I am Queen 

I am Queen 

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Ruffled Wings

 

I’ll undo the little threads
Fitted to my skin
Unfold each softly twined strand,
Let my wings reside in flutter
Behind my shoulders
drawn
In shades of copper
trimmed with gold
The scent of lilies float,
over a pond of fronds
and branches fold
under slippers wove in silk
and ribbon ties loop
Ruffled wings
Of feathers and plumes
Windswept
In tangled array
Tethering me to this place
Like draperies unbridled
To reveal
The gentle pleats of flight.

J.CALVERT 2016

Empress Ruling The Throne

 

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beforeitsnews.com

A thousand men, stand before me –
In inferior armoury and fake crowns,
Prince in shining armour, I’d rather wear my own,
Black and gold shields, I’ll fight against the drones,
I look good in leather and chain mail,
Riding on my horse,
Weapons and words wielding stolen lies,
My tongue is held hostage, by my mind,
Crying wolf, the courage distilled,
They bore me with their cheap perfume,
Full of promises, little puppets on a string,
Dance for me, the queen,
We are all silhouettes, in the dark,
Dating the night,
Boy, I don’t need a protector,
Tough as nails, scratching down your back,
I’ve got a weapon of defence –
My own.
Empress ruling, the throne.

Right or Wrong?

Whisky bottle and fallen tears,
Moaning creeks –
And obscured mask,
Sighs and moans,
Awash, by blurred lines,
Eyes bleed –
With the weight to see –
Clouded in the heaviness of self,
Steam casing the highland,
Absorbed by the mist,
Open and wide awake –
In continuing dreams,
Of hide and seek,
A children’s tale,
An adult’s reality,
In circles, round,
And squares, edged,
Both sharp and curved,
Piercing and numb,
In wail and whine,
Absent cries,
Preoccupied,
Cover the holes, with tape,
Bandage the bind,
Wear the costume,
Behind the shapes,
Lost in a sense of right or wrong –

Of heartbreak.

© Jennifer Calvert 2016

Buried Below

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illusion.scene360.com

Buried below,
The garden bed –
Yielded by the soft growing stems,
The roots, swath my threads,
Eyes wide open, in dread,
Suffocating – in the depths of despair,
A coffin made of wood,
A cross piercing my tomb,
The weight of the crucifix; bearing my soul,
My grave, unmarked and alone,
As the sun seeps down below-
The burden fades,
Within the night – my heart stirs,
Beats in pulse and throb,
Spirits rouse – the boneyard wakes,

My soul shakes, the dead and debris, in languid steps –

I walk amongst the living.

Poppy Seed Yellow 


Stepping across a pathway of flowers and silken petals, of stems and soft buds, thorns and needle pins, colours and hues of summer kiss, poppy seed yellow and aqua blue, a pathway of artistic dreams and visual fantasy, a place far beyond dreams.