Another Round of Play

I was drawn to you, to be drawn by you,
And quartered in your drafty basement.
Ardor's martyr, I undressed, my pale
Posterior portrayed, in oils, for posterity,
But I, at last, no longer named you first
Among the distaff daubers. May and June,
When they passed by, brought warmth
Your basement hadn't had, and, mothlike,
I developed wings. You watched me from
Your garden. I arose, flew far away.

 

 

 





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2024-05-02 at 21:46

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
I like it very much, it makes me think and...dream...distaff daubers, in French we say, "c'est une daube" yes another round of play!
"c'est de la daube"
He reports a note by Gaston Esnault from his Dictionary of Slangs. "Daube would be here a word of Lyon origin to say "smet" applied to fruits and meats." The phrase is therefore stupid as cabbage! What is spoiled is rotten, and by extension "no to wish"

blanquette de veau: daube?
veal blanquette, a favorite dish of the French, is a stew (daube)!
2024-05-03