Moon-kissed suitor

Wet with kinder dew drops,

a rippling Sunday evening,

the sun closes its eyes to the cradled earth beneath.

The tiny drops of sunlight cling to the last freckles of the departing day.

The smoked glass sky,

where the moon comes alive,

waking from her days rest.

She dozes in silence,

looking upon the world as clouds of fantasy flit before her eyes,

caressing and amusing her.

Her silver coats the earth with the lightness of feather,

but just below her lashes glares a golden light through an open window close within her reach.

From this very high window,

mingled with the light,

filters through a glimmer of aged tunes and words entrapped within curls of music.

Along it floats pale tragedy of old wizened eyes.

The music from the window, breathing lethal warmth,

like a sleeping dragon,

warms the mild moon's brow.

She peers in impatience,

lowering her head,

she falls gently,

in search of the lyrical voice;

of him who serenades her.

Against the painted background,

sat a man with auburn hair hair;

a man with talking eyes.

He played for her of the long gone love of Lancelot and Guinevere;

of Romeo and Juliet,

and many others whose love was true.

But he, in the pausing silence of his ancient notes, told her how lonesome she really was.

So scared was the expectant moon the she began to weep.

She looked at the stars,

none of which she could reach and pull close to herself,

so there she wept alone as his damning words washed away her hope.

She lay her tired self upon her bed if smoke and down,

breathing her last, she died into the day.

The French Queen

There they were,

The fatal steps ,

To the flashing blade;

To the final edge,

Inviting and calling,

''Come to me.....'',

It said, cheerfully.

She proceeded;climbed on,

Her hands bound,

And her tyrant;

Her husband,

Had graced the sharpness,

And was laid,

To rest in peace.

Everyone before her;

Man, woman and child,

Craved to see her dead;

Resting white and cold.

Her heart beneath her breast,

Beating their final beats,

Hurried to beat a few more,

Within their severed time.

Her grand couture,

Soon to be stained in gore,

Cleaved to her form,

For dear life.

Her held up hair,

Straying loose from their coils,

As if their desire,

Was to see the world,

One last time.

She knew not her crime,

For a little girl, was she,

Who did none any harm.

There! The final step,

Reached by her crying feet.

Her heart was calmer,

Her eyes were drier,

As resignation spread.

They exposed her neck,

And she closed her eyes.

Then, from her shoulders,

Dropped the head,

Of Marie Antoinette.

The Ship of Captain Joe

From the sturdy mountains,
Skipped down a laughing river,
Born from the glassy glaciers,
Winding along in fervour.

Flowing in lazy languor,
Along the peasant's plain,
She drowns into the sea,
Quenching its lusty pain.

In this very sea,
which washes clean the shore,
Sails the black barked devil,
The ship of captain Joe.

Born along the sea coast,
On an island of crags,
With plank on plank was she built,
By unfed men in rags.

A sailors delight,
And a shipman's pride,
The bony virgin,
Touched the tide.

Fluttering her mast,
Pretty and quaint.
They named her Mary,
And used pinkly used paint.

She sailed for her masters,
Elegant and coy,
Spreading happiness,
And sunlit joy.

Smiles she made,
On faces of friends,
But unhappy was she,
At every day's end.

She was meant for greatness,
She felt and knew,
Not wasting away,
With a scanty crew.

So she waited,
And bid her days,
Until one night,
She got her way.

On the silent nightly trip,
Tame and sickeningly slow,
She heard a mighty roar.
And her sides felt a sword.

And she was captured away,
From her lazy coast,
Into the wild sea,
Alive as a ghost.

The man on the deck,
With his crew,
Cruised her to the sea,
Where she belonged she knew.

Captain Joe was his name,
Who had seized her bark,
A pirate much feared,
By day and by dark.

He stroked his new beauty,
Very tenderly,
Soon the pink was off her back,
And her name was Crysallie.

Many a shore she touched,
On Captain Joe's command,
Many a sea she kissed,
'Neath her captain's hand.

She was laden with treasures,
From time to time.
She was often bejeweled,
By her captain's crimes.

She fought his wars,
On the chaffing sea.
She never drowned,
So strong was she.

She made an oath,
Never to leave,
Her captain's side,
Till the time of Eve.

For long and together,
Did her captain and she.
Sail the oceans,
and reign the seas.

But in this nasty world,
Do joy and sorrow,
Painfully wreak the heart,
As they each other follow.

One day, when the sun rose,
Surrounded they were, she saw,
By warships and the navy,
As ordered by the law.

Captain Joe, her love,
Was ripped from her back,
His hands were behind him,
And his head in a sack.

They walked him to the gallows,
To kill him she knew,
Right before her eyes,
And his faithful crew.

From the strong structure,
He did hang.
Roaring songs of joy,
The 'righteous' people sang.

She was put away then,
Where none would ever go.
Her back ached in misery,
And her planks missed her Joe.

Contempt for the Contemporary.

Dimwitted slaves of fallacy, living lives of constancy,
Living a wasted legacy, of pretentious ecstasy.
Blandness of memory, bordering on mediocrity,
Surrendering harmony, bound in affected poesy.
Favouring grandeur over brilliance, blind to kindred innocence,
Grimly face their hindrance, that meet them at every entrance.
Mulling in warm water, their lives they wish to alter.
In meadows they wish to saunter; in gardens they wish to loiter.
Martyring these desires, they are worldly liars,
They run on rubber tires, but dream of wild fires.
Within the grips of destiny, which they call priority,
And treat with severity, toiling for eternity.
Forging dreams and ambitions, they leave behind the formation,
Of the silent assumptions, made with pluck and gumption.
Assumptions romanticized, rose-tinted and hypnotized,
Dreamily paralyzed and personalized.
They think that they know of words of long ago,
Vainly try to show they’re fast when they’re slow.
Fast is not the speed, at which they want to breed,
Planting worthless seed, of fake religious creed.
Life’s steady impermanence, it is meager tolerance,
Of people of no consequence, brimming with insolence.
At long last they understand, the pointlessness of work in hand,
How they regret those grains of sand, which coyly left their hand.