01-24-2018, 04:09 AM
A Wild Stab in the Dark on the Royal Road
a feather floated past my tower window,
I jumped for it and fell and fell
Highness, forgive me but this was not the first time
that you've tumbled for a bit of fluff, all nice and soft
with a tongue to turn and toss you late into the night;
I do not believe on this we need to dwell.
(Though, sdadly, 'going down' is a topic to which
we may yet have cause to return).
a pear, just a single one, in an oak tree,
hanging amidst thousands of acorn's
Majesty I could be wrong, but surely this is classical,
the pear is famous after all, world renowned,
a ripe female form, and acorns do seem like small men
in the cold; so sad, but some suitors are simply suitable for scorn.
(Tis not so oft that mighty oaks from little acorns do grow)
she was holding a candelabra, my sister,
she was motioning me towards the cave
You said she thought that she saw Herrn Freud in there,
doing something strange with her mother's hair,
tying himself up in knots, a spot of bondage,
just to stop himself from spinning in his grave.
(As an only child I think the message is clear,
madam you're looking rather pale, pray tell me
do you feel a little queer?)
the Gypsy woman revealed a curse placed on our family
long ago, she offered to remove it for my mother's memories
My Queen, such a bargain is delusion, madness,
your mother has dementia or Alzheimers, I forget which,
but her memory it is lost, beyond medicine or magic.
Tragic, yes, but your subjects know the curse, if curse it is,
is that your family refuses to take anything seriously.
(Nor give much weight to cultural stereotypes,
or even, dare I say it, oneiromancy.)
baskets and baskets of them, orange and yellow and red…
I couldn't make them out and then they spilled and covered me
I see, all this and vanilla also,
cornflour, eggs, milk, sugar, stirred slow
and then, just like a plot it thickened, next
if I'm right were you not given, a sponge
to soak it up, some red visco-elastic stuff
all a quiver, yes? No my lady, not a disaster, for see,
let me speak plain, it is nothing but a mere trifle in the end.
(Was that a groan ma'am, shall I summon your physician?
...Doctor, doctor, I think...)
[24/01- couple of tweaks - thanks vagabond]
a feather floated past my tower window,
I jumped for it and fell and fell
Highness, forgive me but this was not the first time
that you've tumbled for a bit of fluff, all nice and soft
with a tongue to turn and toss you late into the night;
I do not believe on this we need to dwell.
(Though, sdadly, 'going down' is a topic to which
we may yet have cause to return).
a pear, just a single one, in an oak tree,
hanging amidst thousands of acorn's
Majesty I could be wrong, but surely this is classical,
the pear is famous after all, world renowned,
a ripe female form, and acorns do seem like small men
in the cold; so sad, but some suitors are simply suitable for scorn.
(Tis not so oft that mighty oaks from little acorns do grow)
she was holding a candelabra, my sister,
she was motioning me towards the cave
You said she thought that she saw Herrn Freud in there,
doing something strange with her mother's hair,
tying himself up in knots, a spot of bondage,
just to stop himself from spinning in his grave.
(As an only child I think the message is clear,
madam you're looking rather pale, pray tell me
do you feel a little queer?)
the Gypsy woman revealed a curse placed on our family
long ago, she offered to remove it for my mother's memories
My Queen, such a bargain is delusion, madness,
your mother has dementia or Alzheimers, I forget which,
but her memory it is lost, beyond medicine or magic.
Tragic, yes, but your subjects know the curse, if curse it is,
is that your family refuses to take anything seriously.
(Nor give much weight to cultural stereotypes,
or even, dare I say it, oneiromancy.)
baskets and baskets of them, orange and yellow and red…
I couldn't make them out and then they spilled and covered me
I see, all this and vanilla also,
cornflour, eggs, milk, sugar, stirred slow
and then, just like a plot it thickened, next
if I'm right were you not given, a sponge
to soak it up, some red visco-elastic stuff
all a quiver, yes? No my lady, not a disaster, for see,
let me speak plain, it is nothing but a mere trifle in the end.
(Was that a groan ma'am, shall I summon your physician?
...Doctor, doctor, I think...)
[24/01- couple of tweaks - thanks vagabond]