Hello, my queen, and good—no, in fact
I’ll forsake formality, let it burn with ‘em all
For no one says ‘Good Afternoon’, nobody does
To a still woman at her funeral
And you look the part, no, white hair so thin
A chest oh so bony that it seems nothing’s in
One night more, ’til you burn down deep
Come on, Queenie, why can’t you sleep?
Oranges and lemons
Say the bells of St Clement’s
I’ll sing you a song
You’ll be out before long
You owe me five farthings
Say the bells of St Martin’s
No, you owe us much more
Like some blood and some gore
When will you pay me
Say the bells of Old Bailey
At the break of dawn
The quiet will be gone
When I grow rich
Say the bells of Shoreditch
Yes, rich we will be
Your blood will turn to sea
When will that be
Say the bells of Stepney
When the blade does come down
And smashes your crown
I do not know
Says the great bell of Bow
I’m also not aware
If you’ll cower or stare
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
And here comes a chopper to
Chop
Chop
Chop
Off your head
Still can’t sleep?
What a pity.
But at morn you’ll sleep deep
And free this city.
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AN: Happy Belated New Year, everyone! *cue fireworks*
Anyway, some of you may have guessed this poem is set the night before Marie Antoniette's execution. Those readers are correct and may have a cookie. *hands cookie through screen* Yes, Oranges and Lemons is an English song, not a French one, but I thought it was suitable for the subject matter.
Inspiration: The French Revolution, specifically Marie Antoniette. And Oranges and Lemons. Duh.
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Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
