Roses born of prose
Lasting blooms, barbs wound and woo
Hues bright, rarely blue
Roses born of prose
Lasting blooms, barbs wound and woo
Hues bright, rarely blue
Chivalry’s not dead.
It holds open the door to
more enlightened times.
it’s said often live longer.
I’ll just wait and see.
A little scared of our trip last year,
to the far north-lands, the reason unclear.
Mountains, forests and an ice-cold lake,
no swimming or castles of sand to make.
Fresh air and sunshine, stars in the sky,
camping and hiking, climb mountains high.
That didn’t sound like much fun to me,
I’d rather visit a nice warm sea.
Drive lasted hours, slumped in the backseat.
We ran out of snacks, then nothing to eat.
We read a new book of funny rhymes,
I fell asleep a couple of times.
Some stories were good, some I got bored,
some I laughed loudly, others I snored.
Arriving late in the darkness of night,
waking early to rising sunlight.
First we ate breakfast then a short hike.
Had lunch with dessert, what’s not to like.
Then a museum of the natives past,
legends of old and now fading fast.
Heard some stories, we saw a show.
My favorite was of long ago,
it was of a little kid like me.
The bravest kid there could ever be.
She was the daughter of the great chief.
He died protecting all from the thief,
who flew in the night stealing their food.
And the cause of their thousand-year feud.
The girl shortened her father’s long spear.
Then roamed the forest without a fear,
to find who took her father away.
Then slay the dragon, no time for play.
I laid in bed thinking of all I heard.
Remembered almost all, details blurred.
Woke the next morning ready to go,
to fill in the blanks I didn’t know.
I went to the shore before sunrise.
I climbed on the rocks. That wasn’t wise.
Had to know if the legend was true,
then fell in from slippery shoe.
Hit the water with a splash and scream.
I floated down and started to dream.
I woke up much later warm and dry.
But there’s no sign of bright morning sky.
I felt all around for a way out.
Then saw light from something’s big snout.
I screamed and jumped, bumped my head and then,
I knew I was in that dragon’s den.
Her nostrils grew bigger, warm and bright.
Would I be cooked for a tasty bite?
She started to laugh and I to cry.
Was I to live or was I to fry?
She said “Hello” in a dragon tone.
“Glad to see you, I’m always alone.”
I was much surprised to hear her speak.
Her nature was gentle, almost meek.
Now in the brightness of her warm light.
We sat and chatted into the night.
She told me the truths I had to know.
And when she’s done burping I could go.
Dragons can wait to burp but it’s slow.
Or blow out flames with a mighty glow.
A truly bad idea, we both think.
So we waited for her belly to shrink.
We waited and waited for hours or more.
So she could shrink and unblock the door.
And when most all of her gas gone away,
I could slip out to the light of day.
By now it’s late and dragon’s still plump.
Rocks all around, I sat on my rump.
She spoke of the last to be with her –
It was the littlest dragon slayer.
“She was three feet tall and very bold,
Not much more than eight or nine years old.
She charged at me with her tiny spear,
tears pouring down, she showed no fear.
She plunged the stick in my outstretched paw.
She tried pulling it out to poke me some more.
The tip broke off; I’ve had it since then,
tucked away safe in my dragons den.
The girls cause noble though a mistake.
Her dear father’s life I didn’t take.
He chased me into the dark of night.
Belly swollen, I couldn’t take flight.
I ran and ran then climbed a tall tree.
But the brave young chief followed me.
He heard some chicks cry out on a limb.
Surviving the wind their chance’s grim.
Was the branch to weak, he couldn’t be sure.
But reached for the nest and made it secure.
He was a brave man, doing his best.
But fell to his death saving the nest.
The small girl glad to know what was right.
But she’s still very sad at her loss that night.
It wasn’t my fault but I share the blame.
Though sad, she forgave me all the same.
While in the forest the rest of that day,
we planned how to keep others away.
I promised to sleep most of the year,
hiding when there are people to scare.
The slayer agreed to spare my soul.
Keeping her friendship is my life’s goal.
She would try to visit when she could,
into the darkness of the night wood.
I gave her a claw as proof of who won –
that famous dragon slaying mission.
She wore it always and was admired by all”
I said it was now on the museum’s wall.
