She walks through the forest with purpose, for today she must compose a poem for a king. She stands in the forest listening and observing, so creativity flows through her. As a Skald, she must practice her craft well; Thor and Odin will be displeased if she does not.
It’s a coincidence
that you’re leaving
and so am I
The night is young, yet the mansion is ready for the party.
He’s been planning this well & thinking it through all week.
Not one to shy away from the strange & obscene, he thinks of some party tricks.
Ladies are many & boggle his mind, for he sees himself as an urban Casanova.
Unable to settle for one love, he prefers to love in threes or fours.
The time arrives, the guests are bouncing, & the party is swinging about.
Beauty abound & lovely young sights, he thinks of nibbling on chocolates or rose water delights.
Tricks do begin, but it’s the usual tosh, yet he’s thinking about what he can do.
With weird ideas swirling & too much bourbon soaking, he goes to the kitchen & thinks, “What do I have & what do I need to get my perversions on track?”
Looking & looking, he opens the cupboards & draws with swirling thoughts plaguing his mind. Staring about, but not yet drawing attention, he grabs three sturdy blue spatulas.
Like Houdini on crack or DMT, he makes frosting enough for three cakes.
It’s causing some giggles & a few weird looks, but he’s too fucked in the head to agree.
The frosting is made, it tastes like a sweet dream, so he lines the bowls up on the bench.
He waits for the prudes & the boring to leave until ten of the lovelies remain.
Once properly pinched & appropriately plucked to shine bright, he smears frosting all over the nymphs. Once frosted, he moves in & starts to carnally satisfy his longing for sweets.
There’s frosting about & in places unseen, yet he beats his best record of four.
With ten lovely ladies all over him now, he’s a man in a heaven of sorts.
From the window,
I see a world away
or something near.
If I could describe
what I see it would
tell of something
beautiful, like you.
You, with your neat sunlit soul.
You, with a sad snow within your soul that reflects light and love.
From the window, I think of you.
There is something gentle
and uplifting about a yellow
rose in the spring.
It blooms, even
from within a cage.
The roses in this caged garden
reminds me that beauty can be
found from within a prison, even
if that prison is within ones own mind.