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I. Summer Honey Crush
Soft, silken lips shone from her screen last night.
She saw them, plump and ripe, as smooth and lush
As velvet peaches kissed by Sol’s delight.
If her smile blushed in Summer Honey Crush
She’d beam a flirty grin to light his eyes—
That guy who rides the seven-thirty train
To Charing Cross would turn her sighs to highs.
They’d brave the slate-grey skies. They’d waltz in rain.
They’d skip through puddles in Trafalgar Square
(Just like the lovers did on last night’s ad) …
Like Piccadilly clouds, they’d float on air
To rainbow zones— elation’s launching pad.
Their lips would lock and rayless days would rock…
But Summer Honey Crush is out of stock.
.
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II. Silver-Stardust
She rides the daily seven-thirty train
To Charing Cross—she lights his humdrum trips.
Her muted beauty has no need for vain
Displays of painted nails and glossy lips.
He dreams of wowing her with glam and glitz.
They’d cruise in bliss to bistros by the beach—
The soft-top down, they’d laugh and sing and kiss…
They’d fly to heights he thought were out of reach.
That Silver-Stardust, red-trimmed, sporty car
(The sleek, pristine machine on last night’s ad)
Would spin them through the spheres to Shangri-La,
Secure her heart and make his ever glad…
They’d melt beneath the moon, him and his honey,
If only he had Silver-Stardust money.
First published in Sparks of Calliope
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Susan Jarvis Bryant has poetry published on Lighten Up Online, Snakeskin, Light, Sparks of Calliope, and Expansive Poetry Online. She also has poetry published in TRINACRIA, Beth Houston’s Extreme Formal Poems anthology, and in Openings (anthologies of poems by Open University Poets in the UK). Susan is the winner of the 2020 International SCP Poetry Competition, and has been nominated for the 2022 Pushcart Prize.
These are both great fun, Susan! The first poem is a lovely tribute to our illustrious President.
Russel, I didn’t even see the politics in this one, but you are dead right. Joe Biden is responsible for the petering out of the human race due to the lack of lipstick… oops, sorry – it’s Russia! Putin is responsible for inflation, our empty shelves, the price of gas, Aids, Covid, the inefficacy of the vaccines, Trump’s hair etc. And he’s crazy… our level-headed, sane president of utmost integrity has an awful lot on his plate. I hope Doctor Jill has his bib ready!
Susan, during an exhausting news month it’s a delight to wake up to these two light poems. These are two very well-crafted and reciprocal sonnets – reciprocal in the sense that each one takes the point of view of a passenger on the Charing Cross train who happens to be romantically interested in the other. Their fantasies are hilariously materialistic and based on commercials that they’ve watched on TV – very effective commercials it would seem! Miss Summer Honey Crush is hoping that lipstick will win over the object of her affection while Mr. Silver-Stardust thinks it will be a sporty car. There is great humor in their media-generated fantasies and some real pathos as well. The lipstick is out of the stock and he can’t afford the car. They seem almost brainwashed to avoid simply sitting next to each other and initiating a conversation. Is that what the advertising world has done to us?
I love that you chose the romantic sonnet form for these two poems. They are indeed romantic and yet they represent romance sabotaged rather than assisted by materialistic advertising fantasies. You’ve used the form casually but to great effect in presenting the contextual twist to romance.
A special shout out for the line “Would spin them through the spheres to Shangri-La” which is packed with more than one paradise. I also love the imagery of skipping through the puddles in Trafalgar Square. Lastly, I love the pure Englishness of these poems, setting them in evocative London. Is there a reason why you chose this particular setting? Not that I’m complaining. Just curious.
Very, very enjoyable, Susan!
Brian, you always get me… you understand every single layer of these poems and explain my meaning better than I could have explained it myself. If only we weren’t influenced by those who are only out there to gain from us, what a fun time we would have. The reason it’s set in London is because I rode that train to Charing Cross in my callow youth when I thought a certain shade of lipstick could bring happiness… I’ve since grown up, skipped in puddles through Trafalgar Square with my true love… lipstickless… and he didn’t own a Silver-Stardust, red-trimmed, sporty car. There’s a huge lesson in my poems that could bring sunshine to a lackluster world! Brian – thank you!
Fun and thought-provoking. There’s a certain melancholy in these ‘what if’ poems for what they tell us about lost opportunities, especially this age where online and speed-dating seem to be overtaking traditional ways for couples to meet.
Thanks for the insightful reads, Susan.
Thank you, Paul.
I agree that these are both fun and meaningful. And you have told a short story in poetic form!
Cynthia, thank you very much… I appreciate your discerning eye and your encouragement.
Susan, we are giggling with laughter at these. I guess you must have experience of the seven-thirty to Charing Cross in your former life. I will pass these on to a friend of mine in the London advertising business who, I know, will be inspired to dig out his bright red braces.
Jeff, this was indeed inspired by my former life. I used to work in Palace Street, Victoria for Michael Heseltine and caught that train from Barnehurst. Do you remember that “Barnehurst to Blackfriars” song? If not, here it is. I think you’ll love it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBPahAoVUyQ
Who would’ve thought Barnehurst would’ve been memorialized in this amazing song. It’s a pity they left the ‘e’ out of Barnehurst which has been sucked up by Bexleyheath.
Susan, I love this parody of “Day trip to Bangor”…you have an impeccable taste in music. Ha Ha!
You’ve crushed the summer honey with your craft.
I can’t remember when I ever laughed
So hard. But who’s the perp and who’s the victim?
The envelopes are full, but no one licked ’em.
So here we are, still floating on a raft
Where no one can distinguish fore from aft,
And all we have to go by is the dictum
That no one gives a shit until we’ve kicked ’em.
I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t help it. You are never frivolous, and you are always on point.
Press on.
C.B. you’ve made my day!
“Twiddling our thumbs and scratching our bums”, thank you Susan for these wonderful musical lyrics and your two most enjoyable poems.