Avarice

For Karen Freeman

With padded foot and baited breath

into the dragon’s lair

he spied the gleaming golden trinkets

which were hidden there.

He found a bracelet -

solid gold

then gleefully did go,

too big it was for on his wrist

so forced to the elbow.

The bracelet lose upon his wrist

is tight upon his arm,

a raindrop pool reflects his face

he hollers with alarm.

There before his greedy eyes

green scales and dragon’s snout,

sharp fangs and claws and leather wings.

He prances all about.

Rain and tears on the mountain top,

fire breather sleeps alone,

constricted vessels causing pain

he begins an eerie moan.

His conscience came at dead of night

and woke him in the end.

‘Eustace, useless, greedy, reckless

Who wants a dragon for a friend?’

It often makes me wonder now

when spoilt kids get toys,

how many boys turn dragon?

and dragon little boys?

All The Pretty Butterflies

I chased that darling butterfly

one summer afternoon,

its purple vestments gossamer,

just hatched from its cocoon.

It flitted past the window

just beyond the Birches tall,

a jewel for my collection

to mount upon the wall.

The other pretty butterflies

were none as nice as that.

She was my perfect heroine,

she was my Penny Black.

The hours I spent to get her,

tempting her with nectar,

trying to detect her.

She filled me with such great desire

I crept up quietly

then caught her with an outstretched hand

and took her home with me.

And now she sits upon the wall,

she’s dusty, grey and old.

I’ll take her to an auctioneer

and watch her being sold.

The Jester's Tomb Part II

The jester’s bells jingled,

swords clashed in the air.

The Princess ran forward

face pale, in despair.

‘Stop this foolish nonsense!’

She arose from her bed,

but the jester lost focus

and a sword smote his head.

‘Call the grave digger,’

said the cad with a grin

and with a click of his fingers

the mortician walked in.

‘That’s the end of the joker,’

said the man with a spit.

‘No longer to charm you

with his foolish dull wit.’

‘Grow some sense you

young lady,’

he said bending down.

‘You are much too old

to be amused by a clown.’

‘He was trying to cheer me!’

The poor princess cried.

‘Well forget about him,

Now I’ll make you my bride.’

The Jester's Tomb Part I

Here lies the jester,

near to the Princess.

The provision of humour

his attempts at success.

While the Princess was tearful

he would put on a play,

to bring back her smile

and chase her demons away.

His chances for love

taken through her applause.

Apple of his eye,

a no worthier cause.

While the Princess did weep

and pine for her man,

the jester made merry

upon one man band.

He sang of a young man,

a bit of a tease,

a charmer with good looks

who could talk birds out of trees.

A loyal young suitor

as many would tell,

but his true personality

he did conceal well.

Would be Prince and court drunkard,

a wastrel with gout.

A villain, a swindler

and aggressive no doubt.

They weren’t long alone

when this man sidled in,

smelling of roses

(and subtly of gin)

‘Why are you with the Princess?’

‘Sir I was called on to cheer.’

The cad toppled forward with a terrible leer.

His face red with anger,

he fell all about

‘You blackguard I’ll give you something

you will laugh about.’

‘Come then,’ said the Jester

taking a bow.

‘and for the hand of the Princess,

I’ll dual you now.’

‘Very well,’ said the tyrant.

His blade shone in the gloom.

‘But what would a Princess

See in such a buffoon?’…

Reality's Clock is Ticking...

Eyes across the bar meet mine,

with rose tinted spectacles they shine.

I am special

now.

Under my clothes I am an hour glass

sifting.

How long?

How long is it fun?

Zippers, buttons, hooks and eyes.

‘Want me always.’

Passion screams,

hearts

anticipate goodbyes.

Here today and gone tomorrow.

Two for joy

and

one for sorrow.

Beg,

steal,

or

borrow.

The lie to seduce,

the birth of the excuse.

The ‘how are you?’

The ‘who are we?’

The silence speaking at a party.

The joker with a crystal tear,

the conscience in the ear.

‘Go!

Go now!

Leave no glass slipper,

no trace behind

for some discontented

Prince to find.

Take your carriage,

The clock has struck.

Leave the insatiable

to chase their rainbows,

chance their luck.’

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Reaper

Cold his breath, and stale

The Reaper stooping low,

‘High executioner standing o’er my bed

‘tis not my time to go.’

‘’Tis not thee that I come for,’ he said sarcastically,

caressed the blade and motioned

to the sleeper next to me.

The moon was up and in its light

all forms looked deathly white.

‘Be thee not so daring, Death

To enter here this night.

‘Take thy scythe and sickly stench…’

I rose up with a shout,

‘find some other corn to cut.

This sand has not run out.’

I turned back to my slumber

The Reaper watching me

as if unsatisfied at missed opportunity.

Once more he lifted up the blade

to make intentions clear

but laughter at a half- remembered joke

fell upon his ear.

The sleeper grinning from the dream,

The Reaper looking on

about him pulled his rancid cloak

and then alone was gone.