The dragon then shared more of her life,
her times of happiness, times of strife.
There’s never to be any flying at all.
Unless to answer another dragons call.
Said she’s free to swim under the ice,
but never when the weather is nice.
And while out for her last swim of the year.
I fell in and she found me there.
She brought me back to her cozy den,
where she’d hibernate all over again.
Our chat ended as her eyes turned red,
her tummy stirring, she warmly said.
“Please take the tip of the slayers spear,
So you can recall your time spent here.
Think of me fondly now that we’re friends.
And trust that a dragon’s love never ends.”
She finally burped, I held my nose,
but that’s how a dragon friendship goes.
Then out the backdoor and into the wood,
I ran as fast as ever I could.
Now thinking, of course of mom and dad,
the sooner I’m back the less they’ll be sad.
Then the rangers soon found me safe and sound.
They were all happy I hadn’t drowned.
Back at the camp we all hugged and kissed.
I was safe and assured I was missed.
But then all the questions that they had –
Over and over until I got mad!
They didn’t believe my dragon tale.
I showed them my proof to no avail.
It was thought that my memories blurred –
by all the stories that I had heard.
Tales of dragons and slayers in the night,
all normal causes of a child’s fright.
A doctor checked the bump on my head,
then sent me back home for time in bed.
I’m glad for the friendship of a dragon.
But all in all it wasn’t much fun.
I’ve learned new things and a good lesson had.
That a kid all alone is very very bad!
And now I’ve shared my legend with you.
Like the slayer’s, it’s mostly all true.
But if you don’t believe I’m sincere –
I’ll show you the tip of that little spear.
~:~ the End ~:~
A look, touch – A kiss
Hands, bodies – Tactile bliss
Love – Nothing’s amiss
Heart strings stroked feel heat
Neck caressed long and sweet
Rhythm head to feet
How humans learned
They died for knowledge yearned
Trial and error’d
Shadows haze, gaze missed.
A day true ends nights un-kissed.
Shine bright, embrace twist.
I try to forget
deja’ vu so it doesn’t
bother me again
In two hearts emboldened and
Mind’s see eye to eye
Good memories keep,
let the bad fade – then there’s room
for when better’s made.
In a world of rhyme
all’s poetic, hearts bleeding
is life’s aesthetic.
Our sands of time are
Either warm and caressing
Or cold and dirty
Life’s perspective is
our palette to draw from when
all points lead away
A life spent boosting
Of one’s common sense is a
Life commonly spent
The brightest sunrise
often occurs after the
longest darkest night
Living the dream’s a
nightmare when always worried
about waking up .
When I’m writing less
I’ve far fewer excuses
not to write better
April’s in with a wash, May’s out with a bloom.
June’s always good, July ends too soon.
August is hot, a time for the beach.
September’s when summer’s furthest from reach.
October refreshes with crispness and hue.
November we’re thanked for so much to do.
December’s for holidays when winter’s still bright.
January is mostly a long frozen night.
February’s short yet seems without end,
it’s the month of love and a shadowy friend.
Then time for the lion to come marching in –
for a spring outing with lambs and a grin.
Welcome back to Hannahbelle’s folly
where dreams broken yet most stayed jolly.
The factory was shut, tourist didn’t stay,
the impatient grew impatient for a better day.
Most old town folk not wanting to go
agreed to a change in the Hannahbelle show.
Their now was the present, past’s time of old,
the gooey center betwixt is this tale told.
It starts with Charlie, who lacked business sense.
All money made was but half his expense.
Having won the factory therefore the town,
he became a fair leader, albeit a clown.
Yet a kinder soul there could never be.
All hungers fed, anytime, always free.
The workers prospered with newfound wealth,
not only from raises but dental and health.
The village glistened, all gloom washed away.
Their Renaissance grew brighter each passing day.
Charlie married soon after, a remarkable bride,
their love for each other they couldn’t hide.
Hannahbelle followed within that same year.
She’s properly pampered and handled with care.
By noble decree the eldest of elders proclaimed;
In honor of Charlie the towns to be renamed.
A contest was held to find the best name.
Most of the entries were all the same.
The town’s new name was Hannahbelleville,
from miles around people came for the thrill.
With towers of brick placed one at a time
all topped with a bell for the hourly chime.
The windows sparkled, doors welcomed all.
