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I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest,
Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast,
For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before,
Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore;
Me, poor dove, that must not coo,--eagle, that must not soar.

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow
That are costly, out of season as the seasons go.

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace
Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place,
Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon,
Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne;
There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end;
My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend--
O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend?

As I am a lofty princess, so my father is
A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties,
Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances.

He has quarrelled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes;
Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes,
Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows,

On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state
To break the strength of armies and topple down the great:
Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate.

My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen
So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men;
These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when.

Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships;
Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips;
Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips.

Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood,
That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood;
Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud.

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay;
On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray,
My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh.

I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place,
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais:
A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face;

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon,
Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known,
They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne?

The singing men and women sang that night as usual,
The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall,
A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral.

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept;
My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept
To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on,
They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon,
They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said:
"Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed;
Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread."

So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear,
******, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear;
Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near.

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark:
"There are families out grazing like cattle in the park."
"A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark."

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way;
One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day;
One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier *****;
Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp
To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp."

"Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone
At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown."
"There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown."

"One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head,
Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread:
Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead."

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh:
"If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff."
"While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff."

These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile:
"Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile,
She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?"

He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait
(I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate),
Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene,
There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between;
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command:
"Charge!" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand.
Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand."

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher;
A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire;
I heard a cry for *******, then I heard a yell for fire.

"Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread,
You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said:
"Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head."

Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth,
I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith,
I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath;

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand,
I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand
Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land.

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give;
I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live;
I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive:

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show
The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know.
I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go.
The dust sparkles up above
as I smash gems down below.

Coated with divine shine the air is
filled with energy brought with water
scotching as hot as necessary for fire to
shatter and entangle this enchanted earth.

The foundation is broken by what is spoken
when you have the token taken from cooping.

So, let this wreckage wind west knowing
that all you test is of your own mess
and try harder to say yes to happiness
with less than the best of the rest.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2018
The 352 Blues

this city treats the poor
with swift unkindness,
but if you peel your eyes,
you don't necessarily have to always
sing the ole 352 Bleecker Blues

the eyetalian storekeeper,
gives us morning java,
when we sing for him on the guitar,
The Star-Spangled Banner,
refills, if we add America the Beautiful

they say that heat rises,
but that don't seem true
in our third floor walk up
on rue 352 Bleecker Street,
the cold companion enters
thru the busted stain glass window

no matter, no cares,
we light the fireplace,
with wood and anything that'll burn,
we scavenged from the street,
pallets and newspapers,
rent bills overdue,
yesterday's 352 truths

at two AM, the cops, in their cars
cooping, fast asleep, only just us,
the johns, the ****** and troubadours,
walking the streets looking for
free stuff to burn

pass the hat for tips
next to the arch,
enough for daily bread
but we get our ***** and ****
for free, just for singing the 352 blues

even when down and out
on the village streets,
bleak on Bleecker street,
you gotta sing the 352 blues,
especially when you're
riding high and living cool,
down on easy Bleecker Street
in 1968
~~~~~~~
Before you ask me if this true,
save your breath,
the answer is
Which part?
Gave you nothing less than perfection,
i received neglection
no affection ,just thoughts and depression my lesson learned by the taunting aggression,
my obsession is caressin my helpless quessin,
pressin  my deepest thoughts, tryin to harbor my lost,
tryin to hold my cost, a price of heart is stolen,
every second of the day im second quessin my life,
stuck in thoughts frozen..trying to let go...
reflection is whom im  opposen, im posen a threat,
not understanding my loneliness,  so...
im holding this, thoughts and feeling,
picturing a day on bended knee,kneeling, tellin you
my feeling, the feelings is true, you turn my  helpless why? into hopeless when..i dont wanna be your friend,i wanna meet worlds end, show you i am more than a
kiss nd hug,
im more than a,
i don't know shoulder shrug,
im more than a
then i am a here and will never be a never was,
i go the length, in 1 year, tell you I do, cause no matter what you do,
ill stick around as long as you want me too,
ill be that ***** stick witcha , snap picture in the background, tellin you every second i happy for you,while  slowly killin liver,
i know you can be better with me, but you with another *****, so
i let it goo, but let it linger, aint no ring on my finger, but  there's one in my heart if you could've looked alil deeper...you would seen how you left it alil bit torn apart.
its ok i worn the lost, i learn to floss, but heres no body like you, and im just cooping with an inevitable loss.

BY: Emmanuel JV Hernandez
5/6/14
ManVsYard Nov 2014
I'm waiting for
that blissfull moment
when,
I am freed, from the torment
of the world of wars, laments
of safety,  health,  protects , prevents!
of the waking world, of
groans and moans and sighs

From the ever
silent smirking
from
todays plan, no more working
simulated twerking
bad news briefers perkin
A respit from,  "The Land of
Lovely Lies"

Oh, the smiling
nodding jestures
from
the too-cute empty nesters
the, once we were protesters
the, Winsor Knot and vest-ers
makes me look away No! contact for sad eyes.

With lead lids
steady drooping
my
pace has slowed, now stooping
alone: no more grouping
no chicken, rooster cooping.
It's time to sleep, so, I'll say todays goodbys.
Lisa Mendoza  Aug 2015
disastrous
Lisa Mendoza Aug 2015
I'm reverting back to old bad habits of cooping myself inside my room, reading dark themed fictions to match my mood, clenching fists and breathing as shallow as the air surrounding me seems to be, wondering why gravity seems to be heavier on my back against the sheets. I have used up most of my vocabulary to describe this sensation, my battered journal filled with ripped pages and blotted ink can surely attest to that, I'm running out of words, I'm running out of desperation to make better use of my time but there seems to be nothing, no words, no use, and everything is inside the whirlwind of my thoughts, each one slapping me back to reality, fantasy, reality, fantasy, there's nothing real, there's no fairytale here, and I can only rush this out so it may seem like I know what I'm writing and I hope it appears as if the words are just flowing loose like a tranquil river who knows where they are from and where they are going, but I'm nothing like a easy-going stream of water, I'm a hurricane and a volcano and a storm, a full-blown natural disaster trying its best to play it cool, and to be honest I've never been so at loss with what to say and so at loss at what to do

--L.m.

— The End —