Princess Poetry

I've not known a woman
Quite as fickle as rhyme
Quite as quietly arrayed
Quite as dressed to the nines

And I've known no girl sweeter
No skin quite as smooth
As a delicate meter
That so tenderly soothes

I have heard no voice louder
Than the scratch of the pen
That ignites like gunpowder
Emotions from within

The pen is a mortar
The words are its shells
Fired by the reporter
In the stories he tells

With a bang, with a boom
As they fly from the page
And bring succor or doom
Or inspire or enrage

But a poem, she dances!
She flies on her feet
As she flits and she prances
To tunes of heartbeats

With a coy little wink
And a flip of her hair
Does the poetry's ink
Tender hearts so ensnare

And when her dance is finished
She blows a quick kiss
Which does naught to diminish
Her onlookers' bliss

And the poem takes her bob
And she exits the stage
While the tender heart throbs
In the reader's ribcage


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s