For the Prince...

I have noted that my muse's recent obsession with the fairytale genre has mostly produced pieces from the point of view of a rather pessimistic princess character! The poor prince has been taking a battering & has never once uttered a word in his own defence! So...without further ado, I thought I ought to stand up for said prince...because honestly, he ain't half bad when you get to know him!

Staying with the fairytale theme a moment...


Prince  

Did you hear me singing, prince?
From the window of my prison?
And did I so touch your heart,
that you came back again
to listen?
I sing to pass my solitude,
and comb my hair by multitudes
in readiness, sweet valiant saviour,
for they told me,
one day,
you would come.


And now, the untitled tales of true princes...perhaps influenced by Shakespeare?


*Untitled*

than water spirits
you and I are no better
we are but one fool
a lone moon in a sky sugared with
far too many sweet stars
but this is the summer of our love my king
and they will not take it
for if madmen laugh at us
yet will we go dancing in the spring grass
and along the beautiful byways of lust
to the daylight of heaven
and the diamond paradise
of the night that calls us.


*Untitled*

It's the way your soul glows
as I stroke the precious velvet
that is you.
Beautiful. Not a term applied
often,
to the stronger sex.
But it suits you.
The way you look when you're sleeping
is the reason, for everything,
and I wouldn't sacrifice this moment,
this night; you,
to save the world.
It wouldn't
be worth it.


See? They're not all bad... ;-)


Finally, a little thought on the poetry of admiration where the subject is male...definitely inspired by Shakespeare's sonnets, which some scholars are convinced, described his patron, the Earl of Pembroke:


It Is Not Usual

"It is not usual!"
my forefathers cry
"For you
to write for your love.
How,"
they ask
"will you compare him;
as Shakespeare or Donne
to the petals of a red, red rose
or the rays of the morning sun?"

"Then it is fitting," I reply.
"I shall not compare.
For he,
is incomparable."

"How,"
I ask
"may you tell me
that I should not write for him?
Well I know that he is no rose,
but more precious in my eyes
and more worthy of poetry;
despite his sex;
than I."