Just step right in and we’ll all have a ball.
Neat lines form long to be part of the show.
There are twists and turns wherever you go.
A bib and bags are given free at the door
to save what’s left for when you want more.
Ponchos welcome but most haven’t a care,
sweet diversions are why they’re all here.
Where chocolate waterfalls splash at their base,
what a tasty surprise to the passerby’s face.
There are also cakes, cookies and candies galore.
There’s shirts and hats at the little gift store.
The shelves always stocked, but not for long,
their prices are good so sales are strong.
On paper everything seemed OK.,
until a new town sprouted across the bay.
This new town was grander, factory too.
They stole Charlie’s recipes, yet he hadn’t a clue.
They built a new park with rides big and small.
It’s better than Hannahbelles that had none at all.
The competition soon became bold and brutal.
The rivals charged half for twice the strudel!
Though Charlie’s reluctant to change his way,
he worked all the harder without any pay.
Then Hannahbelle’s tuition became overdue,
not just one term but quite a few.
She’d have to go home without a degree.
The long spring stretched, she worked as three.
Side by side the little family all toiled.
Cooking and cleaning and keeping things oiled.
Summer arrived and thoughts were blooming.
She had to think fast, payday was looming.
Then a plan was hatched to save the day.
She called her classmates to all have a say.
Her idea was shared to change their fates.
The chefs and chemists mixed heated debates.
Mathematicians integrated their permutations.
The statisticians juggled interpolations.
The engineers tinkered to make all precise.
Artist’s flourished to make all look nice.
A manager’s needed to book weekend bands.
Then there’s the overhead and two hired hands.
There are taxes, tariffs and hidden fees.
We’ve a lawyer’s retained to shoot the breeze.
Bankers were safe with their calculations.
The accountants left to balance frustrations.
Our writers wrote slogans, jingles and ads.
Their pieces placed in papers for new I.T. grads.
A final test given for last minute tweaks.
Then code was input by computer geeks.
The output emerged and everyone’s thrilled.
Soon teeth and tummies both less filled.
It’ll be safe to consume whenever you please.
They’ll never melt and cannot freeze.
There’s no a messy wrappers or sticky streets.
When enjoying the new Hannahbelle binary treats.
Though you will need a dongle for a spare port,
to call up our server of cheese mocha torte.
You can try any flavor you think to choose,
try them all, there’s nothing to loose
We’ve green apple slush and warm fuzzy peach.
There’s seven billion in all, that’s one for each.
Just fill in the form and enter your pin.
Sit back, relax and let the digiconfection begin.
Pay what you can, take what you need.
The business is sweet without any greed.
And after all the bills are paid,
what’s left is ours; it’s what we’ve made.
What was made is what we make.
What Hannahbelle makes icing on her cake.
Hannahbelles treats now second to none,
without competition you’ve already won.
And as the creator of all that’s digiconfectionary,
she’s thought now to be a true visionary.
A university was founded, tuition’s free.
Hannahbelle was first to earn a degree.
Soon she was mayor of Hannahbelleville.
She could serve for life and probably will.
The company grew large, built in its niche.
Everyone did well, though no one got rich.
Hannahbelle shares all her profits and good will.
So all ends happily in Hannahbelleville.
Summer’s at its end, no paths leading home,
memories haunt, hunger leads wherever he does roam.
The hazy starlight setting, the sun’s ready to rise.
A frightened little orphan wipes dreams from sleepy eyes.
Soon the bells will ring calling all’s return.
The timid sure to flounder, the hardy always earn.
Darting through the alleys, the bay comes in view.
Ships aplenty ply the piers promising something new.
Upon these docks seabirds feast,
sharing the waste with all other beast.
Flies swarm, rats persist and hungry dogs bark.
There are many unseen faces lurking in the dark.
Survivors all, as is he, sharing the spoils of a bountiful sea,
no masters’ switch or mothers’ screams when a life is free.
Two pockets and a mouth full will feed for a day.
Fancy cord or carved wood may even bring some pay.
Scavenging for a morsel, a meal comes in sight.
Tis crated fruits from afar, a taste of pure delight.
Brushing off the larvae and peeling rotted skin,
sweet sensations pass the lips, a smile grows within.
Then giggles gurgled from his blissful throat.
