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Pawel Stefan Drosdzol

Delicious | Wish I'd Gone To Finishing School | iwuddoitforu | There Ain't No Cure For Me, Leonard | Expiration Date | Say, Grace (Or Magnetic Personality) | Elemental Care | To Death | So What Happens To Old Carousel Horses?


It was our first meal out,
you daintily tasted your food
and purred "soooo delicious"

I thought it endearing and
felt a thrill go through me
Your words seemed to be a
promise of sensual delights to come

Which did

Now with months passed
and many meals
soooo delicious
you taste your food
and think better of saying anything
Under my glare

Wish I'd Gone To Finishing School

Wish I'd gone to finishing school
Remember the final in '72?
Seconds to go, practically a sitter

Remember that redhead
sunrise spread before you?

And the degree, the marriage, the novel etc etc

Much the same with this


fly to the lampost
kick the brolly like kelly
it's true

do a grappelli
go gypsy like django
on cue

film a battle in rainfall
vintage kurosawa
in view

get hard rain to fall
spit words out like dylan
baby blue

write a poem - it's this one
a drosdzol, the least i
can do

There Ain't No Cure For Me, Leonard

I hear you, Leonard Cohen, when you say:
'There ain't no cure for love'
But hang around, Lennie, and you'll agree
There ain't no cure for me

Shifting towns 'bout the same's shifting blame
Lennie, hear my plea:
There ain't no cure for me
The person waiting for me at the airport
Has a familiar feel, Lennie, you see
The first person that greets that plane is me

When you got a cold you take vitamin C
That ain't no cure for me
And yes, Lennie, does make you sick when
You lose your honey bee
But, agree, there ain't no cure for me

Expiration Date

An ordinary date would certainly be great,
But I never bargained for this expiration date
She comes early, she doesn't come late
"I always come first," she says with a smirk
Dressed to kill for my expiration date

She knows of a place 'cross the river
Kinda quiet, kinda dead, kinda peaceful
Where we can eat, we can drink, undisturbed
Where we can get as close as twined lovers
And close the deal with a cold, clammy kiss

Superb as a companion she certainly is
Full of wit, conversation and cunning
She's beguiling, lovely and burns in my sight
With little black dress, very whitest of makeup
And eyes of black marble t'would put children to flight

It's all too seductive, I fall for the ruse
The repast is over, the quenching is done
The plates stop to clatter, the air is so still
She smiles with red mouth murderous with beauty
And says: "Now my sweet sir, here's THE BILL!"

Say, Grace (Or Magnetic Personality)

Just how do you do it, Grace, flirting with butterfly wings?
As for me, the magnet has me chained tight
Face in the mud
Dreams in the gutter

You're dancing in the air with gravity like it's Fred Astaire
And you're Ginger Rogers
While I get all sweaty, real W.W.F. -
I'm pinned (ouch, that's heavy, dude)

Ah ... Grace, tripping a couple 'o feet above the tightrope
Kicking around a cloud or two

You're lightning, Grace - I'm grounded
Bolted to the spot
"Take a flying leap?"
I tried that ... got the bruises to show

Say, Grace, please show me the ropes
And how to race on them

Don't make me grovel (sorry ... can't get up!)

Grace, you're a feather
I'm a'rollin' stone
Grace, kindly give me a break that's not of bone
And please can I get my rock off now, say, Grace?

Elemental Care

I would ask the lighted sky to watch over you
but the sky is always blue
and fussed with cloud and feather

I would ask the nighted sky to to watch over you
but the sky is always starry-eyed
and yawns with black and quiet

I would ask the sea to watch over you
but the sea is always making waves
and froths with frond and fin

I would ask the earth to watch over you
but the earth is always grounded
and bugged with dig and wriggle

I would ask the wind to watch over you
but the wind is always whistling
and capricious with flights and gusts

I would watch over you - I would, you know
but I am always human
and bound with fail and fear

To Death 

Death, I don't believe you're the dude that comes
At last?

You're a cat I've been groovin with since get go
Hep to me from the start

Cold fingers in my mum's womb kinda thing

We've come a way
Your clammy fingers in my business all the while
Whispering sweet nothing in my ear

Cloak and sickle?
No way, not your bag
You kinda dress like me, talk like me, walk like me

Hanging out, digging my bag
Supportive, you might say
in a laconic sort of way

You have to be there from birth, I suppose
to so carefully nag away every single second
so meticulously chip at every single cell

Your work is never done, dig
Until one day you get sickle of the whole shebang
and with a dismissive swipe knock me

So What Happens To Old Carousel Horses?

Yes, that one will do:
The one with the pretty mane
The one that's pink and baby blue

Time to go round again, rooted to the spot
Buy the ticket, take the ride
The world's a blur again
Wave to your wavy friends

The carousel slows, leave you dizzy
And all that sickly music, sickly music

So what happens to old carousel horses?
Is there a warehouse somewhere?
A knacker's yard for the wooden?
Where they whisper and whinny?
Or are they stripped and repainted?
Stripped and repainted?

What of those that grow old
Riding carousel horses?

Well you still see them hanging
around fairs, suspect and haggard,
hands in their pockets and
candyfloss stuck to their chins