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Avery Glows Dec 2018
Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"

HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.”
(I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at Him.
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush at all?
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.
Oct, 2018
Rachel Ace May 2017
Thought of all those stones hitting my window

The crush lover is like a austere sword
Marble frames
Blue veins

Ducheess ice skies
Pure white sheets
Padded look
Wavy gold hair
Lighthouse freckles reflections

The spellcaster in her room
Gentle sender
Captivating eyes
Creator of edens

She prepares her cotton spell
Si           tele             swee
lk           pa              ts
thy
Mi        dia                 du
lk         mond        st

Thought of all those instants gemstones pictures

- Codelandandmore //23:50 PM ©
Gold hair
recently in a women's magazine*
I read an article
about the Duchess of Cornwall
being most ungracious
toward Princess Mary of Denmark
the Duchess can be a very catty *****
especially when Charles
is eyeing something of more appeal

but Camilla seems to have forgotten
her come hither days
when she was conducting
an affair with the Prince of Wales
under his wife's nose

the protocols in royal circles
have become less civil
and it is about time
she on her high horse
was more convivial

where the crown
and matters of state
are paramount
the Queen should avail
her son's missus
*of a polite dismount
Peter B Oct 2015
James Bond is cool
but I'm not sure
the armed guy should be the one
to rule,
to save a belle
from hell.

A man with a gun - it could be anyone,
not only Bond.
But guns are wrong,
and we all know, it won't
make world a better place, oh no.
Violence is not the way.

I'd like to see Prince William as James Bond,
with bunch of flowers in his hands,
instead of gun.
That would be fun.

And Duchess Kate
as real Bond's girl,
always a smile away from her man.

That would be great.
Barnaby Harrison Sep 2015
I am the last duchess portrayed in colour and mortar
Flirtatious I was and thus the gardens rest now my being. My being
Rather mauled guarded still by an overhead warning to
The outer lands that surround this palace of corrupted souls. Souls that
Dance and feast upon nights such as now; Oblivious to
Reality and the threats that lie within rather than outside as I lay lost
And unheard to the outside world. Wonder I do if âTwas
The dainty hands of Fra Pandolf; Never a gentler soul
Though deceitful he may not seem he is more than the cover of manuscript
May show. Tis this same scroll though encrypted with ancient
Texts of lost love that tells trued stories of misconception in relation to
The floral talents of the master sculptor who, though
Faulted, has the innocent heart that only future beings will come to accept.
For Tis only this beating wonder though now so blackened
With the plague of dark deceit and dismal lies that embraces the heart of thee
And absorbs the greatest of woes. Try I did but shadowed
I was by the reputable artist that was master Pandolf who though so shy
Entered into the family name; his christened title inscribed
So deeply into the now dirt cast flag that before was written âbout by the greatest
Of laureates. These same laureates now bathe in the
Scandalous material so readily provided by a well seduced feminine figure
Who gave away money and a roof for the so seemed
Loving arms of inspiration. I ask now for the forgiveness of thy master:
The same titled being as that who scribed his
Shadow-cast name into my muscular ***** that now no longer pulsates in the
Same rhythmic tempo as the now lost lover
I used to so easily trust, under the false belief of a returned favour I was so
Quickly promised. Maybe Twas the sight
Of thee that provoked this audacious incident that now hangs over the same
Man that I became ignorant towards. Though
An arrogant human, tis him who I vowed my heart to; the same ***** that
Tis now eaten away by the feeders that have
Been placed inside this case I lie in. Many queries I have but say I cannot as
These dreaded feeders have taken away that
Same privilege that I once had. Why tis me that has to hold this great weighted
Burden? Why tis me that fell yet again
For the seductive methods of man? Answers will not be a given though as my pleas
Are not heard; I am the unknown backyard mistake
That has now destroyed the class a family such as my married one had worked
So hard to produce with intention to keep.
Tis this class that has now crashed to the same ground in which I writhe and though
Faulted, I want justice served upon that monster
Whose handsome looks created such a stir in my mental crevasse
I forgot the importance of appreciation:
And swapped all I had for the pleasures of pretentious love, whose creation has now
Caused the greatest of upsets not only for myself,
But for all that are joyed by the presence of the grand towers that overlook the city
In which I used to strut and sleep in:
The same city which is still plagued by the rodent that tis
Fra Pandolf.
Please read Robert Brownings 'My Last Duchess' for the context behind this poem.

— The End —