Unyielding, in an otherwise
Unfeeling wintry day.
Meek smilers, head-scarfed. Blizzard- blitzed.
Shine sweet greetings my way.
More of that iced swiping blows up;
Briefly skews the vision:
Two little chubby bullfinches
Perched their low branch upon.
In twilight’s hush,
a postman placed a violet envelope in my hands—
grape-purple, whispering of royal secrets,
its seal a shimmer of hidden magic.
I broke it open with trembling care;
a white page gleamed inside,
its words in purple ink,
a script beyond my understanding.
Yet meaning rose like starlight:
a princess revealed in the grace of her hand,
longing for my warmth,
her message wavering between silence and desire.
But what use is a summons,
if the words are swallowed whole,
devoured by the very skin of paper
that carried them to me?
Do princesses ever love peasants?
Do they scatter love in indecipherable riddles?
Do they bind longing in codes none can break?
And yet, the envelope whispered my name and address.
Feel practically a peasant
When his magnificence is present.
Cement sidewalks blaze
My feet I need nourishment
Here there's water sweet!
I have traveled painfully
I now finally feed treat!
her till and toil in the heat of summer are not past times
July 29, 2023.
In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept
Better a Peasant in Heaven
Than, a Resident of Hell
Lest there be any Question
When the Lord tolls your Bell.
A parent wanting his son to survive,
For this begins to humanly strive
To snatch him back, have his Jim revive
The scene before twelve a buzzing beehive,
Even as more alerted feet arrive,
Delaying Journalists to the scene soon drive
A hunger-induced fall and tragic swoon
No unpaid medic ever arrives that soon
No ready-for-body-use glucose,
An unashamed fry of sugar as penury chose
Life, indeed, never had been pleasant
For Abraham, the-all-time peasant
His spared help, the solidarity faces of onlookers
A number with good mustache, the rest all whiskers.
Winter snow had fallen
and the land now sparkled white
but still the little peasant girl
trudged homeward through the night
her clothes were thin and ragged
and her face was rosy red
she had served her Lord and master
now she journeyed home to bed
she did not see the danger
on the lonely road she trod
nor did the horses hoof alarm her
but they killed the girl stone-dead.
~~~~~~~~ Pink Polyester Pants ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really like to ride my bike, outside your porch, hopin' for a glimpse,
of you sitting, singing dress a clinging in neatly pleated floral chintz.
And that time after school-ly when that bully pinched you on the buttocks,...
Though I decked em, I must respect em for admirin' your tattered denim cut-offs.
And, oh, did you look sweet and sassy when you wore that peasant blouse,...
though maybe not so replete and classy when you trick or treat'd at my house.
Though you are one year older, I sure feel bolder a'climbin' o yer backyard fence.
But I really flipped when I saw you slipped inside those pink polyester pants!
Urban peasant is poor.
He rears only a cat, a dog,
in bedrooms and lounge,
the things he cannot eat!
bought bottled mineral water
to irrigate his crops in the desert
but he and family drank all of it
before use
Come! said the peasant-boy
To my golden temple
With spires of ice
Where glories entice
Even the noblest of men!
Come! said the peasant-boy
To my marble halls
With pillars of heights
And glittering lights
Kings and their courts would adore!
Come! said the peasant-boy
To the berth of dreams
Where musik ascends
To heavenly ends
A joyous Amen and Amen!
And I, with the peasant boy,
Stood, face-to-face
Whilst to my eyes,
Though monarch denies
—The Earth to my eyes he revealed
Step forward step forward you peasant you.
Time to chop off your head and lay you to bed, six feet under is where you will be
all because you dropped my Danish on me!
If I were a peasant girl,
...would you over look it?
If I were a queen with elegance,
..would you love me more?
If I were a peasant girl,
...would you love me more?
If I were a queen in a peasants body,
...would you recognize my love?
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