Firstborn.
Aromatic roses which the craftsman carved in chocolate,
Colour which the artist mixed to represent pure gold.
Sparkle of the diamond which the jeweller in fair silver set,
Value of the Rembrandt which the auctioneer has sold.
Intricate as lace Hyperion’s sunrise in Spring skies appears;
Deep the turquoise ocean’s swelling waters, ancient realms.
Tow’ring white soft anvil’s upward surge to azure air endears;
Peacock’s rippling palette, iridescent, overwhelms.
Though wonders man and nature made, advantages proclaim,
To me you are of greater worth; the world is not the same.
© M. Stefanicki. April 2008.
Stomping coming through the ceiling,
In the kitchen, tremors feeling
I sit and steady coffee cup –
She’s up.
Ornate, fine picture, lacelike wings,
From ravelled page queen fairy sings.
Her small hands guide lines graphite stores –
She draws.
She’s shut away in private realms,
In dreams of spires and knights in helms;
Approached, proclaims with firm set brows –
Not now.
Light, flitting spirit, dainty form,
To father’s hug she runs to warm
Her soul; she needs to know, frail waif –
It’s safe.
Through charming riddle I am blessed;
That pretty puzzle – my youngest.
© M. Stefanicki. April 2008.
“You may start...” (Invigilating Geography paper 2...5/6/03)
Serried silents scribble,
fretting over paper’s quibble:
now you know it,
now you don’t;
little matter, it would seem.
The sleeper up against the wall
succumbs to
folly’s burden, heavy headed
Slumber, closing doors in lumber
rooms, replete with musty charts,
and maps, and graphs.
Kenya’s colours liven it a little,
Its dust and forests pastel on the page.
But if the picture appears pretty,
It’s the question that’s the
Killer
unless you make your mark.
Population pyramid
of rows of bowing backs,
a gym of exercising minds,
to-morrow’s demographic vindicators
who want to know where it will end,
when we started off
in tiers...
© M.C. Stefanicki. June 2003.
"Living History"
With glistening brass, shining shoes
Standing tall and proud.
Our age exceeds,
Our braid outranks –
But still we would
Remember them.
Out of step and out of time,
On parade like toys;
We borrow boot prints from the fields
They trod, bound for battle –
Our insipid shots
Pale echoes.
For those who fought before we could,
And did those deeds
Admired, remembered, mimed,
Walked on water in a storm –
We are paddling
In the shadows.
We can never reach their heights;
Their names will live
For evermore. But we
Like airy vapour trails –
Will look spectacular,
And will fade.
With glistening brass, shining shoes
On parade like toys,
We will look spectacular
The better to give honour
-
To all those girls
And boys.
MCS. 280514
draft 6
