Seldom now, but once popular,
carnal Feast of Adam and Eve.
A Christian tale, if you believe,
spun, no doubt, by a gospeler.
Late December, Mystery Play –
downfall, the original sin.
Played on stage, moral tale to spin,
a day both frightening and gay.
Reenactment of solemn scene
was surely presented well-posed.
Original sin, acts exposed,
with performances now obscene.
Paradise Tree prettified strung
with roses, lit candles, and sweets.
Apples and wafers, tasty treats,
all upon the bare tree were hung.
O, Tannenbaum, I may believe
this festival, your lasting fame,
the current Christmas Tree became,
that we adorn on Christmas Eve.
Categories:
prettified, bible, celebration, christmas, religious,
Form: Enclosed Rhyme
like peacock,
her hair
ostentatious - diamonds
in her fearless lair
quietly…boldly…divine
human, yet
impregnable
pregnant
with perfume
pulse point spitfire -silk of moon
her countenance beams
lights up the stars of heaven
gate of pearls
luminescent
prettified
princess
outshines the knight. his armor
crimson and cherry
he lowers his shield, lays down
his bloody sword…
petrified
like tin man
he creaks
he reeks of oil, dead man’s spoil
valiant in battle
yet he cannot penetrate
royal spirit
of beauty
many moons
sail o’er
the cleansing pool, deep skimming
of flesh, breath and beast
the sun puts new clothes on him
he looks good as gold
shining
at the ball
eyes lock
key to her heart in his hand
she recognizes the night
they first met…he bows…she bends
her knees weak
for prince charming
diamonds,
like stars
well wishes…new beginnings
sparkle of rainbow
no more cries of war…wells tears
mad in love
drops her headdress
7/3/2023
Categories:
prettified, imagery, princess,
Form: Verse
My African woman,
I then title you something number one
To my mind, heart and soul
By whenever I introduce the thought of you in me
The rivers in my drainage basin flow not with water,
But milk, chocolate and honey of Africanism,
Strong and wild as a tropical cyclone
My African woman.
Through the heat wave,
Walking under the Sun's scorch and sear
Your dark melanin remained stave
dripping, Africa's own gold prettified clear.
Dark as the night sky,
But only you can, make the stars visible to the eye
You stimulate the Milky way with your darkness,
Your color on a fruit, channel sweetness.
You're an Africa Queen,
with or without a crown
The love for you, erupt from a volcano
cone, vibrates the ground, hit
the Earth with an asteroid
and pull like a black hole.
A black ocean you are
jumping and wide,
no being rides your tide
A Queen from afar, from Africa
You're my African woman.
Categories:
prettified, africa, beautiful, black african
Form: I do not know?
This song comes from some place
And its dancers, with hips up
Are going to the same place
And this song does not stop
Wither comes this song they dance
No one knows
Thither goes the sum who dance
Hope God knows
It is, the siren song
Finely tuned from some sweet lore
It is, the siren song
Whose dance is but a sweet chore
So enchanting is this song
That even they who cannot dance
Can be heard singing along
Joining the band at any chance
While the wind blows them, wildly on
And they heed no call on this trip
To God’s city; Nay to Babylon
For the song has hard its grip
Vices veneered as virtues
Prettified in bird suits
To conceal the grave grues
On its convoluted routes
Don’t dance, I say do not dance
Albeit that it allures
For thereto, lies dire durance
Lavished with ligatures
Categories:
prettified, evil, fairy,
Form: Rhyme
Sweet summer winds, hear me
Ne’er endure this bewailing daybreak
For where whether not daylight rises
Now silenced eternal under prettified blossoms
Sleeps that sweet beauty that defined me.
Under the dimly faded blanket of Gaia
In the blanched obsidian void of memory
Her slowly fading voice of once yesterdays
Never again to behold tomorrows promise
Or the faint blushing of a passionate today.
Just as with the finality of her passing
So to must I forge into the imminent
Over muted gray landscapes I must trod
Where ardors drying tarns now reflect me
Eroding under slow eyes of time…
As I linger waiting for him to claim me
She lies peaceful, only I, to grieve.
Categories:
prettified, death, life, loss, philosophy
Form: Free verse