The Pied Piper
Orchestrated they succumb onto her board scene ~ As success thrills the ordained Queen of mean--poet
As the Pied Piper grips her baton, she conducts her subjects,
women of the Mississippi Delta
She has orchestrated them into a misguided effort
with her prestigious lures flouting her now rejects fit for duty,
she doses them with harshly syncopated jazz
Notes undulate in polyrhythms, rhythmic rituals,
razz mataz, lips on her magical flute made of pewter—preordained
for her cruelest intention of wicked ambition
Tamir trills, tremolos easily execute, and her Blues
have spread its depression, demoralizing
as the conductor of snark sends her deepest dark
sympathies and peasant’s call for the release of the hard labor
as a favor for the flutist, clad in rags and no food
the villagers are left with a repressive fate
as she catapults hypnotic tones over the cobblestones
and as anger unfolds for owed to her is the gold for favors
rendered that she’d give him his cut—as of yet,
the pirate Jean Lafitte has not, adrift in the Gulfstream!
The Golden Hind the pirated English ship,
he robbed the Spanish galleons of their treasures to bring back to the Queen
and he has failed, blinded by arrogance, bloated with greed
Once again, the Piperess raises her flute and improvises
a somber dirge depression to impart a punishment on her subjects,
one that will change their decent minds, instead of being saddened
by your grief you’re maddened, you’ll see that mine is the right way, she lauds
As she looks into her trumeau mirror dry tears do not drip,
with all beauty gone so is her vanity, what’s left is loathsome hurt,
a trompe l'oeil rest assured an opportunity forced insanity and
now only the children hear her music, starved, orphaned—left to eat the dirt
She’s every queen in one, sentimentally known
as the forceful dispassionate of what’s mean
She drinks her shot of bourbon for determination,
and through French doors, and into her
blood-stained quarters, décor of twisted foliage tors
and the Pied Piperess sends her conscripts
down to the sea caves delivering threats
to sink Lafitte’s ship and his enslaved children
He gives into the fluted Queen to keep his prized possession
and hands her the gold, and he’s at the helm, the children returned,
still she keeps her muses beneath her thumb infecting them
with hatred as they succumb and keep them on
the board of shame and so there is no happyeverafterings here,
for such blind power never wanes I fear
Tors: decorative motif consisting of twisted foliage, ribbon or string of pearls
Trompe l'oeil: illusionistic perspective representation
Trumeau mirror: mirror set into the woodwork between two windows or doors
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I Am Anaya
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