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Picture Credits:
The further adventures of the King and Queen.
King of Hearts
My splendid flashing steed,
trusty gallant Brash Faestean and I departed
northly far from behind the sublime,
perfume mazed rose-gardens no longer in full bloom.
Crossing the forked floodgate’s mossy flume,
the bursting forth channel-sluiced moat
of my stone cluster-worked castle walls,
we faced glooming blasts of blustery blown, bone-breaking gusty winds.
I pondered with no patient traits, a wandering brooding ruse;
no fondly gloating clues, my mind not remotely lucid.
I blindly searched both high and low,
not even freed from crusts and drams of in-between;
alertly chasing down the charted creed, indeed the absolute answers,
an amazing sign to my lifelong vexing questionings.
Behold how untold countless days strangely surge,
stretched into ceaseless unfamiliar hours,
doled end to barren end;
boldly pending dire layers blending,
merging one into another.
No happy happenstance that amuses me,
no serving man can I fetch
to make me mount a pleasant gamesome laugh
or mold a winsome smile.
Even if perchance a lowly subject were to see me,
at first glowering glance they would peruse and view;
then gaiting, run back to their peasants’ barracks in duressed fright.
The truth of my haunted identity hides beneath
my curving down turned frown,
still glued intact; alas, alack.
My wallowed tears trace grimy tracks
in dour folded miles, a course that pours fine line maps
along my wretched hollowed cheeks.
I am hard-pressed, hesitant to taste a tiny morsel or chew a speck of food.
Forever cold and clammy, no rest for the weary;
surrendering to abject circumstance,
I close my failing eyes and pray for purging sleep.
These northeast green wood thickets are overgrown,
the hooded forest thickly groved.
Appearing as a starkly dark and bitter crone,
a harpy critter; stunted, un-serene and lonely.
I am a fearful shaker, a quavering partaker,
wavering in the beastly breeze;
I raise my aching hands and voice in sparks of anger.
Fickle crickets calling forth a ghoulish dirge,
they scream, “ You are a careening has-been;
a deluded rovered soul, an untalented fool wandering poor and lost.
Your lease on life is in arrears, slowly running out;
a lowly quandering quitter, so afraid to live your fading years,
yet in no way content to die without a fight this night. ”
Heaven’s godly clergy have sent no guardian angel,
no glittering spirit to my side;
no bickering chorused soothsayers to guide me
to the covered rood, so I may say the blessed mass,
then confess with beaded rosary.
Singing praise that I am pardoned, I fall prone upon my breast;
implore that I pass quickly, bravely through this dangered test.
I am in cheering luck, the periled fates have graced me;
dazed and struck, not restful sleeping in my feathered bed,
but no more fretful fits, disheartened vacillation.
Invigorated, I stumble on a small slate clearing near a river heading scene;
diversed crests and slivered valleys.
Its flowing breadths are marvelous, wild and deep;
my daring wits resurface, generating a relationship with favored pluck
I shall foray, hunt for humble rabbits mild, a habit I was taught from childhood;
the best of all the savory meats, a frontiered bounty for a hunter’s stew.
My resourceful faithful horse will find his nourishment, his feeding source complete;
whinnying within the creeping grass and grabbing vines nearby,
chasmed fine with huckleberry bushes.
We hear the brimming rush of the clean pool water’s force;
it is there we shall drink and swim.
Splashing, casting, catching a sinker line,
preparing a delicious breakfast; hot,
piled high with fine filleted fish, not gleaning meager crumbs.
Stabbing slabs on the dish, my beleaguered stomach rumbles, grumbles as if to say:
“ Of course you blasted fool, eat for you are hungry! ”
My crawling drifting soul no longer fraught with mounting wrathful thoughts,
I feel a lifting of my beguiled spirit; this fitting place will keep me company.
I hobble Faestean’s sturdy legs, so his raring movements remain restricted.
Close-by within earshot I whisper softly, “ Fear not Gentle Giant. ”
I sling my feathered arrows; fling my quiver pack behind my leathered back,
my pliant bow held loosely in my folded hand.
I am quiet as a country-cobbler’s mouse; no wordy conversation parts my lips.
I tread through summer’s green-leaved oak trees,
seeing runners clad in fluffy snow-white fur,
darting fast before me, no more quibbling;
quick, precise, never sparing, the metaled arrow hits its proven mark.
Then there are two other twitching noses and puffy cotton tails;
I am thrice blessed by Mother Nature, no ill-begotten gains;
my pasty mouth begins to water, I can almost taste that rabbit stew.
Tracing due south to the ranging area I shall call my home,
I find enough small wild carrots and sharp-tanged onions;
thinly sliced to add flavor and color to the hearty brew.
The flaring fire is built with thickened logs and crackling sticks, sparked with gusty flint
and the potted liquid starts to bubble; foaming higher, hotter.
The changing light is fairly fading in the bright red western sky.
