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A Queen Falling

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

The Olive Fairy Book 1907

The Olive Fairy Book 1907

"Oh my, how delerious you sound," the Queen of Fireflies gushed
while strands of stardust around her perfect neck wilted and rushed.
"Just being several of them," I tried to say without her mocking me
"I have some magic, but cannot find it," can you help me see?

Oh, my Queen of Sweet Land Beyond, how graceful you walk on the midnight
And how easy it is for you to pierce lovers' vows in silence or light.
Why, Queen of Fireflies, do you grow hatred in your heart?
Was it about a lover so fast, so fair who kissed you to only depart?

Look me me. I have my dipper. I am dapper and a pocketful of dirty sand
I am but a poor beggar clinging to the brush of your gown against my hand.
And sensing your royal scent of rosy-red, sky blue skin so fair
Running lightning bolts as children's game in and out of my lair.

Still, my Queen, your lips grow sweeter by the ticking clock
Sweeter, softer, and easier to my shaking touch on secret dock
Where your ships sleep soundly and servants run bounding madly
Expressing your disgust for me . . .
Expressing your seething anger for me . . .
Expressing how frail the woman inside you can be.

Crimson Fairy Book

Crimson Fairy Book

You cannot kill me, oh, Queen of Fireflies and Serpents Rare
I can own the clouds, smooth your crowds if I so should dare.
Careful, Queen as your silky feet walk as cats on slippery board
A rumbling you hear, a song you sing a killing cat's terrible roar.

I am but a handful of forgotten words
A few I must admit before the Ravens, such loyal birds.
They know. They see. They feel pity for me
I am but a passing thought, a careless care, a dying tree.

You've walked on and over me never seeing only your bees
Striking a sultry pose and crowing your pride on hands and knees.
Still, me and the Ravens and clouds of white
Are darkened now oh crown so wrong that falls tonight.

His black boots are a heartbeat away
He shatters your hands and kills your days.
One way soon and one day later on
A butterfly's wings is like me talking in unheard tone.

 The Court Jester 1906

The Court Jester 1906

I see your shining name, Queen of Underling Flies
I feel your brow's moist touch and unravel your lies.
I shall talk at you this last time in clouds of white
Watching your wings now cut of humble cloth of right.

Hear, do you hear the machines of death humming?
Do not move, Queen or send your maidens running.
Spill what's left of stolen wine
Sew yourself a new gown of pauper's twine.

Sit quietly among the sorrowful Mulberry trees
Silently praying, cursing, no more lands to seize.
You are to blame, not thief or drunkard of name
You, once Queen of mine, creator of princess pain.

One time, a beauty you were so prim and manners fair
Bluebirds, Cardinals and eagles you named to the air.
And watched as each flew on course so straight
Then quietly whispered as life closed your olden gate.

The princess and the curdie 1908

The princess and the curdie 1908

Your years were sweet as vineyards grow
Spent wine, endless dine, and sheaves cut in endless rows.
Dancing on dawns and sleeping with trolls
Telling jokes, foolish games with blind trusting moles.

Hear now, hear the wood carver's knife
Sizing your velvet coffin a prize to your pitiful life.
A name of shunned golden tags
Your linens, your gowns, now beggar women's rags.

Oh, lonely Black Widow and crow on wing
She seeks "the" song you taught her to sing.
Fly on, my silent friend and thief now free
Kiss the slumbers from your elixir tree.

I watch how you walk slowly now Queen once loved
How your laughing dragged and dredged the doves above.
Gone are they to you on your day of days
Swallowed by your pride and arrogant gaze.

© 2016 Kenneth Avery

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