Guest poem submitted by Suresh Ramasubramanian, <suresh at hserus dot net>: Not had a good Dorothy Parker in a while. So here's one.
(Poem #1460) Love Song
My own dear love, he is strong and bold And he cares not what comes after. His words ring sweet as a chime of gold, And his eyes are lit with laughter. He is jubilant as a flag unfurled-- Oh, a girl, she'd not forget him. My own true love, he is all my world,-- And I wish I'd never met him. My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet, And a wild young wood-thing bore him! The ways are fair to his roaming feet, And the skies are sunlit for him. As sharply sweet to my heart he seems As the fragrance of acacia. My own dear love, he is all my dreams-- And I wish he were in Asia. My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart-- And I wish somebody'd shoot him.
Bitterly ironic, incisively humorous - it all sounds cliched (and probably IS cliched). This is a devastating parody of a whole lot of romantic poetry, from Sir Walter Scott to Byron, Keats and Shelley. Suresh. Dorothy Parker on the Minstrels: Poem #150, Resume Poem #192, Comment Poem #486, Epitaph for a Darling Lady Poem #560, Chant for Dark Hours Poem #638, Song of Perfect Propriety Poem #697, A Well Worn Story Poem #878, Frustration Poem #1090, Unfortunate Coincidence