The Bad Girls' Poetry Bus!

Well, it's the start of the week again and that can only mean one thing: the Poetry Bus stops here. It actually sets off over here, at Terresa's, http://thechocolatechipwaffle.blogspot.com/ and the in-flight catering promises to be rather tasty, methinks.

Well, it's been a week in which I appear to have become the second artificially created life-form; this time Lucille Ball's DNA has been placed inside the cellular wrapper of the Fast Show 's marching Manchunian lad who thinks everything is "Brilliant" ("Shelves: Brilliant!", "Gravity: Brilliant!", "Ronnie Corbett: Brilliant!", "The sky: "Brilliant!", "Jesus: Brilliant!" etc.). In a word, manic, and I suspect it's overwork/undersleep induced.

My moans aside, Terresa picked a doozy of an image as prompt whilst it's her turn at the wheel of the mighty TFE's ("TFE:Brilliant!") Poetry Bus, and as soon as I looked at it one thought leapt to my mind. And I know what I wanted to say, but haven't quite said it yet, but maybe it's early days for this one. Fed-up with it now.

See you all later, next two days hectic here. Again. Brilliant!




Pandora, meet Eve, said Lilith

Oh, you’ve done it now, Pandora
and I will tell about your box,
that it was you and it fucked man,
not vice versa. What a giver
you turned out to be, curiosity
let out evil, locked up his hope.

And the trouble with hope
is the question posed Pandora,
better in or out of the box?
Slam shut now and where is your man?
Plague-rid or patient forgiver,
now you have piqued his curiosity

with white stockings, nurses’ shoes, curiosity
in a puffball gown? You held out hope
to him at the party, Pandora;
that he would get the gift-box
and become the Judderman.
But you are Goddesses’ guile, misgiver,

the earth in the urn, bearer and giver
of real life, your whet curiosity
on the silhouette of his hope
decreed you were intended, Pandora,
to lie, seduce and jar open your box
so that four rode into the world of man

as phosphorous flashed the face of man
and sickened him, slack-jawed. Lucifer, light-giver,
laughed at you and your curiosity
made you hide the box, now blind hope
in the palm of your hand, now dark Pandora
ponder the meaning of the box.

Ajar, the box, a jar, the box,
first woman, mendacious, given to surpassing man,
given to taker, yet still life-giver
whilst the Gods crowed curiosity
and buried hope
in that funeral urn of you, Pandora.

So was it worth it, Pandora? Holding onto your box,
blinding man with your light, ajar, then shut again. Gift-giver,
curiosity bomb, or keeper of that false idol hope?