Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H.Auden

Evening Song

I wait in the dark once more,
Swung between space and space:
Before my mirror I lift my hands
And face my remembered face.
Is it I who stand in a question here,
Asking to know my name? …
It is I, yet I know not whither I go,
Nor why, nor whence I came.

It is I, who awoke at dawn
And arose and descended the stair,
Conceiving a god in the eye of the sun,—
In a woman’s hands and hair.
It is I whose flesh is grey with the stones
I builded into a wall:
With a mournful melody in my brain
Of a tune I cannot recall …

There are roses to kiss: and mouths to kiss;
And the sharp-pained shadow of death.
I remember a rain-drop on my cheek,—
A wind like a fragrant breath …
And the star I laugh on tilts through heaven;
And the heavens are dark and steep …
I will forget these things once more
In the silence of sleep.

C. Aiken

Leaving

Change the locks on the door.
Put out the light in the hall.
I do not live here anymore

Put the world in a box.
Turn the sign to the street.
Aim for where horizon and blue skies, meet

But all I know is
I’m not ready yet
For the light to dim
Got a suitcase, got regrets
But I’m hopeful yet

I’ve been a gifted thief
Stole everything for the cause
I never had fingers as light as yours

So wake up pretty girl
See the hope in small things
Disappointment can wear you thin

But all I know is
I’m not ready yet
For the light to dim
Got a suitcase, got regrets
But I’m hopeful yet
And I’ll raise this glass of wine
And I’ll say your name

So let’s be killers babe
Make the great escape
From all the bitter words
Of every crowded street and empty heart
It’s Christmas day, Brooklyn in the rain
But I am safe inside a better world of hope and memory
Drunk on velvet wine, southern cross for light
Deal your cards and hope that I can play a better hand this time.

T. McRae