The Tyburn wagon halts at every inn.
Tight stinking alleys
cobblestones and gin.
The condemned drink their fill,
none fear falling ill.
Harlots cackle and screech
the condemned grow horny.
The Hanging Tree accommodates
three at a time.
Six limbs a’ waving,
bladders and bowels voiding
- drink now to the dangling.
A canting debauchery
spends its copper penny.
Hungover Londoners swear
‘off the wagon,’
but look here comes another:
Pass the flagon!
So beautiful and dangerous
The Cecilia lion of the firestorm
Setting sexualized minds ablaze
A lioness with a gentle touch
What would you do to engage with this minx
Would you kneel, pleasure her on your knees
Playing a free spirit's tune
Inhaling the scent of jasmine and sex
Laying down in her domain, her humble abode
Burning deep within, melting in ecstasy
A living flame, hot to the touch
An incarnate of luring pulchritude
Serving to ignite this burning inclination
Cecilia Lion has been glazed in torridness
She wears her erotic tendencies gracefully, sexually, and beautifully
More stunning the more I hanker for her
Her assets full and bright
Canting to hear her soughing
Lioness bears her claws
She becomes undone
Not wanting to be silent
To make love under the gold of a crimson hue, that would be wondrous
Mained and copulated by this carnivora
Beastia of the venereal tropic plains
Aggressive, to snuff out my libidinous
Succumbing to the Cecilia Lion's design
My heart refunding is the pay
the poet with her will, not stray
accost my Faith, but don't delay
God as my vestige meters stay!
To write it not, but think the day
goes on no fetish, fools would play
their happy notes, then strum parlay
this serious soul does cutting say ~
Without the song, a poem is prey
the verse upon some canting may
inflict duress, I kneel to pray
it is that action ~ nearness way!
Assimilate the motions gay
my heart, still caught to lodgings grey
this youth of time, goes on, a fray
addicting rhyme to one relay!
God's measure, I AM, answered weigh
is sacred, certain . . . . my Obey!
DARK KISS
His reservoir of confidence was dry
Her lingering kiss had tasted darker than her eye
In unbelief he sought the mystic moon now full--
Bereft he broached the ancient quadrivial
Clutching tight his mother’s smooth ligure
Canting low the precious periscope --with heart pure
He fought the spread of blackness in his soul.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
7/24/2013
no more canting be--- Sincere
genuine with real------Hope
integrity which only--- Enriches
proves all true-----------Faith
Sails unfurled in disarray
Helm unheld to swing away
Canting yaw in surf wet roll
This ship of state without a goal
Some would call this gone adrift
While fools would call it freedom
Some of us are somewhat miffed
While shoals just wait to see them
Passengers without a clue
Trusting to a motley crew
Of greed crazed re-elected fools
Who just ignore their rusted tools
And shed their blame by pointing
And know they're worth anointing
Riding so long, I feel nauseous
They won’t stop the Ferris wheel
My throat is dry and cracked from screaming
Stop!, Please Stop!
Up, up - ground shifting at dizzying heights
Down, down - crashing, stomach flopping
White knuckles from holding the grimy bar
Smell of metal and cooking meat all around
Creaking and moaning of hot gears and
Weight under tension
Unnerving canting and swaying of
A rickety car with black grease oozing from
Over-worked pivot points and hinges
Just another day at the carnival….
And being Bipolar.