Joyce Bridle (Oblate) OSB

(Stroud, Gloucestershire, England)

The Immortals - Poem by Joyce Bridle (Oblate) OSB

Cupid doth shoot his arrow with immortal surety
In truth a marksman he, in miniature.
We neither hear nor see, but surely we do feel!
His aim is sure, his arrow swift
He neither shoots to kill nor maim
But hits he both, at once, the same...
All unawares, through life we go
Like busy bees or scurrying ants;
If only we, like trees and plants
Could multiply with conscience free!
Inhibited, restricted we; convention, gossip, modesty.
Observe how cupid's shaft embedded is
For good and all eternity.
A rubbish sweet my true love gave to me;
I kept it for posterity...
It grew anon, a might mould
That Jenner in his Berkeley
Be very glad to see!
My knight in shining armour tall
In dreams I hear him gently call
My name, or hers. What matter that?
She was a phase, and all my days
I stir for him, unconsciously...
I know not where, nor yet from whence
That Cupid gets his notions from,
But love hits mortals like a bomb...
And so we go. All kiss and clip
And sleep and dream of tongue and lip.
For that is most we two should do
Yet Cupid pierced us through and through.

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Read poems about / on: kiss, truth, dream, sleep, tree

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003

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