My lover is a dancing bear
Who begs upon his chain.
My husband is a china bull,
All fists and horns, but tame.
My lover plays on zither-strings,
My husband tends the sheep,
And I will lie with each one while
The other is asleep.
My lover is a unicorn
Who leaves me with a baby
My husband thinks is his, and so,
And so it is, well, maybe.
The child has one clean blue eye
Bright as a willow plate.
The other eye is brown as earth
Beneath my swinging gate.
And when my bishop asks the truth
(My innocence cold dead),
I'll tell him naught but this, "Insooth,
I'd rather lie, in bed.
*
4 comments:
Hi, just found your site... This poem 'Swinging Gate' really brings a smile to my face. Oh yeah, and I love the picture too!
There are poets-so-called, who write sing-song Hallmark card verses.
There are poets-so-called, who ransack their thesaurus and write pretentious drivel.
And then, there are real poets, for whom words wink like a lusty sailor, dance like a gypsy girl, rage like a hurricane wind and giggle like children.
You are a real poet.
Oh, so very well done. Your poem has left me with the biggest smile. Loved it!
S
This is absolutely marvelous, a very fun read.
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