How pale our beloved Winter Queen, a king’s daughter so regal in velveteen,
Close to the hearts of all Bohemia, their own beautiful Ophelia,
Amidst strife and slaughter remains so serene, sentinel to a violence so obscene,
A perpetual fog of melancholia, a swirling panicked hysteria
How pale our beloved Winter Queen

White Mountain ends thy brief reign, The Hague becomes your exiled demesne,
Born into revered royal halls, sweet memory stirs of childhood *****,
In sadness you must remain, and witness a Thirty Years brutal campaign,
That pits father against son and truly appals, as blood flows like raging waterfalls,
How pale our beloved Winter Queen

How pale our beloved Winter Queen, a king’s sister whose fate she could not have foreseen,
Robbed of Frederick so dearly loved, 30 years of grieving and pious devotion to the Almighty above,
Returning to the land of your birth not seen since sixteen, your Restoration role only a fleeting scene,
Blessed is your dynastic treasure trove, as we still kiss your royal hand inside its bejewelled glove.
How pale our beloved Winter Queen

© Robert Porteus

I weep and weep again, a sad realisation, that love has passed me by,
Have I been unlucky, or was it my foolishness and conceit?
Ever seeking a perfection, an elusiveness I was too proud to deny,
My ardour and dreams have been pure deceit,
Has love passed me by?

Bitter tears flow and flow, and I angrily remonstrate, that love has passed me by,
Too late now, so many chances have faded, and lay dead,
My heart once full of hope, has long ****** happiness a painful goodbye,
I cloak myself in a fearful and perpetual dread,
Has love passed me by?

I spiral down and down, bitterly aware, that love has passed me by,
Do I have the courage to seek solace in the blade?
Or is there still a flickering light, that may yet herald a joyous lullaby,
I fall to my knees, and cry aloud, has someone heard my heartfelt serenade,
And perhaps love has not passed me by?

© Robert Porteus

In bounds the surgeon, scalpel aloft, in baton salute to Michael Johnston,
I await, wired in rainbow colours, a delicious lobotomy,
He booms booms his hellos, a cheerful echo of a cake crumbed Brian Johnston
My my this will be a job!, mmm yes there is an awful lot of me.

I admire his impeccable attire, head to toe, a neo Don Johnston,
Any last wishes he cheerfully asks, perhaps a nice cup of tea?
He circles and wafts scent and soap, courtesy of Johnston & Johnston,
As I slowly and slowly drift off into hyper monotony.

© Rob perspiring-poet

In hyperspace, how cool to be in a *******, as we hurtle towards the Sun,
But as the parsecs fly by, even such naughtiness becomes just a little boring,
We giggle and wish for an alien to join the fun,
Imagine our delight as a strange craft begins mooring.

Who, and what are you, we exclaim,
I am boy or girl, man or woman, ever willing and never beaten,
Will you join with us, we say in winking refrain,
Imagine our surprise, as we cheerfully entwine, and one by one are slowly eaten.

© Robert Porteus

Queuing in a rain-lashed drive-thru, I marvel at their efficiency,
Hour after hour, smile after smile, they wish me a happy day,
Too much ice again my cola!, as my bladder screams for a ***,
A drive-thru ****** would be a swell idea, I hear someone say,
But, what if I need a poo?, cheekily thinks me,
Perhaps then they will me a ***** day!

© Robert Porteus

My first poetry baby steps!

Bingo!

Stretched out on his scaffold, **** this ****** ceiling, exclaimed Michelangelo,
Would be far better done in woodchip and vinyl matt,
So bored was he that he invented a game called Bingo!,
Full house! Full house! he cried out aloud, and then fell and landed
with an almighty splat.

© Robert Porteus