You finally said
You wanted me to leave though
I'd already tried to

Pellinore’s Fancy
by Michael R. Burch

King Pellinore was famous for hunting the Questing Beast, a rather odd, fantastical creature. Does its name suggest that the beast was dreamed up, or invented for the purpose of questing after it? Perhaps Pellinore simply didn’t want to stay home and needed a good (if farfetched) excuse to furnish his wife . . .

What do you do when your wife is a nag
and has sworn you to hunt neither fish, fowl, nor stag?
When the land is at peace, but at home you have none,
Is that, perchance, when ... the Questing Beasts run?

Keywords/Tags: King Pellinore, questing beast, hunt, Arthurian, legend, myth, wife, nag

Once I was a teen,
That's when Mum got mean,
Dragged us off on long drives,
Her whinging did give me hives,
Maybe she could not hack us growing,
Autonomy we wanted knowing,
We tried not to be like our mother,
Turned each into totally another,
Nag, nag, nag and moan,
Not again,  I'd  sit at home,
With music and a fur pal,
A book, a pen, a suburban gal......
So, in half a century,
Not much changed for me,
I sit and scribble, solo,
But never alone, my muse, lo!

I lovingly caressed its top,
Tenderly held it in my finger,
Quickly lit its bottom,
And inhaled longingly.
Slowly, my tension receded,
As I blew rings in the air,
Puff after puff after puff.
There was a knock on the door,
Quickly, I sprayed air freshener,
Opened the windows,
Slipped a chewing gum in my mouth.
It was mum,the same nag,nag,nag ....
I smiled and listened,
The special  cigarette  had stimulated me.

I withhold this trophy tonight
for the worry you lag on and on
a sack you drag as it parties
owning your back, breaking the light

I withhold my hand and stop the words
for your voice seeps the air I  breath
a strangle of the life that smiles
tugging me in the abyss of your devoid

I withhold my trust as I can't censor
the irk that traps and can't be tamed
a mafia that drives you crazy 24 hours
drugging me in a cage of no care

I withhold my question about our intentions
the drive that makes me explode
as I can't blame or save your paranoia
telling a fiction in the reality of stolen memories

The only anagram that I can't stand to read
is one that was just between you and me
the nag a ram was simple and meant a million things
at least it did to me
At times I wonder if it meant half of those things to you.

duisternis in
Sonder olie,
Sonder lamp,
die nag het my ingewag

Mag ek vra
waarheen hy loop
die kronkelpad
só geknoop?

Seker nie!
dis te laat
vrae is heen
die wolke dreun

die miere vergader
om my rantsoene
en druppels besmeer
die kaart kontoere

en so is ek duisternis in
sonder olie
sonder lamp
die nag het my ingewag