Outré Liqueur

I watched red Mars, the moon elope,
Above the desert sands,
I marked it with my telescope,
Held in God fearing hands.

I saw one comet like a rope
Shoot through the midnight sky,
Then faster than an antelope
It vanished from the eye!

Now on horizons far in scope
Rise up the werewolves soon,
I plot them with a gyroscope,
Beneath the haunted moon.

By using metaphor and trope
I seek to conjure her,
Within a brass kaleidoscope
That's scented with burnt myrrh.

Yes, using metaphor and trope
I will soon conjure her,
Down to the smallest isotope
Like some outré liqueur!




Poetry by Achernar
Read 867 times
Written on 2010-02-03 at 19:35

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Brian Oarr
Not sure there's much by way of trope in this humorous, pity piece. But, there is your impeccable sense of meter, Achenar, that carries the readed on a magic carpet ride from verse to verse.

Brian
2010-02-04