We can always wish For your easy charm, And your good right arm, And your follow through. We can always wish To be just like you – And we always do, For it does no harm.
And who wouldn’t want To have fun like that, Or to run like that, Or to ride or to drive, Or arrive like that – And who wouldn’t want To excite like you, Or to fight like you, Or to think or to gaze, Or to blaze like you.
And who wouldn’t want to, Who wouldn’t want To be just like you And the dreams you flaunt ?
We can always wish For your matchless skill, For your carefree thrill, And your tried and true. We can always wish To be just like you – And we always do, Yet we never will.
For we shall never get To attract like that, Or to act like that, Or to play or to sing, Or to swing like that – And we shall never get To romance like you, Or to dance like you, Or to live or to dine, Or to shine like you.
And we never shall get to, We never shall get To be just like you, But we’re dreaming yet.
Now When They Heard About the Resurrection, Some Began to Scoff
“The Church of England expects its attendance to continue its decline for the next thirty years.”
– The Sion Times
Here I stand, in my pulpit, Looking down on yawning sands of empty pews – And in the Sunday papers, The stats and graphs and surveys tell the news. Of course, we know the culprit, This modern life is secular and on-the-go. The Devil’s at his capers – And yet, he seems to lack the will to spread his woe. So year by year and prayer by prayer, The congregations slowly cease to care.
We’re mocked and feared and left behind – The faithful die, the faithless breed, the undecided shrug, And life goes on. Some are anxious, some are angry, some are smug, But most are happy, most are kind. Thirty years from now, then who will save their modern souls When we are gone ? But then, they will not need our help, according to the polls. Can I begrudge their proof and doubt, When Satan’s reign is peace and love throughout ?
The title come from Acts 17:32, slightly paraphrased from the various translations. Of course, the world isn’t quite ‘peace and love throughout’, but as both Harold Macmillan and Steven Pinker point out, we’ve never had it so good.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try To pay attention to the little things That happen anyway, Sometimes, it seems, I simply can’t apply My wayward focus to the nuts and springs Of yet another day: I stare into my screen as numbers fly – The day-long daydreams dream, the maybes sing, The permutations run… I couldn’t tell you how or when or why, But even as the tangents loop and swing, So still the work gets done. I’m barely here, but still my seeing eyes And typing fingers track and dart and ping Throughout each random trance. My mouth is talking – am I telling lies ? I couldn’t say, I wasn’t listening… But oh, how the dust motes dance !
Oh, hello Miss, I think I might know you… But no, I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s so… And yet, I’m sure…I feel like I do… But, please, forgive me, It’s just you remind me of someone… Of someone… But please, bear with me, I may seem undone, but that is because My memory’s iffy, it’s not what it was.
Oh, by the way, my name is Derek, Just so you know. I say, can I buy you a drink ? This place is so atmospheric, Let’s not up-and-go. Though strange, why haven’t I been here before ? And yet, that smile from the man on the door… And his friendly wink… But never mind that, I’m being a bore ! I say, this bar is atmospheric ! A cut above the old generic Oh, by the way, my name is Derek We haven’t met, I think…
Ah, here’s a waiter – can I buy you a tipple ? No, I insist, so let’s make it a triple. But wait, he has a bottle to hand… Is that for us ? I don’t understand..? Why yes, that is my favourite wine, But how did you know..? The lady, you say ? Why, thank you, Miss ! The pleasure is mine, Though how did you guess that I’m chardonnay ? Well, cheers, I’ll get to know you yet ! Derek’s the name, I don’t think we’ve met…
And you are..? Ruth ? Oh, that’s so pretty ! To tell the truth, I’ve always loved that name. Back in my youth, back in the city, I used to date this gorgeous dame – She was a Ruth, A Ruth like you, as it were. And cute to boot, the kind I prefer… And smart, by streuth !, with eyes aflame… I wonder what became of her..?
Another glass ? Oh, let me pour. I know I must be such a bore But talking to you feels so sure… But there I go again… You listen to me so attentive, Lord alone knows your incentive… Please, just hush this old gent if he gets to be a pain. Why, thank you, that was kind to say, But no, my waffling is unwise – You hide it well, yet still display, A certain sadness round your eyes… Well hey, this tastes like chardonnay ! Well, that’s a nice surprise !
I’m Derek, by the way, we haven’t met, And more’s the pity ! If I may say, a face like yours is not one to forget ! Forgive me, miss, but may I ask your name ? Oh, Ruth‘s so pretty ! And easy to remember, as my good wife shares your claim ! And just like you, she’s smart and kind and witty, With eyes a little sad – and yours the same… But there I go again, I bet, just droning-on all day… I don’t believe we’ve ever met. I’m Derek, by the way.
This was inspired by a short story called Saturday will be a Little Late this Week by Derek Edwards, a friend I used to attend the same writing workshop as. Hence the Derek in the poem, though it’s not supposed to be him. I should mention that the narrator is speaking to the same woman throughout.
Can I just say that I hate myself for including the accents on ‘deja’. I mean, they look great as decoration, but the phrase is English now and we only use accents as furniture, or an excuse to sneer at those who leave them off. But they do look pretty…
Rhyming Couplets 