the gorge.
You fast roped that ring on my finger,
As I wove your bear skin with my silk,
I'd unveil my paps as you'd linger,
To spill jokes over my sour milk.
Though a Dame-sell, my daughter may well be,
You'll no more draw milk from me,
To the past with Back Passage Billy
Is now this Dame Mother's decree.
Copyright © Chedia Gorgelski | Year Posted 2023
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