Thus begins anew the long awaited first time that the pounding heaviness has lessened
in my steel-plated chested heart, now easing from its pricking pain.
A probable medicine to heal, a cure-all to my worst cased sense of loneliness;
do I dare believe, trusting in its guaranteed surety?
I gladly gobble, eat my savored fill; liquid dribbles down my chin.
No more will I greet conflicted strained behavior,
listening closely to bewitching nightfall sounds; a restful calmness overtakes me.
I am a paladin with a championed cause
and I sleep with harp-stringed chiming dreams.
The Gypsy Queen
I safely swim and freely float in deserted, quiet contemplation;
the blazing sun beats down in tingling warmth against my pertly naked skin.
My alerted ears perk up, clandestine islands of intense interest,
my childish soul a little waif in fright.
I hear skittering worrisome noises coming from the murky woods;
not a single-bonded gypsy knows of my wandering whereabouts.
Chattering squirrels chasing and baby rabbits playing hide and seek in hurry-scurry fun.
Buzzing swarms of lazing busy bees hiving sweet-some honey;
cheery mating birds flirting, twittering their gleesome notes
and warbling certain love songs.
Soon my scary-wary waiting ends as all eerie sounds grow silent,
erasing taxing fears once again.
I relax in brimming silken smoothness, smiling;
smattering ripples with my dampish dripping fingertips,
rounded circles spreading, riding to the pebbled shore.
This vibrant cloudless hour is brightly still, quite delightful, early;
I shan’t be missed at the shady hillside camp.
In jaded consideration, rebellious bliss I am not afraid;
I linger just a little longer, bide what’s left of my precious time.
I must return before my spiteful hateful father wakens,
glowers, rants and raves when he learns that I am gone;
the power of his violent temper
makes his hefty rock-hard fist well-known for many miles around.
He is the championed leader tyrant throughout our proud Romany nation;
but for now his rationed sleep is one of sour wine, drunken induced stupor.
This very sterling night I am to be betrothed to the highest bidder,
a month of ribald celebration.
A brawling crowing flock of strong-armed mighty men from all the tribes will meet,
offering up their showered bribes, a barrage of branded golden coins for me;
each potential bridegroom rolls his moneyed dice for the priceless pearl of my virginity.
I will become his mated swooning wife, the granted blooming bride for him;
the black-browed gloating man will scream with passioned glee,
“ I shall be married to this Gypsy Queen! ”
The Velvet Lady Consorts gently part their emerald glades for me;
My dusky body bare, as I prayerfully stand, rise and wade.
Parade in virginal awareness, falling portaled;
repentive knees bent before my regal god on land,
wise Treo’ Riparius.
In breathing trust and honest faith I call on him
to be my constant, caring guide;
let his burgeoning belling spirit flood fair within me,
the final hour of my reckoning grows near.
Laid in pleasing pools of knowing meant to share,
he bestows his reasoned truth and ceaseless knowledge;
signed, increasing blood-flow to my heart of hearts, my peaceful lair.
Below his shocking sand eel roots I cull the one rare living branch
with fanning leaves that flower, in a perfect shaded red;
I take this grandee piece of him with me,
my prized possession, aglow in steadfast emotional sustenance.
He demands I plant his full husked man-seed beneath the night-black sod,
dig with my sharpened spade and grow big his stately tree;
it matters not where I might be.
My flirting skirt of radiant blue and ivory peasant blouse
lie hidden in a musky strand of prickly brambled thorns;
I am cautious, careful not to chance a scratching cut that bleeds.
I foresee no need of contrite confessions,
no heathen chastisement, no blaming sullen mockery.
I must present and verify myself as the perfect candled story;
a fiery flame not lit, heavy-lidded in polite flattery, no protestations on this night.
I am loath to depart, for indeed a dreadful fate awaits me;
deflated as I pledge my troth and wed, doubtless mated to a man I do not know.
I primp with lightning speed and fine finesse, brush-plait my loose wet hair.
From the undergrowth of inclined bushes far across the lush wide river,
a whistled teasing tune croons sweet to greet me;
a butterfly flitting on the cool caressing breeze.
As I confess my earthly sins I perceive a stranger’s thoughts;
an unseen apparition casting curious netted longings upon my woman’s flesh.
My sharpened eagle eyes are fooled,
my pimpled goose-down skin fraught with a peeling whoosh,
a brittle breeding ground of queazing dizzy fear.
A dubious condition urging I best quickly slip away;
a surging swell, telling of my own tried and true volition.
Fleeing straight from damned perdition,
not risking unknown dwellings of trouble and intrigue,
surround myself, abounding in kind clanned company;
highly valued mirthly faces,
I align myself with finest friends, not haughty deadly foes.
Past noon, no shadows can I chase;
I race, running faster than my madly beating heart,
the sizzling hissing smoke of charring campfire meals comes reeling into view.
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