The exercise:
Write something which takes place within: the palace.
This will hopefully be the last I have to say on the subject of last night: it's been extremely encouraging to see what's happened in the aftermath.
Through the magic of Facebook, a crew of volunteers arrived early this morning with brooms and garbage bags in hand to cleanup the mess the rioters left behind.
And the hundreds and hundreds of pictures and videos taken and then posted online have led the hunt to identify the idiots responsible.
That's more like it, Vancouver.
This will hopefully be the last I have to say on the subject of last night: it's been extremely encouraging to see what's happened in the aftermath.
Through the magic of Facebook, a crew of volunteers arrived early this morning with brooms and garbage bags in hand to cleanup the mess the rioters left behind.
And the hundreds and hundreds of pictures and videos taken and then posted online have led the hunt to identify the idiots responsible.
That's more like it, Vancouver.
Mine:
The king's in a very foul mood -
He's yelling and screaming at us,
And honestly being quite rude.
No one knows what it's all about,
Although there is some quiet talk
That the queen has stopped putting out.
Not that I can blame her you know -
It just takes one look at the man
To see that he's let himself go.
So all the ladies stay hidden,
For surely what he wants to do
Is quite completely forbidden.
That's a fantastic response from Vancouver, showing that the actions of a few are not representative of the people as a city. I hope they succeed in catching the vandals too.
ReplyDeleteI like your poem, though I found the rhyme scheme quite hard towards the end. I think that's probably my unfamiliarity with it though. As for the last line... you might want to look up droit de seigneur :) (Don't look at me like that, I just always know these kinds of things.)
By the way, most of my posts on Phlebitis are paralled by slightly longer versions on strangefunctions if you're interested.
The Palace
There are mice within the walls,
Hurrying, scurrying, little feet a-flurrying,
Everywhere from kitchens to the halls.
Palace guards are looking scared,
As mice appear from anywhere,
Leaping deftly through the air,
Absconding with the Princess fair,
Climbing heights without a care,
Even nesting in the old King's hair!
Marc- Even at the worst, t is only a few who make it that way.
ReplyDeleteAs far as I know, the King is above the law and nothing is quite forbidden to him. Your story plays well with the concepts in The Other Boleyn Girl.
Greg- My skin is crawling and I am stifling a scream. I don't think there is much worse than an invasion of mice in my mind. Shudder.
------
It was only a mud-thatched hut and a very small one at that. A great weeping willow held it in its soft green branches. The dry straw and earth colored walls looked dreary among the riot of colors: soft green grasses, wild flowers as far as one could see; the cold blue and white of a distant mountain. A dusty trail lead from the front door to the small creek bed not more than 20 yards away. An aged wheelbarrow sat to the left of the house half buried by the long branches of the weeping willow. At night, the soft glow of a fire could be seen through the open windows and merry laughter competed with the song of the cicadas.
Yes, it was small and quaint. If the saying is true that a man's home is his castle then my father's house was a palace and I, a Princess.
The Palace Ruins
ReplyDeleteThe ancient tree didn't hear them leave and wondered if they were all hiding out of it's view. As a young sapling, the palace had been a vivacious place of debauchery. Now overgrown gardens choked all flowers except for the hardy rose bushes that thrived like a child raised by wolves.
All was silent.
Pleasantly, the hawthorn couldn't leave the ruins. It was content to rest in this place. An industrious little false black widow spun her web in the crown of the tree. It seemed so much like a gnarled old man watching over the pleasant distractions of it's young inhabitants. Even while the palace creaked and moaned, preparing to collapse under the weight of her burdens.
The deaf hawthorn pleasantly kept the beleaguered palace and her grounds company. Everyone had left, but the tiny sapling stood by her. An old tree always enjoying watching young souls repeating and learning from all the same mistakes.
Greg - ah yes, but these ladies are not about to be married.
ReplyDeleteAnd I will check them out as soon as I get a chance... hopefully tomorrow after we get back from the market.
I'm with Heather on this one. Ugh, mice.
Heather - wonderful imagery, particularly the second line. I wouldn't mind paying a visit to that palace.
Mother in T.O. - love it. Might be my favorite of the things you've shared to this point.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK" screeches the queen." A rat, a rat, a rat!" She starts screaming. The servants running around crazily, " Yes your lady" says one, " Right on it your lady" says another, "We are doing it your lady, NOW BE ENOUGH ALREADY!" They all yell.
ReplyDeleteThe queen stands up. " OFFFFFFFF WIITTHHH YYOOOURR HEAAADDDS!!!!!"
The poorest servant moans, " I'll get the excecutioner".