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The King Of Hearts
Proud cheerful young Arveen, blond of brow,
my staking servant boy for the waking day
gently leads my lathered daring steed, valiant Brash Faestean
and tethers him to feed between leaning bales of fodder,
fresh mown hay and line strung splashing sloshing oaken bucket.
He fondly bows, marks his heeded bearing, peering straight ahead..
curves alone his leathered way
among the tightly cloying crowd of unclean bristly bearded men.
He does not speak in nervous biting tones..
not as a blistered broken coward, but rather meekly listens,
intent on their lively spirited banter.
Close-fisted bonds exchanged among the mobs of free-tonguing blaring bidders..
I watch the daunting scene clearly from afar,
interpreting their meaningful five-fingered gestures.
I serenely wander through the green-grassed gypsy camp,
red-breasted robins hopping, top the lay of ranging pine treed land..
it encompasses and enthralls with gaysome sights and chanting sounds so foreign,
yet clearly bent with falling feverish fervor.
A long-beamed ray of stellar sunshine flashes darts of angeled light
to the baring bleeding sorrow of my frowning pent-up heart.
I inhale, breathing deeply into my greedy waiting lungs..
decadent fine-flavored smells of suckling pigs and roasting deer,
bringing leaking water to my cheeky hungry mouth.
The popping smokey open air cantina beckons like a hive for honeybees..
I purchase basted heaping plates of goodly flaking food,
paying for a strongly frothing mug of steeping ambered ale
intended for a stuck-in-the-mud pokey giant,
pleasured dining while I bide my leisured time.
The afternoon's bright weathering sun has taken paling flight..
a hint of ducking down as the agreeable plucky lad comes round to fetch me.
" No scolding Bold and Kindly Sir,
the needed entry fee for the gathered bidding fast approaches.
A golden sovereign is your fount of debting pledge
if you do not wish to be bride-deprived of wiving,
the chaste enchanting Gypsy Queen. "
Young Arveen trailing turns, his stalling leave apparent..
a wondering breaking question that he asks of me.
" A thousand begging groaning pardons now I offer..
to bothering bid, her diffident boasting father requests your hailing name
and that you plead your worthy birthing tribe and bested settling nation. "
" With all unearned yearning dues of racing haste,
no pasted wishy-washy dilly-dallying..
dash with hurry-scurried speed,
deliver this heavy-weighted coin of mountain gold
to the one who keeps the counting levied entry fee. "
Pondering with thought I wonder..
should I avail myself, reveal my true breeded name as creeded King?
Or perchancing happenstance give my nom de plume..
an untaught peasant boy of meager means
who lived his plotted life in rotted naught and potted poverty.
I, the youngstered clashing lad pretending, playing games of cloak and dagger..
" My name is Morgan LaRue of the Tribe Hugo,
blood related to the Heweson Nation.. "
a calling part of my fair mother's mighty blooming family tree,
my official fighting name if historied truth be known.
My lowly peasant subjects are not politely privied to that fact,
but my delightful dark-haired mother with her perfumed plaited braids
was a tiny-waisted lucksum gypsy queen as well.
The central wooden grandstand is sturdily well guarded..
a peeking heavenward testament to the troubling hub of Romany fates and gods.
Built on mystical higher ground,
where the pliant damseled beauty
of the bare brown footed gypsy queen will be presented.
The stoked and prodded crackling campfire dances flames beneath..
sending rising misty ashen incense,
crystaled silence greeting proud Polaris
as he guides astray the tuckered darkening sky.
Heat-seeking fiery staring eyes and consuming reddened lips,
she casts her gleeful spell of feathered feminine wiles.
I sigh in teary-eyed atonement, allay my myriad fears..
I will not faulting fail for I find
no quaking doubt in my deeded heart or manly loins..
tonight this sashaying Gypsy Queen shall by all beknighted rights
become my own true vestured bride, glistening divine.
The Gypsy Queen
The belated fated hour fast approaches,
when I must casting stand before the glowering crowd..
all cunning scoured eyes shall be on me.
I hold the tallowed clergied-candle, brightly fueled,
merging with my rising hands.
In honor of my cold resting mother,
I wear her folded wedding dress..
the celestial milky white of bestspun silk arrived
from the towering ornamental gates of China, vast..
heavy-slant with pearly beads,
banded interwoven patterns of the powerful Romany civilization.
The dappled hips are softly padded,
but an overlapping jeweled treasure waits burgeoning within.
My face is lightly fanned with dryly dusted powder,
scant hid beneath her cloveflower lacy veil..
the mark of blessed scented innocence.
For indeed, if I were not apprised as a purebred tested virginal prize..
each moldy soured man would hatingly berate,
not giving second doured cowering thought to relent with credible bedding me.
Each strolling strapping man with inflated panting ego still intact
shall come and shallow kneel before my dreaded ranting father..
asking for my breeded hand in mated greatful marriage.
When question polled, gruntingly reveal and clippingly confess
who and what he is by his crested tribe and by his hunting nation.
I can only be the binding vowed and lasting chosen bride
of a vented man who's fighting flaring blood is gypsified,
half-hued is the roving least that it will take.
When the highest bidder's burlapped money bag has been brassly counted
and my glaring tyrant father signs in dipping dyes of rolling chanted blood..
receives his tolerant brideprice piece,
only then shall I be released from his cruel chastized guardianship.
Part slapping grappling packing company with my callow spiteful father..
Loving Vinya, the flaunting haunting name
of his flirting unwanted daughter will forever freeing cease.
I find it doubly difficult to nighing wait,
if I only had some shying virtued patience,
this hurting gallowed time of trying stress would purging pass more quickly.
The line of dark-eyed crassy men with beards of black all look the same to me..
I feel nothing but a dripping crying boredom dirge,
I need to tapping tambourine dance and clapping sing to feel alive.
Will this gripping trapping madness ever end
or shall this late night prove plying endless into winter days?
Every sallowed man has bid his flashy cores of gold,
some are headstrong warriors young, and some are greybeard leaders old.
My rudely grating father shouts, " Let the wrapped-up mass of racking gold
be curtly handled and chore-counted. "
A single man, tall of height, clean shaven of unknown mapping origin approaches, blurting.
" I have yet to bid my stacking mound of clacking gold for the rated favor,
the turtledove pairing of this hallowed Gypsy Queen. "
I see my surging father's eyes agleam as he imagines clouting
bubbling spreads galore of floor-monied gold for me.
" A simple plea kind sir, if you will..
your clanning name and true-dueling nation,
before you say another jacking word of spouting lore
or be sporting allowed to challenge bid for the dimpled unringed hand,
unwed lass, the marriage badge of the Gypsy Queen. "
The well-spoken stranger states in bragging traited boldness..
all doubt-backing ears are fine-attuned.
" My name is Morgan LaRue, I will not lacking be ignored..
I have traveled here from rippling fruited groves, many gloomy miles far away.
A share of Hugo is my ranging tribe, it lies verging into northern granging ocean shores..
I am fourscore related to the Heweson Nation,
in the vining loom of beating blood. "
Sauntering, he states his taunting dandied bid..
all the broke-choking men lipping gasp and rip-tearing groan,
as they moping know that they can never sparing hope to coping meet,
let alone stoking-top what he has token offered!
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