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The Lady and the Knight
by Terese Beaman
Through sunlit day and starry night
A soft breeze lifts a leaf to flight
In midst of wildflowers a maiden sleeps
Her beauty doth make man to weep
A handsome knight with golden eyes
Holds vigil under cloudless skies
To keep the damsel from harms way
While in sweet repose she lay
Unknown to him he fills her dreams
Of walking hand in hand by silver streams
And as day's lamp shines from above
He sings to her his songs of love
The Adventures of Carol in NYC, or The
Search for the Pinky Blouse
by Terese Beaman
She packed her bags and knapsack,
Her ticket safely tucked away.
Along with visa's charge and
Enough cash with which to play.
Only one thing 'twas missing,
Her pink blouse, ah - such a pity
So she traveled to the airport
And flew to New York City.
Once the plane had landed
She quickly grabbed her bag
The knapsack hanging from her
Did make her tiny shoulder sag
A Turkish driver sat within
A yellow cab parked by the curb,
He caught her eye, took her bags
Said "Hi, my name is Herb"
"I'll take you where you want to go
My cab it is the best.
My English is not always good,
But I passed my driver's test."
He pulled out on the road
Like greased lightening he did drive
Weaving through the traffic
She prayed they would arrive
It only took 10 minutes
To go the 30 mile
She sat frazzled in the backseat
And weakly tried to smile
She dug into her pocket,
And handed Herb his tip
She watched him as he drove away
And saw him take a nip
To the hotel desk she went
"Could I please have my key?
My reservation's from the internet
They said the room was free."
She set the bags upon a chair
On the bed she did lie down
"I think first I'll take a nap
And then I'll go to town"
She slept for forty minutes
Checked the make-up on her face
She grabbed the sack, hopped out the door
To quickly find the place
To buy the pinky blouse
Not red, or striped, nor blue
And for good luck she tucked
A sixpence inside her shoe
She spied the Bloomie's sign
"I know they'll have it there"
But to her dismay she found
No pink blouse that she could wear.
So on to Macy's she did go
It was a few blocks down
She searched and searched, it was not there
Her smile turned to a frown.
"Oh woe is me," she sighed and cried
Her heart 'twas filled with dread
And then Saks Fifth Avenue
Came as a vision in her head.
"That's where I'll go," she did exclaim
She pushed past people in her way
"The pinky blouse it waits for me"
They thought they heard her say.
She rushed inside the store
A doorman met her there
"You cannot come in here," he said
"Unless you comb your hair!"
She dragged a comb across her head
Then stepped outside to smoke
She lit the stick and took a drag
And thought, "I'd rather have a toke."
Pulling the box from out her purse
She placed the butt inside the tin
And quickly stepped inside the store
Knowing the pink shirt it was within
She searched the racks, but all in vain
A sales clerk she did hear
"If you're looking for a pinky blouse,
The color's not in this year."
"Why not try a mauve or grey,
How about a mustard yellow?
And black is always safe to wear
You'll look quite tall and mellow."
Carol's eyes did cross and she did fume
She needed time to think.
She could not believe in all New York
There was no blousey that was pink.
To Central Park she made her way
She sat upon a seat
She watched the people come and go
Whilst she did tap her feet
And by and by there came
A lonely lady with a bag
She had a twinkle in her eye
Her step it did not lag
She sauntered up to Carol
Said, "Hullo and how you be?"
Carol did not answer
And so she tapped her knee.
"Now tell me why you look so glum
And why you're sitting here
All alone and so forlorn -
Would you like a glass of Kir?"
She pulled the bottles from her bag
She mixed it on the spot
She even put Tabasco in
To make it slightly hot.
Carol's eyebrows raised a bit
She said, "I really shouldn't,
But perhaps just one small taste
It wouldn't hurt now, could it?"
"No," replied the lady
With a great big grin
"A little sip now and then
Is not a great big sin."
"Now tell me what you're doing here
And by the way, I like your sacka.
Would you like to listen to a song
It's by someone named Macca."
Carol's eyes did shine and she replied
When she heard the name the lady spoke
"You know I met him once right here,
In fact we shared a toke."
The lady smiled, her eyes did glow
She laughed, "now ain't that nice."
As she pulled paper from her bag
And said, "I found this under rice.
"You must be the Carol of Cleveland.
The one with the wandering mind.
I've heard a lot about you
I've heard you're smart and kind
"To you I give these papers
You can bind them with this lace,
It came from his ratty trainers
That he changed after a race
"These papers are quite special
They are manuscripts you see
They tell you how to live your life
And how to let things be
"They tell of joy to the world
And how to laugh and love
And when you're feeling slightly blue
They tell you how to rise above
"The stuff that life is made of
Sometimes it can be rough
But the words that are writ here
Can make things not so tough
"To you my dear, I do entrust
These manuscripts so rare
But never tuck them far away
For they are meant to share
"With lonely souls like you and me
To light their lives so dreary
And when they read they'll laugh and sing
And might even shed a teary
"Now I must go, there's much to do"
She said as she sashayed away
And Carol heard her singing
In soprano a "Great Day"
The pinky shirt it was forgotten
Back to Ithaca she flew
She drove her little beetle bug
She knew she'd found the clue
To all the worldly woes and such
And from her 'puter she did share
The smudgy words that she had read
With friends from here and there
After coming home one day
From work so tired and worn
She found an airborne package
Her mom said, "this is yourn"
She opened the box, what could this be
The note enclosed said it all
"I hope you like this pinky blouse"
with love, from Sir Paul.
Mish Mash
by Terese Beaman and Carol Cleveland
Barefoot man, bass man,
You think you can't dance, you ask
Permission and then lift gently...
Off the ground. Electrons attend thee.
Fly around: All the birds are too light,
Except one who's Just Right.
So you grow Linda's Smile,
The heart of delight.
Memories reach out thru mists of time
Celtish jigs, Standing stones...
Love, singing celebrations of
Two hearts entwined.
Minstrel man, piano man
Touching hearts across the land.
While the Sea God smiles at his
Red Triangles in the Sand.
Backwards traveler, in a starship
Maker of mashed potatoes, and love.
Rose man, Fireman, dandy and clown,
Won't let it bring us down.
Blackbird, bluebird, conqueror of meanies,
Swoops through space on wings of air
Tickles it, thrums it, drums and hums it,
Prince of hearts and little white bears.
A corner table with flowers in a jar,
The beat goes on.melody, harmony;
Setting the spirit free to soar
On the wings of a nightingale.
Art man, poet man, man of ageless time,
Unspoken words, rhythm and rhyme.
Memories, souvenirs kept from old
The poetry of one's own soul. |