Till greed consumes and bellies bloat.
Euphoria swells and inhibitions subside.
The bustle begins there’s no need to hide.
While hunger had made his mind alert.
Gluttony now makes his body inert.
Guard lowered, feet slow to run,
this young boys’ journey’s now just begun.
Sailors seized the well fed thief.
Then shackled aboard to ease their grief,
a gift for the captain from his loyal crew.
A cabin boy’s needed, there’s much to do.
Soon underway and far from land,
the mate unlocks the orphans’ hand.
The boy then runs toward sun and air.
On deck he cries watching land disappear.
Formalities scant then forced to chores,
His long nights stowed behind locked doors.
They voyaged south where weather’s warm,
when the waters grew bumpy ahead of a storm.
The captain commanded his capable crew.
And the boy was forgotten with so much to do.
The bright sun fell with the dark rising sea.
Freedom escapes when nowhere to flee.
The howling winds and roaring waves,
called heroes and fools to watery graves.
The skipper stood bravely at his battered helm,
barking out orders to all in his realm.
He called for his servant to secure a line tight.
The boy climbed too high, falling into the night.
The bosons’ pipe blew and bells rang out,
muffling the sounds of the orphans last shout.
The boy sank fast with his final breath.
When suddenly snatched by the jaws of death.
In a cage of tooth and tongue for seat,
waiting was he to be something’s treat
Swimming as fast as ever she could,
the serpent’s intensions were soon understood.
Diving through darkness then leaps in the air.
A long journey had, till the weather was fair.
He awoke on a beach, the serpent close by.
Being baked in hot sand to be eaten and die.
Before he could run the beast came near.
She patted his head and said “Have no fear.”
She gazed into his scared little eyes.
Assuring him serpent myths were lies.
“We’re not all monsters or killers you see,
though maybe a few but certainly not me.”
“Serpents get angry when harpoons fly their way,
or when dragged ashore for a tasty fillet.
Bounties are had that pay by the pound,
riches await when a big serpents found.”
The new friends chatted the rest of the day.
They shared their pasts till no more to say.
Dozing they snuggled on a bed of soft leaf,
dreaming of a life without any grief.
Wakened to sunshine and breakfast pre-made.
The grinning pair feasted on greens in the shade.
Then time for a swim in their private lagoon.
They frolicked together till the rising full moon.
Days and weeks then years soon past,
the happy young boy was growing fast.
The pair traveled the oceans and faraway lands,
their life’s serene with no demands.
They ate and slept and played on a whim,
till the boy grew curious of others like him.
He asked many questions, to the serpent unknown,
her boy a young man, now twice grown.
His name, he had none, he could recall.
He was always called boy and that was all.
The serpent, a serpent, there’s no need for a name.
The boy called her mum just the same.
The wise serpent knew their time couldn’t last,
The boy’s now a man and still growing fast.
Mum was ashamed of keeping the boy,
to coddle and cuddle and treat like a toy.
They played together, she watched him grow,
all the time knowing he’d eventually go.
A plan was hatched she couldn’t admit.
If her boy found out he’d have a fit.
She would swim close to shore then into the bay.
She’d crash on the beach for her boy’s big payday.
A hero he’d be and rewarded a bounty vast.
But she had to be quick for her nerve to last.
The day was perfect and the sky was clear.
Boy was napping when land came near.
The plan underway, Mum turned the last bend.
The town grew closer, her life soon to end.
Flapping her flippers as fast as she could,
splashes seen as she knew they would.
With one last thrust she lunged for the land.
The boy awakened when thrown to the sand.
The town folk scattered, guards quick to arrive.
None had seen a serpent alive.
Bruised and battered the boy came to.
Quickly he knew what he had to do.
He knew his friend would have a plan.
The boy’s time was now to be a man
Fearlessly facing his many foes,
standing with mum to shield their arrows.
He called for the general to make a deal.
“Spare your feasts now for many a meal.
Or a battle we will have with much to lose.
Life or death sir is for you now to choose.”
The general perplexed requested his king.
A long hour past, mum started to sing.
The crowds joined in and fears were eased.
The deal was sealed and all were pleased.
The general was spared potential bloodshed.
The serpent was spared her intelligent head.
The boy made an admiral though a scant crew,
with a fleet of just one and we all know who.
