Uncle Albert's Poems: page Twelve

Blizzard in my soul; snow blinds me, freezes,
Chills the once-warm blood.
Cold the world. empty; the wind howls
Freezing through the empty arches, the marble columns
In the halls of my soul.
Must the temple be silent, so silent, o my Gods?
Must the stones break with ice,
The columns shimmer with icicles
And diamonds silvery freezing; cold
Cold world - must it then be so,
That to thaw the crystal silence
Warm dreams of Empire shall arise,
Throbbing legends and pulsating life,
Rich in love -
Would they rise
If love were here,
And the halls rang
With happiness?

Can they only arise
From the icy death of my soul?
The green smiling fields sought I
Through the puddle of another black day,
But the stream dried up in laughter,
And the fields ran away.
Round my deafened ears crashed rocks,
And the elephants found no lake,
So I sold them a fine jungle,
But the money was plum-cake.
The puddle fell in a ravine,
And the sun went out to dream.
A certain air of savoir-faire,
So debonaire; a little smile,
Her to beguile, quizzical style;
Often starred as quite a card
In bright façade; distinguished highbrow,
He lifts an eyebrow with a dry "How
D'ye do -- have I met you?:
Of course - you're Sue." Conversation,
Animation about his station;
His hands wing swift to catch the drift
Unless it shift from him; with charm
He offers arm. Without a qualm:
"You ought to read . .. fine book indeed,
Knowledge you need." "Of course you've heard
Of William Byrd - I was quite stirred
You haven't - oh, you should, you know,
Fine man.." And so, with half-closed eyes
To sly disguise his painful sighs,
"The point.." "you know .." and ever so
The phrases flow - for he knows, however,
That One so clever existed never.
Silence falls, and we are still;
No more we sing of love or hate,
The past is past, and platitudes roll
To ease the burden on the soul.
Squiggeley squggeley
Uggley buggley,
Squingle squongle spludge;
Widgely wodgely,
Oddeley bodgeley
Blingle, blongle, bludge.