Tea Party:
The silver slipper slouches, half reposed,
The foot that holds it easy clad.
Make way, make way, the Dame is come
From out the Snow of Mustergrad
And she is weary from her journey,
Give her seat and give her tea.
Let her converse with young Joline,
The treasure we possess in this country.
And still the silver slipper slouches, half asleep
Uncaring of the world around.
Sits now the Dame, her name of highest Fame
And not to mention known for Wealth -
But for unlucky chance, and someone else was crowned,
She might have been the Queen of all of France!
Where e'er she goes, she rests assured, all drink her health.
She sips her tea, and gazes 'round, engaging with her speech
The fairest maid, so it is said, in all that precious country!
Still slouches on that silver slipper, unaware
(Or maybe simply without care)
That there sits next to her one step from royalty.
Her answers satisfy, her speech is sure
And all would sigh to see
The fairest in the land conversing well
With one one step from royalty,
Her youthful face, while flushed, suffused with surety.
Yet unbeknownst, the silver slipper slumbers on
Hidden beneath the table on the lawn.
Yet not alone, for opposite there sits
A golden slipper, casual, unremarked
Slouching solemn beside the silver,
Sleeping subtle without rebuttal.
A Surprise
How unremarkable the land is bare around
Where oceans once held mystery
And mountains screamed in storms that told
Of some adventure long ago,
Some long forgotten fact lost now to history.
The clouds are made of vapour, water tracks the skies
Basalt, granite, all igneous and ignoble are the mountains,
The geysers tamed to fit a fountain's frame
And all the cosmos probed by Satellites.
What is there left for us, the frontier lovers?
Nothing. The West is dust, and all the elements accounted
And Everest has been besieged by hikers, the ocean floor
Has now relinquished all its store, and talk of gold is lies
(We now know where to find material, no need for such prospecting)
And all we see is known, nothing left to imagination
Nothing to know or love, nothing that's new or comes as some welcome
Surprise.
A siege:
Ten thousand men the hand has bled
To keep from off the wall -
There one stood tall, the one who led
The men before the fall.
And aye, amassed were spears of war
And he was wounded, red
With the defeat unthought of in his lore.
He stood against the siege, and led.
Ten thousand more were thrust, and cruel
The fates had twisted all.
His men came yet, followed his rule
As men had done before the fall.
Now come another ten, he can't
Believe his eyes, his tears
Belie his stirring will to stand.
Confront them and your fears.
Ten thousand more without the walls,
Yet he stands still to kill,
Tears in the blood and hand of red.
Where he has led, so mankind falls.
And yet he knows, as dark the evening falls
That if he had a choice again
He would have taken on them all
And lived to stand, 'til he was slain.
For tomorrow:
Academia.Edit!:
Haikus are fun. Now whenever I write a short sentence I stop and count syllables.
Let me give you reason
To wish that I were dead or gone -
Haiku's out of season.
Author
Topic: Poetry Prompts (Read 50111 times)