Ere de Platagenet

When dis-ease would force a king defect, his people

fear not but preserve the steeple..

Queens who see treason around every corner..

Kings warry of witches brew..

What say U, James?

I, a knave..

Tossing ale and gargling wine..

Spinning tales spiced with saucy epithets for bounded spines.

In Cursed Clink no justice sails,

but shores the wind where plague prevails.

Foul Fox and fat friends fawn slavishly,

seek’n solace in martyrdom’s travesty

Yet nary mirror the lost souls gaze.

To dwell is death

Come nigh, dear Sage.

Let pages burn for winters warmth..

Fleece the raven..

Blood the oar and

cast astride the vessel aft..

Steer thee onward, saith Cap.

In Blackfriars Court I stand annulled

for sheepish dogs have rent me dull,

and wit has ceased to fluctuate

the guidence of my quill, poste haste.

So, Clink, I quell dissent to flow,

dispelling grief that sew and stow.

For homeward bound I seek to go,

to battle Friend where laughter slows.

The rafters glisten moon light pale.

I beg u, list, the tawny tale,

whose horrid image unfix my hair..

Some to gawk.. Some to stare..

From Fleet to Newgate the play must send

a livelyness till curtains end.

The swordsmen come, the horses set

to split in fourths the yearling’s jest.

The torchlight high through window glows

to witness nigh the staunch blood flow.

O come, St Martins Day, to sing

the legacy of tempered rings.

For steel and signet shall not arise

to forgive past of burning lies.

The stage was set, the play performed

and death begat the life deformed.

Mhen memory fails, new hope transforms.

Blast the trumpet. Sound ivory horns.

Don’t mourn the day doth love abound.

Forlorn the way released by hounds.

The river churns. The waters lull

a son who holds the father’s skull.

A child knows not that she knows not

a woman goes on yet not forgot.

Forever heaven’s shallow reigns.

In your arms am I human again.