His beloved town prospered, called the boy Beau.
Replacing the name he didn’t know.
Beau got married, had many a young.
The eldest’s in a band with a grand mum who sung.
Where rocky cliff meets stormy sea,
a castle perched, forever be.
Where gray stone surrounds little seen sky.
‘Twas this fortress a young princess cry.
The princess post birth, her parents delight,
treasured by day, guarded by night.
Feasting with jesters, ponies, puppets and maids,
a gaggle of servants draw bright velvet shades
With sentry of knight to share all her dreams,
her eyes shut tight to hide her screams.
Time wasted limitless, she wished for an end.
The princess was lonely without a true friend.
One morning awoken by a kiss from a queen,
sleepy eyes opened to a sight seldom seen.
Golden light sparkles in diamond pane rare,
a sapphire morn burns black coal night air.
A tasty breakfast served on tray in bed.
Downy pillows fluffed to rest her head.
The king arrived more jolly than ever,
with riddle to solve, if anyone clever.
“What may have wings cannot fly.
Holds a heart yet cannot die.
Shaken pitch laughs off rain.
Having one a princess to gain?”
The joyous young girl made many a guess.
The kings’ piddling patience grew less and less.
The queen and knights all had a try.
The king muttered “castle!” with a loud sigh.
The room bemused by the riddler’s zeal.
Most unconcerned with how others feel.
A castle repeated in more pleasant a tone,
a home for a princess to call her own.
But first a short trip outside the wall,
where grass tickles feet and trees grow tall.
There are lessons to learn from tutors wise.
There are truths to see with growing eyes.
Now’s time a princess must prepare,
for the eventual call of a prince to be dear.
A someday king awaits his throne,
whence you shall rest upon your own.
The princess knew the day would come,
a bartered prize as was her Mum.
No fairy tale endings for spawn of kings.
“Tis a life shackled with heavy gold rings.
Adventure awaits, no time for self-pity,
freedom’s short locked in a stone city.
Knowledge abounds beyond heavy gates.
The princess skips past on worn ancient slates.
Beneath a fine bonnet of satin and lace,
excitement glowed on her adolescent face.
Her velvet shoes barely touching the dirt,
a merry cyclone a-swirl in silk skirt.
Her mentor soon waves from path by wood.
Magical flora beckons, some bad, some good.
Wonders overwhelm in green forest lush.
An ocean of emeralds painted with brush.
With each lash a-flutter bursts a new color.
Light and shades multiply them all more.
With the thirst of a sponge she did explore,
where surprises abound when not looked for.
A gentle breeze blew, a little leaf flew,
bright sky filled in the space anew
A ray of sunlight kissed a shiny stone.
Atop a bed of dewy leaf it rests alone.
With a tiny tap upon its shimmering side,
the distant fates of two collide.
Surface cracking on this egg thought stone,
a heartbeat wakened with thunderous tone.
Out popped a plump lump, beneath wings of scale.
A pat on the rump exposed its long tail.
A final stretch thrust shell shards to leaf.
And there lie a creature beyond belief.
Warm smiles shared with a new friend.
A precious little pearl, the girl’s to defend.
The gazes shattered by a howl from the trail,
‘twas the elderly teacher, impatient and frail.
The princess knew what had to be done.
The babe hid under her bonnet and bun.
Down the path she ran back to the gate.
Yelled to the guards “The teacher was late”
Gates barely open she slipped through the crack,
escaping notice of the tail down her back.
Safe in her chamber they shared the night’s meal,
both sharing puckers with fresh lemon peel.
Then swathed in plush robes, kissed on the head,
the fledgling was tucked safely under the bed.
Each night passing, more robes to conceal,
this teething tot with big teeth that’s real.
Each day growing from the princess’s scraps,
she grew thinner, now padded with straps.
The servants grew nervous at both the sight,
one lie near weightless, one flew in the night.
The princess’s secret though soon was known,
when her expanding friend went out alone.
The knights became dazed by armored flight,
their swords no match for the hunger of night.
The king and queen where too nearly maimed.
Pawns, bishops and rooks where all to be blamed.
A wizard was called to tame the toddler beast.
His tenure cut short when almost a feast.
The creature now huge, truly loved the girl.
She called her Sunshine, the princess’s Pearl.
