a little girl, perhaps 5-6, sits in the meadow and picks flowers. she picks the flowers slowly, meticulously. she looks up and sees a beautiful teenaged girl, with a long flowing dress and short hair with splotches missing. the teenager sits with the little girl. "what happened to your hair?" the little one asks.

"once upon a time,
I picked flowers just like you.
but I picked them all."

the young girl listens and keeps picking her flowers.

"I met a boy who
promised I was beautiful
and made me feel so."

the teenager begin taking the flowers and winding them together. she grabs her knitting needles out of her handmade purse and continues working on a hat to keep her hands busy.

"he always told me
that my head was too pretty
for me to be sad."

"Did he love you?" the little girl asks, playing with her hands.

"perhaps he did, but
he never said that he did.
he never told me."

"after I ran out
of flowers, I began pull-
ing my long hair out."

"please don't end up like me." the teenager says, handing the girl the hat.

I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.

Proem

After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. **“Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”

Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
Your both in heaven; worship Thee Most High

Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands

Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee

I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:

To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face

You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Postscript

I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
______________

Proem

The battle at Ludd for all intents and purposes was a defeat.   Granted, the enemy was wiped out, but Sir Thomas and his men got to Ludd to late;  the loss of life of the townsfolk was inexcusable.   Sir Thomas did save a young nun named Dagung.   He left her in Ludd but she followed he and his men in route back to Gaza Castle.   Sir Thomas was a warrior and a monk.    With much to ponder, his mind went elsewhere:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writings from the archives of Sir
Thomas de Charney

About A.D. 1290

We returned to Castle Gaza
Well into the mid-night
Much of the garrison we left behind we're still awake;
My loyal knights, sergeants, men at arms
We're overladen with people;
Towns empty, townspeople secure within our towering palisade
Even their livestock; hoards were left and hidden
Closer towns were ordered within the ramparts of city walls
Our strength was the long escarpment which faced the sea
If the infidels want to attack from that venue;  come...come
They know better, and will try to find a crease in our fortress
Days....weeks.....or months, we'll be ready

Ludd was a misfortune, a ****** beyond our umbrella;
Never again will this happen under my watch
I extended the perimeter of our municipality
Will introduce this measure at the next Grand Council
There was much to do, decisions to be made to protect the people
The treaty was broken, so it seems, after the debacle in Ludd
I dispatched an emissary to Acre to advise Our Grand Master
Until we get our orders, we will defend our defilade

My mind was in utter denial upon returning from Ludd
Caged by this young lady, a nun to boot, named Dagung; on horse
Chasing after our brigade relentlessly, hoofs digging the earth
Then “Please my lord, may I accompany you to Castle Gaza?”
After that slight curve of my lips, tried as I could; I failed to say no
Why?  I don't know what beauty is, but I can't take my eyes off her
Dagung would not leave my mind, but now what do I do ?
Good God,  my ***** and *****; sensitive to the touch
My problem is my lack of proclivities.....of..of....a, the female
This, I was not taught.  Is this not a concept to be learned ?

She, once a ******, ravaged by truculent *******
Me - warrior, monk, Templar Knight and Master at Gaza;
A ******; only of recent time understanding how a woman gets pregnant
From my perspective and upbringing
A female of this apotheosis may as well come from another existence
Or times past, or, of futures unknown
Perhaps a separate species

Before I could allow her into the Knights Templar castle
Dagung was safe within the city walls
My squire Geoffroi hired a few maidens
To prep her and look after her needs

By now she is in one of our guest rooms
Waiting on me


(to be continued)

____________

Hurl the mystic pages, wipe off the grit and covered dust.
Burn your inclinations with never-ending wanderlust.
The control over pounding, set your heart free.
Colour the sheet with sails of words in your life's sea.
Start new journey in the world of fascinating proem.
Cause poetry is beautiful prowess to turn each incident into peom.

hidden beneath the contemptuous blubber
ears muffledto calls of "delilah"s they yelled
the trees the benches ,the symbols, the paperplanes ,alphs betas .....
and you
i see them all
the trees you look at when you are  irritated; through the stained windows of politics class
the bench you sit on with an obtuse misty veil over your eyes
the symbols you drew on the chem text book
halo of nihilistic delusions you wear

i wonder who see through your rock hard pretenses
wonder who will catch you be the the pearl

(hope u will make this the proem to ur story)

Sometimes, I just want a break.
There’s only so much I can take.
Sometimes I just want to breathe
Yell out the pain that lies beneath
Scream to the liars the truth
Find my own medicine that soothes
The anguish that makes me cry
The things I’m too tired to deny,
Knots I want to unravel
In idyllic bliss of travel.
I’m tired of too much work
It’s driving me crazy, berserk
That I repeat some old rhymes
For me, I can’t find any time
There is happiness I seek
A smidgen of courage to speak
Confidently to a crowd
Using talents on me bestowed.
I want to sleep for long days
Without messes in life to face
I don’t want a surgery
To extract foreign cyst in me
I want a good vacation
A month, a year of elation
I want to be who I’m not
Nimbly practise what I’ve been taught.
I am a rudderless ship
Someone, tell me to get a grip!
Is there anyone out there?
Not one who understands or cares?
I keep looking for someone
Lord knows, around me, I’ve a ton
Many I can lean upon
Who’d mourn for me when I am gone
I wonder on that, you know
If anyone would miss me so
If I’ve helped anyone live
If there’s someone I must forgive
I didn’t want to write sad poems
Yet, this is, a perverse proem
The last one searching for glee
Written by me in misery.
Why, why must it be so hard?
Why does life have to hand me shards?
God, lead me somewhere in peace
I can’t bear this anymore, please!
I’m exhausted with myself
With the world, with my selfish self.
(I know, I know what to do
You don’t have to give me a clue)
Give me moments to wallow
On thoughts that you don’t have to know
I’m anxious, not crazy or mad.
I’ll get up soon, don’t be sad.
But there are the times I think
Staring at space, drowning in drinks-
“Sometimes, I want to run away
Each time, I don’t know why I stay.”

I am a rhymester, writing poem
Stand under tree holding a phloem
Glancing at someone for a proem
…to listen my stylish hyper poem