"primadonna" poems
If, one day, a fairy went to my room and grant me a wish, I would ask her to give a one day tour at fairy tale land.
First, I will seek Cinderella and introduce her the new released washing machine. I will give her an elegant Primadonna shoes and create an escalator in Prince Charming's castle for her convenience.
Next, I will wake up Aurora from her nightmare with my full blast metallic rock music. I will give her the gift of gorgeousness and she will be called "The Sleeping Gorgeous".
I will look for Rapunzel's hidden castle and give her a new pixie cut hair. I will suggest her to have an elevator in her elevated castle. I can endorse her Prince the microphone, so it would be effortless for him to shout "Rapunzel! Let down your hair".
I will also go to Snow White and add bananas, mangoes and cream to her apple and give her the recipe of fruit salad. To maintain her white skin, I will give her BB cream and cherry red lipstick from Mac, for her kissable lips.
Lastly, I will take a photo with the fairy tale characters and post it on Instagram, with a caption "TOUCH DOWN! FAIRY TALE LAND"
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
#…a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
(Ecclesiastes 4:12)
A pastoress once bore a name
which merits neither guilt nor shame;
Pentecosta Charismania
(biblical in megalomania).
Worthy of poetic fame,
a brilliant if unstable flame.
Sincere she was, yet volatile,
she brought it down, revival-style.
At altar calls, she could inspire
tongues of glossolalian fire.
The Devil she would oft rebuke
with lines from John, or Paul, or Luke;
a prophetess on holy crack
was Pentecosta on the attack…
Her nemesis was prudent, able
doctrinally dull—but stable:
Patriciana Presbyteria.
Less given to divine hysteria,
wisdom did adorn her table.
And her soul bore well the label.
No prophecies escaped her lips
nor prone to divinating slips;
this sensible reformed young maid
was made to have and have it made
Elect, correct in doctrine, wit
invested in no counterfeit
her pop’s portfolio lent her worth:
not less than heaven cashed on earth.
Mocking these unseemly heretics
swayed by neither sects nor politics
was Maria Della Romana
Faithful matron, primadonna,
loyal to her Papal rite,
she grieved her sisters by candlelight;
fingered furious rosaries
stormed the gates with St. Peter’s keys
beseeching Jesus that they turn
from devil’s doctrines fit to burn,
rejoin the holy Mother Church
rather than their souls besmirch
with further Antichristian sin.
(She genuflected fit to win.)
God is known in Trinity
but less through femininity:
His three adherents, flamed by One
like braided gold reflecting sun
are Christian fates: three tendencies
or triplicate analyses,
tripartite in judgemental grace
each one assumed, with zealous face
that the other two could not be saved
as sure as Heaven’s roads are paved
with wisdom’s gold and Christ’s pure light.
(They made a most amusing sight.)
Since threefold cords cannot be broken,
let my punchline rest, unspoken.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Don't really meant to
be Casanova, no, I'll
Ignore your scoldings
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 12:12 AM UTC
When
the city of London exploded,
I cried alone for days.
Was that it?
Crying for a man overseas
who hung painting
from a west indie tree?
Some Imperial freedom
from which we develop.
The city explodes
and buzzes
for days afterwards.
I think of every word
in the mouth
of every woman
in every building in town.
Dracula
comes to the Metropolitan centre
and we gossip
about men
who write like Bysshe Shelley
and love like Mary.
They have angels
about their homes,
I have heard soliloquised,
and knaves in the room.
I sob,
I am like them, too.
The primadonna
baby pink fin de siècle
will not free me.
Where
affection is a
concept of avant garde
and of
the outer versus inner
comes absolutely nothing
but
a dissolution
of scientific certainty.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 6:01 AM UTC
Her pure thoughts "Ever Smiling" he spiritual
feathered me down
I was on the other side of Spiritual
Bird-like town
I saw the Robin Renewal her tail
through different time
So Subline like the Eight Folds my path
His hands met my heart vine
Birds were singing
Goddess telegraph
How he mapped my tweets
of the graph
Such immortality eyes feather
whispers Imagery
White Peacock of Nirvana
hearing Awwi
Another bam Kaboom and a thumb
All of a sudden in Peacock race
Forestal Gump a box to preach
Then a hoot and scream what a screech
Like some spiritual God came to her
Peacock of heaven her speech flew her
Her Roaring waters feather our soul
Her miles of vision mystical playful
Madonna his love danced to a fling
Oh! Donna changed dark bird took her
Ballerina wings Belladonna brought her wing
like marine of Godly water
The lady perked up like a Primadonna
The Peacocks became her gift his
feathers move to her heart
she was vibrant feathered and note
I love you to the end of the sea part
Ladybird garlands like a Holiday gift
He smiled at her held her wings
what a decadent moment both smiles
to lift
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC