After Sunday they returned
to their homes and their gardens
and their picket white fences
and their Subaru four-by-fours,
forgetting the town
where they’d eaten ice-cram
and watched as two kings battled
for control of the land.
The Oak king won
as he always does
to look after the summer and the harvest
and the maidens in their white lace gowns
that cavort in the sunshine
and howl at the Beltane Moon.
The Holly king limps away
to hide until winter
when his brides are filled with heat
and need and rutting in the woods
with their flushed-pink cheeks
pressed against cold snow.
3 1/2" by 2 1/2"
$25
6 comments:
Thankyou, for putting my thoughts into words, I was thinking just that when the yummy mummies and dapper daddies had there mini berghaus babies on their shoulders, and their double decaff latte's in their hands.
It's funny when you see things from another perspective totally......
Thanks Nadia, for sending me the words to thrash into a poem :)
Ah, lovely. I think the Holly King gets the better end of the bargain actually.
Aye -
A cloak of fur and mistletoe
shall be thy bed tonight
for ye will need thy comfort soon
at the dying of the light.
I like this.
Lovely poem Rachel. nadiajane's comments echo mine too. Great words, aren't they?
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