Let me ask the doves--
But the gamesman's killed them, one by one;
What was he thinking of?
Am I your best girl?
Let me ask the fox--
But the gamesman's set out poisoned meat
To save his hens and cocks.
Blue morning glories climb the post,
Red roses crowd the door--
I keep my head held shameless high,
My dress pooled on the floor.
Am I your best girl?
Let me ask your back--
The gamesman brings you bright gold rings
And birds with broken necks.
_______
Nice piece! Ever hear of the band mewithoutyou? I think you'd dig their storytelling style...
ReplyDeletesome of your lines are orgasmic,
ReplyDeleteothers are slaps!
Aloha from Honolulu,
Comfort Spiral
> < } } ( ° >
Definitely some fine gothica here, and full of a dark and pearly innocence as well as a grim consciousness of what really goes on in the nobleman's back yard. The contrast just makes it --if you'll excuse the technical terminology--more creepy good.
ReplyDeleteThis poem reminds me of the old folk song, "Black Jack Davy." Perhaps that's not the title--it's been over 40 years since I've heard it--but it's sinister-sad, like your poem.
ReplyDeleteHarry Chapin's "The Mayor of Cantor (Lied)" as well...
Yup. No one can write like you. Just sayin'.
ReplyDeleteNobody writes a romantic nightmare like you, Shay.
ReplyDeletei think Buddah captured it perfectly ~ a romantic nightmare!
ReplyDelete♥
Wow!
ReplyDeleteThis moves like a formal dance. Just lovely, Shay.
ReplyDeleteYes, a dance! I LOVED "I keep my head held shameless high"
ReplyDeletePassionately tragic, this write.
That picture is sumptuous, and the words flow across the senses like a heady perfume.
ReplyDelete