Enthroned Qeis-Layla lay under God,
Propheted a mania in madness blood.
The spark of a padma has not died,
A sorrow Hansel-Gretel lacrimated.
A just far away lady likeness,
Adore God for the grimness.
Tristan- Isolde has begged Eden stair,
A chivalric ludus tore apart the affair.
Asking God to love is cup idly,
Anthony-Cleopatra quelled vividly.
When romantic feelings are triggered,
God laughed.
What lessons do we really learn in our success,
When, after all, we won it, oh, so brightly
No need to look for luck in victory’s excess
That might deflate our egos even slightly…
Although to triumph always seems our just deserts
Should we discount completely other’s efforts,
Chivalric rule that still humility asserts
Though gleefully we toast our new won comforts?
Defeated yes, dishonored no, stand challengers
Whose prospects had us shaking, quite in terror
While we probed our own depths like starving scavengers
And prayed to God we’d find escape from error.
How lucky sometimes losers are who just miss Gold
Inspiring them to martial their resources
And push themselves to reach a new threshold
By pledging all to excellence’s sources.
Brian Johnston
August 29, 2015
Poor little Moon King
trapped inside a gilded cage
within the marble prison walls
the cage is painted
and the marble held up with balsa wood
a fake fairy-tale façade
castles in the clouds
ladies in classical poses
battles never won
nor even fought
locked in frozen frescos
as trapped as the poor little Moon King
forever
insulated from the cruel sisters
modernity & society
having anything you want
except what you really need
the sisters cannot let you bare
flesh and soul
crying to sleep
in the silken cradle
an empty shell
an unnatural fondness forbidden
yet tasted behind the closed door
a self-deluded love lost among luxuries
Oh Ludwig how you wished so hard
the sun would shine
on your chivalric dreams
but
alone lamenting at the balustrade
you are the Moon King
forever in plaster and paint
cloud-covered
out shined
hag-ridden highness
hiding behind a pile of stones and pretty
colours
poor little Moon King
Young generation ardor from sculpted hero borrows
Older generation, torpor to graft peaceful tomorrows
Can young eyes through steely sheath glimpse marrow
O'er from dried paint, the blood stains that do burrow
From pursed lips, do the painful strains bellow
O'er from silent gun, percussive waves billow
Youthful glint on glimmering memorial glows
From aged lens, vicarious tears solemnly flow
Lad's fawning beams on chivalric statue strew
Elder's sorrowful squints the mediated surface furrow
Young mind each, savory fold does swallow
Aged intellect each corroded line does follow
On gilded bust, youth's prating eyes wallow
Gaunt septuagenarian mourns core now hollow
Around girth, innocent lids embrace time's fleeting shadow
Experienced hearts scorn clones strung from future gallows
New hopes, dreams cover the base now fallow
New doubts, fears sweep sodded ground, now sallow
Amid the deceit and pain of this modern era,
one will be born
who shall embody bygone times and ways;
he will want naught more than an uncomplicated life,
to do what he must and be what he can.
Always shall he look backward
to notions of the past,
like the gallantry of the chivalric knights of old;
in his own way thus he will be looking forward,
ever seeking a return to such goodly tenets.
Yet think not of him as a peerless warrior,
a brilliant mind or a charming lover,
for a failure he shall be -
mistakes, his accustomed routine;
regret, his vigilant companion.
Not alone will this wanderer travel;
for one will also be born
who shall see through his disguise of joy,
reach the agony underneath the surface
and whisk it off with nary a trace.
She shall be the most exquisite being
to exist outside of the heavenly realm;
yet never will he convince her
of the undeniable truth of such claims;
forever she will view herself unfavorably.
Stubborn to the last, he will profess his unworthiness -
surely one such as he, a pariah and buffoon
deserves not a creature such as she,
yet both of them shall depend upon and cherish
this love of the ages.
A Love Departed
I dreamt once as I lay awake in your arms
That I may greet a day
Beneath the wondrous stars
And sunlit rays
With you, only you, once again.
You were daring, chivalric, and make of valor
And I-I was an innocent girl
A best friend and impetous scholar.
For nights, I sought after thee
Only wishing to say, you complete me.
" Dear wife, why don't you embrace
the wind of changes by being ablaze? "
the disillusioned husband inquired...
" A lot more affection is required! "
You patiently bore my off-spring with continuous glee,
when constant fortune was the source of fortitude in me,
you knew how to satisfy every desire, every need of mine...
have you withdrawn the generosity of such a gladsome smile?
I glamorized the moments we spent alone
into the silver moonlight, the kisses we gave
to each other under that rustic shelter, if rain came,
and no fragments of luminous stars fell from heaven.
If I were a chivalric hero, returning from battle with tales
of valor and victory: you would be running to me
with roses in your fair hair and delight on your young face...
so what's keeping you from reaching extremity?
There's an absence of emotion in responses,
with lots of repulses to repress my advances,
while my gratification remains incomplete...
as a parting embrace with a doubt so infinite.
A single word is branded into the fresh snow in urine.
'Memoriam'
Over the crest of a barren hill covered in winter's dowry,
there is a brown form huddled over a burning tire,
shivering alone.
Curse this thing and the roundabout landscape he formed not in oils or watercolors,
but in reality
curse him.
He sketches himself so clever amongst all creatures
so chivalric
so noble and wise.
but there is no electric shaver here
no Ipod or toilet paper.
one would imagine he has not long to live.
Wait.
Wait just a minute now,
he has fashioned a sling, to hunt I presume.
Now a spear, how quaint.
And now he has a rifle.
And where does this glorious quest for fire lead?
It hardly matters.
Here he breathes and kills and breeds, here but for the gods themselves to see...
A broken man,
last child bred of a split isotope.
He's your typical
all-too-friendly booster
who goes way, way out
of his way to bolster
what's left of your stuff
when the roughing gets tough,
when your bestest best
is never good enough;
impervious to high rank
and noble status,
he'll root for you
with fanatical purpose;
and yet his skewed sense
of what's appropriate
can be so naive,
even affectionate;
though he's got bold,
chivalric aggressiveness,
something in him is unarmed,
so defenseless:
raw enthusiasm bursting
at the seams,
dismayingly innocent,
or so it seems.
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