Soup kitchens of the Bowery clothe and feed a queen:

my lazy bones, my stray thoughts need a queen.


Elizabeth wrote her sonnets in the blood

of martyred papists—now, let's read a queen!


My lips and fingers pray a chaplet to the Virgin,

mirror of patience, seat of wisdom; daily, I bead a queen.


I'm quite the green thumb at royal gardening!

I till the soil and scatter; indeed, I seed a queen.


On bent knee, I gaze up into my love's fierce eyes

wise of me: to hush, to listen, to heed a queen.


Bugger the patriarchy (gently!) with a cactus:

I ask you, who's most suited to lead? A queen!

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 265 times
Written on 2022-01-09 at 09:59

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MetaPoetics The PoetBay support member heart!
I admire this experimental ghazal and the finely crafted couplets. Bravo!

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
You stretch the boundaries, and enrich the experience.