The Pied Piper

Orchestrated they succumb onto her board scene ~ As success thrills the ordained Queen of mean--poet As the Pied Piper grips her baton, she conducts her subjects, women of the Mississippi Delta She has orchestrated them into a misguided effort with her prestigious lures flouting her now rejects fit for duty, she doses them with harshly syncopated jazz Notes undulate in polyrhythms, rhythmic rituals, razz mataz, lips on her magical flute made of pewter—preordained for her cruelest intention of wicked ambition Tamir trills, tremolos easily execute, and her Blues have spread its depression, demoralizing as the conductor of snark sends her deepest dark sympathies and peasant’s call for the release of the hard labor as a favor for the flutist, clad in rags and no food the villagers are left with a repressive fate as she catapults hypnotic tones over the cobblestones and as anger unfolds for owed to her is the gold for favors rendered that she’d give him his cut—as of yet, the pirate Jean Lafitte has not, adrift in the Gulfstream! The Golden Hind the pirated English ship, he robbed the Spanish galleons of their treasures to bring back to the Queen and he has failed, blinded by arrogance, bloated with greed Once again, the Piperess raises her flute and improvises a somber dirge depression to impart a punishment on her subjects, one that will change their decent minds, instead of being saddened by your grief you’re maddened, you’ll see that mine is the right way, she lauds As she looks into her trumeau mirror dry tears do not drip, with all beauty gone so is her vanity, what’s left is loathsome hurt, a trompe l'oeil rest assured an opportunity forced insanity and now only the children hear her music, starved, orphaned—left to eat the dirt She’s every queen in one, sentimentally known as the forceful dispassionate of what’s mean She drinks her shot of bourbon for determination, and through French doors, and into her blood-stained quarters, décor of twisted foliage tors and the Pied Piperess sends her conscripts down to the sea caves delivering threats to sink Lafitte’s ship and his enslaved children He gives into the fluted Queen to keep his prized possession and hands her the gold, and he’s at the helm, the children returned, still she keeps her muses beneath her thumb infecting them with hatred as they succumb and keep them on the board of shame and so there is no happyeverafterings here, for such blind power never wanes I fear Tors: decorative motif consisting of twisted foliage, ribbon or string of pearls Trompe l'oeil: illusionistic perspective representation Trumeau mirror: mirror set into the woodwork between two windows or doors