Jane Avril of the Moulin Rouge
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Burn's Night Poem Entry - Just For Fun!

1/26/2013

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Yesterday evening presented friends and I an opportunity to celebrate the life of Robert Burns, Scottish Poet and Song Writer 1759 - 1796.

Just for fun we all had to bring along a poem of our own composition. I decided that since last year was the birth of my 1st son it was somewhat inevitable that I would choose him as my subject matter. So just for fun here it is.


It was 2012 on the 4th of May
That the little man was giving us a sign
And after a dash and then a delay
He was born at 3:29

Alexander Louis had finally arrived
Friday's child both loving and giving
Those first few weeks he cried and cried
Leaving Mummy and Daddy reeling and spinning

Things seemed to settle after a time
Did I tell you that he's a Taurus?
Before too long he opened his eyes
And that was the first time he saw us

Our little man just loves to smile
He greets family, friends and strangers
He certainly knows how to turn on the style
His personality's contagious

Once he's had milk and spooned food at day
Just say the word and he'll be ready
Our thumb sucking boy just loves to play
Bricks, trolley, lights and firefly Freddie

Now he's older and starting to crawl
It won't be long before he can walk
Then he'll be driving us up the wall
Before you know it he'll be starting to talk

Our little man makes us so happy
We'll prepare his way and guide him well
Despite the pay back we find in his nappy
We just love him to bits and are under his spell

I don't suppose this entry into the poetry world will concern the establishment but it was fun to write non the less.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Craig





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Toulouse - Lautrec at the Moulin Rouge

1/13/2013

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"Cognac - more cognac for Monsieur Lautrec -
More cognac for the little gentleman,
Monster or clown of the Moulin - quick -
Another glass!"

The Can Can

Chorus with their jet net stockings
And their red heads rocking
Have brought their patrons flocking to the floor.
Prince-nez, glancing down from legs advancing
To five fingers dancing
Over a menu-card, scorn and adore
Prostitutes and skinny flirts
Who crossing arms and tossing skirts
High-kick - a quick
Eye captures all before they fall -
Quick lines, thick lines
Trace the huge ache under rouge.

"Cognac - more cognac!" Only the slop
Of a charwoman pushing her bucket and mop,
And the rattle of chairs on a table top.
The glass can fall no further. Time to stop
The charcoal's passionate waltzing with the hand.
Time to take up the hat, drag out the sticks,
And very slowly, like a hurt crab, stand:
With one wry bow to the vanished band,
Launch out with short steps harder than high kicks
Along the unspeakable inches of the street.
His flesh was his misfortune: but the feet
Of those whose flesh was all their fortune beat
Softly as the grey rain falling
Through his brain recalling
Marie, Annette, Jean-Claude and Marguerite.

(Jon Stallworthy (1935 - )
From Art and Artists Poems
Everyman's Library Pocket Poets

Discovered this poem in a bookshop in Saltaire, West Yorkshire, England and loved it immediately.

Thought i'd share it with you - Craig







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