LIVING IN SIN

She had thought the studio would keep itself

No dust upon the furniture of love.

Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,

The panes relieved of grime. A place of pears,

A piano with a persian shawl , a cat

Stalking the picturesque amusing mouse

Had risen at his urging .

Not that at five each separate stairs would writhe

Under the milkman’s tramp ; that morning light

So coldly would delineate the scraps

Of last night’s cheese nad three sepulchral bottles;

That on te kitchen shelf among the saucers

A pair of bottle eyes wold fix her own-

Envoy from some village in the moldings. . .

Meanwhile, he , with a yawn,

Sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,

Declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror

Rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;

While she , jeered by the minor demons,

Pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found

a towel to dust the table top ,

and let the coffee- pot boil over on the stove,

by evening she was back in love again

though not so wholly but throughout the night

she woke sometimes to fill the daylight coming

like a relentless milkman up the stairs

 Adrienne Rich (b. 1929)

THE LAST DATE WITH THE MOON

Here I am, standing in the brink of the day
Staring at the sun that has gone away
And a smile upon your face,
Make me never wanna leave this place

There you are, hardly I can see cause you just so far
I see your eyes blinking, are you a star?
But I remember you said you’re a moon
So I should have seen you soon

And here we are now,
You come to me somehow
You are getting closer and closer,
But why I feel like a stranger?

I remember,
It’s been 365 nights since the last goodbye
It’s too long for me, that’s the reason why

Now please come down, get lower
I’m on the top of the tower and can’t go higher
I have something to say to you
I need to tell you, that… I wanna stop loving you

     (By Mych Ryan )

A LATE AUBADE

You could be sitting now in a carrel
turning some liver spotted page
or rising in an elevator - cage
toward ladies' apparel

you coud be planting a raucous bed
of silvia, in rubber gloves,
or lunching through a screed of someone 's loves
with pitying head,

or making some unhappy setter
heel, or listening to a bleak
lecture on schoenberg's serial technique.
isn't this better?

think of all the time you are not
wasting, and would not care  to waste
such things, thank God, not being to your taste,
think what a lot.

of time , by woman's reckoning,
you've saved, and so may spend on this ,
you who had rather lie in bed and kiss
than anything.

it's almost noon , you say? if so,
time flies , and i need not rehearse
the rosebuds - theme of countries of verse.
if you must go,

wait for a while , then slip downstairs
and bring us up some chilled white wine,
and some blue cheese, and crackers, and some fine
Ruddy-skinned pears
                                                 (richard wibur : B. 1921 )

MY AUNT IS MY MOTHER ( Nofrita Negoro )

When my mother was born I do not know
every year to grow my children who are hungry for love
passed more passes
I own no accompanying
But then I found you
take care, look after me, love me
My happy with your
very happy
You should call my aunt my mother
I was sad when you are gone
today was my day so lonely without you
Did aunt want you to be my mother?
Aunt said "anytime may call mom"
I was amazed to hear
my day filled with fun day
until you are old and frail
Until the end of life
mother will still love me
in time, wherever and whenever
I'm proud of you .. my mother's aunt