New Poems.

They all sound horrid, really.

White Queen
Everywhere I walk, you seem to build castle walls in my face.
High, looming towers across the black and white plains.
You hide there too, beautiful, up in the highest place

While your horses gallop past with their knighted lords,
seeking out many an enemy or some spritely foe,
with which to slay with their mighty swords,

Or perhaps, with cold stare and silent conversation.

So, I hide away here in the black tall grass
and watch you from so very far away.
Your smiles, and sorrows I long to share and grasp,

But your bishops say 'no' with an excommunicating stare.
I have never understood these prelates of yours,
With their slanted thinking in black and white, of ill-gotten cause.

Their reach was frightening and they travelled very far,
so, I hid from them too and stared out at you from castle walls.
It would seem that every step I take shall require much thought.

How strange, for I had only one quest:
to deliver you a flower with my heart on it's petalled breast.
O, how the crescent moon reminds me of you.

But I am a trained soldier, and so continue to seek,
through the monotone grasslands with my tarnished crown,
that my quest and Triumph shall soon meet.

(It seems such a foolish play on my part,
but alas, a stubborn fool I am.
So, now in mud and forest I shall have to creep.)

I shall take my time to cross each square, one by one.

The Finch

Fly, fly little finch,
away from Mister Darwin's reach.
He intends to sack you with other birds
and hold you in his keep.

You shall be the loam with which
he will thunderously preach;
the cornerstone of your Creator's fatal sleep.

How, a century more, and stuffed
upon a shelf you'll see, out of jewelled eyes, one
Mister Dawkins exaggerating beyond your finder's speech.

And your Creator shall look down
upon the Society, and
sigh and weep.

I Hate That You Are Still My Greatest Muse

I hate that you are still my greatest muse.

The long forgotten laughter now pervades the air,
drifting up into the clouds like a balloon.
Your sweet smile beams like sunshine rare;
out of breath, I gasped for it all afternoon.

Drowning in this desert drought of hopelessness,
like a salvage diver seeking great treasure --
uninspired and mouldy sunken ships sit timeless.
These very words are a water burial assured.

Together forever in these depths of deep,
Chased constantly by seductive angler fish
only to put on that ugly mask you keep
to avoid being someone else's side dish.

(There is no reprise for the wicked, no chance for sleep.)

I hate that you are still my greatest muse.