Chris O’Carroll: Dancing in the Louvre
Each morning, an hour before the Louvre opens, some 60 people dance
stretch, run, lunge and squat their way through a handful of the
building’s 400 rooms, with a private view of the 33,000 works that
some nine million people visit each year. – New York Times
We dance among the art works. We enjoy the way it feels.
This ain’t the Moulin Rouge, but, hey, we’re kicking up our heels.
It’s early morning, Paris. This party’s a real pleaser.
We’re in the Louvre and no one’s here for the Mona Lisa.
We shake our booties with the bare-ass mortals, naked gods.
They all live forever, we keep trying to beat the odds.
We stretch and gambol with the Milos Venus and a Sphynx.
I shimmy through the art, not knowing what my body thinks.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Kelly Scott Franklin: An Homeric Musing
(Odyssey IX.389, trans. Lattimore)
The cyclops Polyphemos
(though Homer won’t say why)
had eyebrows in the plural,
but one enormous eye.
Not all the gods of Hellas
nor Nature could allow
that even such a monster
should have a unibrow
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Martin Parker: Oldies Night at the Palais
To Mantovani’s silky strings we broke the social ice.
I held the bar-room door for you. You said my tie was nice.
At closing time you shook my hand and said you had to go.
You said my tie was nice once more, THEN ASKED ME BACK. And so
if I can just remember what a G-spot is and where,
if you should still possess one and you have the time to spare,
five minutes should be long enough for both of us to see
if love or something like it stands a chance with you and me
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Bruce Bennett: For Would-Be Casanovas
"Is it true that oysters can be an aphrodisiac?"
- Title of Washington Post article by Lindsey Bever
It could be true, but maybe not.
The dozens that one eats
could spur one with that extra shot
one needs, but so might beets
And melons, which have better smells.
Strawberries would be great.
Plus, you wouldn’t have to deal with shells
or tell her what you ate.
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L. A. Mereoie: Two Ancient Bangers
(A Cautionary Tale)
When Fred took a day to shoot pigeons
His equally elderly gun
Had tubes that were bulging and dented
Though to him they were barrels of fun.
The firing grew faster and faster,
The field became strewn with the dead
Where they found in the hush of the evening
The headless remains of old Fred.
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Steven Kent: Deep in the Sand
Read Sartre on a sunny beach?
I tried it; not a fan.
Nausée, No Exit: out of reach
For this windsurfing man.
A downer, dude, right from the start;
I don't see his allure. Us
Hippies also hate Descartes,
But love old Epicurus!
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Don Nigroni: Retiring
A simple lullaby once gave me sleep,
so peaceful and quite pleasant, therefore deep.
Years on, I'd lie awake, not counting sheep,
convinced that in my closet lurked some creep.
An adult, I would worry over steep
prices in endless bills and I might weep.
But, nowadays, at any time I'll sleep
just like when, long ago, mom played bo-peep.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Bruce McGuffin:World of Wonders
I’ve circled this world and I’ve seen many sights.
Steaming jungles, broad plains, and tall mountains.
I’ve watched the slow dance of the cold northern lights,
And near Paris, Versailles’ twinkling fountains.
There are sights that are bleak, yet they fill me with awe,
Such as Utah’s salt flats, that’s a dire land.
But the greatest of all of the wonders I saw
Was the day I got sunburned in Ireland.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
G. B. Pilferidge: Cheesed Off
Limburger is a smelly cheese
That often makes asthmatics wheeze,
Especially, if they are the sort
That downs a glass or two of port,
A drink that sometimes brings on gout.
But hey, that’s what life’s all about:
With merriment, to eat and drink
The sweetest wines and foods that stink.
