Are you a queen or a quean?
She looked confused as she was neither.
Why do you want to label people she asked me.
I was astounded.
She was coarse like a quean.
But she was direct like a queen.
Now I was confused.
Having no defendable answer.
Toodle-oo ! Much I ride on holy rays,
Into the abyss, into gaiety of space,
Dwell over the illumination of divine,
Much is poetry too joyful and to twine.
En route, I grasped the origin of motion,
To attest the course of every emotion,
Remote, sturdy, destructive and decline,
Much is poetry too joyful and to twine.
The first-fruits held in the hand of a quean,
Not for me, a mortal so eager and too keen,
There’s a quest for what’s better, to sin or to sign,
Much is poetry too joyful and too joyfully twine.
But there’s the other hand, resolute in essence,
The hand that brings the balance and the sense,
All that starry sunshine straightened in a long line,
Much is poetry too joyful and too joyfully twine.
I came to the drooping scent of wine,
touched beard and mustache,
was blind in the nearest shining of the sun,
earthworm dug earth under feet,
I felt the coolness and heard sing of quean,
thought learned I'm only on these ladies eyes,
kept ataxic gait
through the lane of myself
at last
endless end
did not find me…
'Tis tender love of which I wite;
the timbre of my heart's
throe
Quean remains
for all others
to lo
Demean with a falseness
of my true emotion;
would only coquet;
that which causes
my heart to beat
strong and loud
in chimera
To covet for affections
be returned as
deep and sincere;
surely would force
the last
breath I breathe
For this is too
noble a love; too
fierce a fire
to extinquish