Together they frolicked on the castle rooftop.
The king spying danger called for a stop.
Shouting “time’s come to put childhood behind,
It’s now time to marry, I’ve someone in mind.
He’s brave, sweet, wise and kind, at least I’m told.
There’ll be time to adjust as you both grow old.”
Escorted by king to a royal coach and four,
off to be locked behind another gilded door.
Her fate was sealed by a noble families need,
alliances grown with common regal seed.
But with a twist, jerk and a naughty giggle,
the squiggly princess was free now to wiggle.
Breaking free, running fast, past all unaware.
She zigged and zagged toward the rooftop stair.
Screaming loudly for her only friend Pearl,
who tried to save the much pursued girl.
A guard with a pike held Pearl on a chain.
Blocking the Sunshine’s escape of the reign.
Seeing her friend at the top of the stair,
Pearl snapped her links then into the air.
The petrified guard fled from his post,
grabbing for Sunshine he’d surely be toast.
The princess ran to the edge of the roof,
yelling to Pearl, she feared aloof.
The big eared beast sharply turned about,
hearing her Sunshine’s gloomy shout
The king with guards, knights and queen,
Stormed to the roof unprepared for what’s seen.
The princess looked back, blew a kiss to her mother,
and a warm thoughtful wave to all the other.
Then with a carefree step she disappeared.
Plunging to her sudden death, or so was feared.
The mortified lookers all lunged for the ledge.
Hoping the princess landed safe in a hedge.
The king peeked over, not wanting to see,
when up rose his honey like a big bumble bee.
She hung from the neck of her dear friend Pearl,
now bonded for life, this dragon and girl.
Higher she climbed with a dragons eye view,
a view to be viewed by a very small few.
Now all surveyed, now all her realm,
Sunshine’s the captain, Pearl the helm.
Over forest and mountains, ocean and stream,
free in a world where she need not dream.
Adrift on her Pearl upon the endless sea,
Alone they now be in their realm of fantasy.
The king broken-hearted wept in his sleep.
The queen stricken ill with never a peep.
They later agreed to bare a new heir,
whether girl or boy was not a care.
The next child’s fate was sure to be better,
born free of mind and trappings that clutter.
With a loving heart nurtured by family and friends,
then given the choices to choose their own ends.
The princess returned in time for the birth.
The kingdom was full of merriment and mirth.
The princess enchanted with her friend who flew.
And all ends happily as fairy tales all do.
Behold this welcome image.
Where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay.
All in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Steady breeze most every day.
Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasure abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.
Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets estate.
He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair.
His quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.
Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.
Journey’s end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.
Just another blurry face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring
Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found –
In the deep or endless sky.
Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.
Sharing much common thread,
In this moment “ brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall
Making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.
In a corner where shadows overlap.
The poet searches for his light,
Where the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe, for now from his hilltop trap,
Layers of darkness, out of sight.
Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides.
Now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?
Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
The scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses strong.
Hat brim low to hide his shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poets name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.
When after long hesitation a hasty reply ”
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow when faces shade red.
Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
Hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.
The poet a rather tall fellow.
The traveler a poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.
“With little time to hone a craft –
With a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”
What dribble do you speak my friend?
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.
“Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.
The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered.
His shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind so free and uncluttered.
His weaknesses many and unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His welcome silence – forever heard.”
Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.
Out of the dark into the night.
Bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.
The traveler tucked snugly in his bunk.
With help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled Wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense “ drunk.
The favorite carried and the pompous ass ran.
Boot heals clack on cobble slick.
While stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
If only to have his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.
The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb.
With forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea.
My misery oh-so great ” it is oh-so sublime.
Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.
Winter’s behind, graven plans regress.
Fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey to Main Street, praise to guzzle.
Surveying high atop his magnificent mount.
The poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle, not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler – no doubt.
It was “In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”
I’ve tried to pen a poem
for my beloved Nutella.
Though I’m not really
a very sentimental fella.
I love how she’s a little nutty,
Oh so coco sweet.
We’ve shared many lovely meals,
always a delightful treat.
She’s a vision sprawled
on a wholesome bed.
soon to be fed.
I love her truly
like no other.
But a little more
with peanut butter.
And as with all
other tries before.
I’m getting hungry
and can write no more.