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Six Month One Night Stand [Jul. 19th, 2006|03:42 am]
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Six Month One Night Stand

She was a six month one night stand.
After so long why
escape to distant land?

Played it safe cause something special was at hand.
Didn’t push, didn’t lie.
She was a six month one night stand.

Ballet, concerts, every date was grand.
Met her parents like in junior high.
What drove her to that distant land?

Without a call, a text, an adieu planned
off she went. Was there a tear or a sigh?
She was a six month one night stand.

Much time passed. I will never understand.
I look to the future loves of my life.
Will they also be drawn to that distant mysterious land?

This question sees all lovers damned.
Cause and effect; She left, then they might.
She was a six month one night stand.
Damn the draw of that distant mysterious land.
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Sestina about a boy freaking out while waiting for a date. [Jul. 3rd, 2006|05:20 pm]
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First Date: a Sestina
By Roger Jones

When I knocked on her door all I heard was the barking of a dog.
She had told me about her mastiff, but I focused on her Mom
who invited me in to a nearly empty house, her Dad
wasn’t home. In the sitting room were portraits of my date as a child. I can’t slip
up. I felt like a pauper entering a King’s castle. Dress
why don’t you? Why are dates always late? That picture

of her was freaking me out. “You are not good enough for the princess” the picture
was looking down its nose at me with its gilded golden frame. The dog
was sniffing at me. The mother smiled, said her daughter is still getting dressed.
I couldn’t help but compare my mother to this Mom.
My mother a merchant by trade, her mother an apothecary. The Princess in her slip
enters, she smiles at me, I hear the portrait say “Off with his head!” “I need you, Mom.” Dad

is still not home. I thank my creator that her Dad
isn’t here to see her daughter prance into the sitting room undressed. The picture
will no doubt whisper into the King’s ear of my capital crime of seeing the Princess in her slip.
Here I am, alone, I hear a growl and a series of vicious barks. The Princess’ Dog
has made his decision about me. This mastiff makes me miss her Mom’s
smiling presence. My enemy, the painting, urges Cerberus to take my head off. No dress

can be worth this. Mastiff towering, I stand from the couch to better fend him off. Dressing
my impending wounds occupies my mind while the portrait waits for the Dad
to tattle on this impudent suitor. I explore the sitting room waiting for my date or her Mom
to appear and take this canine in hand. I discover a thick book of family pictures
and see a great grandfather from Russia leaving for exile with his royal dog.
“My god, they are descended from Russian royalty” turning a growl into a quizzical look before I slip

the photo book back into place on the shelf. I can’t help but think of my date in her slip
and marvel at the beauty of her royal line. I picture myself in coat of arms dressed.
A royal knight battling with my sword and steed a massive three headed dog.
Winning the Princess’ love while her Dad
praises me as a latter day champion like Babe Ruth and my picture
accompanies that haughty portrait of the Princess as a child. Her Mom

knowing I will always protect her royal Princess. At this point I did not need her Mom
to take the mastiff in hand as that royal nose smelled something valiant in me and slipped
his tail under his legs. A stop in the clamor for my head came from the picture.
The long wait conjured images of my Princess and handmaidens readying her wedding dress.
Waiting to give her away was her royal Dad
And nowhere to be found was that cowed dog.

Still I wait, petting dog, waiting for her Mom
and Dad. Waiting for a date to put something pretty over that slip.
One picture has inspired me while the girl puts on what must be a beautiful dress.
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