A feeble attempt to compose a worldwide poem

The modern poet of the keys
today inscripts his frieze
on the sketchy fleeting screen
with the tongue of the Queen.

By the strange words, far born,
he uses for his poetry,
he can not get a simple bread
nor ticket for the local train.

He will not write a Scottish play
nor put in words one Irish day
but with working and allies
he could win the Austrian prize.

He left his home, it’s going to decline
like all the other empty hives,
it remains the worldwide one,
a lonesome bee, the swarm is gone.

Dieser Beitrag wurde von Patrick Beck am 10. Juli 2008 um 18:22 Uhr geschrieben.

Genre: Realitätsschatten

3 Kommentare »

  1. my dear, it could well be
    that the poet is a she
    and her only reason to use
    queen’s tongue is the abuse
    of the angelchild man
    she could not get in 25 years —
    she finally blows the fuse
    and gets reward for her abuse.

    Comment by femme dandy — 14. Juli 2008 @ 16:23

  2. is this my reward for re-establishing the fashion of triangular-relationships?

    Comment by crysantheme — 16. Juli 2008 @ 23:36

  3. Lass uns Holz hacken im Wald, so lange, bis der Engel aus seiner irdischen Krone kippt.

    Comment by fireman with an hour-glass — 30. Juli 2008 @ 07:15

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