Together Forever

Greyt golden vynes plat ed down to her slender sholders wit he rownd

Shimeryng joowel of a bronze amylet on her bare brisling brest

she the thin tal firs be syde her and in the gleemyng lake therin

Cleer carved cheekbones left then ryt then twynklyng temple then sparklyng chin

Worterry glitteryng green iyes stil for al the sukulent syts

 sheen saffire of nos of warter and blisful bronze nos of land

 For one moment fayce to fayce then al one fayce tht not unmayk

 Magestic ampul prynces now the magestic ampul layke

“Hath thou seen th Wife of Bath?”

“Ay me on the morrow I didst see her go

 dresed all in blak by the old church footpath”

“Buryng anuther yung husband no dowbt”

“Thou shalt not scorn this poor womans fayte

three husbands has she lovingly marryed and more so buryed”

“Thers no need for thy long winded berate

when thou knowst not the corse of their untymely demyse”

“Doest thou exort of a murder?”

“Nay merely passing on the tayl

of a wydespred town murmer”

“Oh let us speek of such horrors no more!”

“Hath thou seen th Wife of Bath?”

“Ay me on the morrow I didst see her go

 dresed all in blak by the old church footpath”

“Buryng anuther yung husband no dowbt”

“Such queer reckonyngs hav I of this woman

For our Lord to take ther sols so many”

“Five husbands all ded is surely a devils omen”

“Yet she burys them at our Lords own home”

“Regard how hyly she holds her hed

As if she nose we speek of her thus”

“Perhaps she is filed with a guilty dred”

“Oh let us speak of such horrors no more!”

“Hath thou seen th Wife of Bath?”

“Ay me on the morrow I didst see her go

 dresed all in blak by the old church footpath”

“Buryng anuther yung husband no dowbt”

My young sweet vergyn mayden Amedea has

Goldyn locks of silk curlyng bout thy face

Emitting a glow so strong with such shyne

Sinners seek salvation at thy noble grace

this delycate porclayn Venus of myne makes

Acrid shokyng stayned flowers dye artless

and dusty doves drown of sorrow in far away lakes

Thy eyes. O! Thy eyes render me speechless

should but vulgar words be hung for ther crymes

I beg of thee my paytent wife to smyle than

shudder at my grey aged touch and cry

that thou were not promised to a younger man

 Burn me to ashes and cast me ‘cross turmulus sea

 so thy may love me as true I do thee

The sweet Elizabeth and I

are to elope tonight

No more rules to bind us so tight

Forcing us to conform

Now we shall live by the stars above

our grassy loving bed

And the whispered laws of nature

calling us in the wind

Lavish lifestyles are for old maids

with nought else as comfort

We live on the beat of our hearts

and by thy loving gaze

We feel not of hunger or thirst

mere mortal emotions

We drink and delight in pure sight

of our own earths beauty

These flimsy whispers we call women

Do not touch upon its meaning.

For true composure and grace,

One must seek to gaze

Upon the image of Lady Erpingtine.Think long brown curls swept up

into an elegant twist at the base of her neck.

Not unlike many styles of the hour,

but unlike any style of another,

with nought a curl out of place, or a hair out of line.

A black lace bodice did encase

from her bosom to her waist,

her statuesque frame

with every chiselled feature

draped with an obsidian shawl.

Her onyx cotton collar dress

Is buttoned down the back,

With small pearls tracing the curve

Of her arched and rigid spine

that her childhood did befall.  

Her prominent nose proclaims

A family history of strong warmongers

Killed before their time.

Her ellipsoidal lips enunciate

A family future of powerful femmes.

On admiring her tenacious persona,

She turned and caught my eye.

The piercing sepia read my thoughts

and riposted with a stare, aimed

at my desire, to condemn.

Jen pulls her silk satin dress

Over multipack underwear

and zips her leather brown boots

Over 15 Asda derniers.

She dabs rent rouge on her cheeks,

then smears her free sample Dior

on the chest with the £100 chain

hanging on the £10 chain.

She fills her Louis Vuitton bag

with her home-made lunch

then shuts the door to her riverside condo

and runs for the 92.

She was born with a silver-plated spoon,

Perched between her lips

To scoop up her porridge

2 parts milk, 3 parts water.

Back throo da times ders idoltry wid adultery

walkin hand in hand throo never endin sands

Same story, same sequel just a change of face

we tink we develop, we believe we’ve grown

but da past never lies it’s all set in the stones

to haunt us, to teach us, to remedy our ills

dess ain’t no minor claustrophobic thrills

Dis is our future, our present and past

Love keeps us goin wedder we wan it or not

but what we want ain’t no concern for dem at the top

We can’t love too many, we can’t love ourselves

we can’t make moves to a gal while we’re stackin shelves

She don wan no nice guy, she wans a nice cheque

Got da dollar bills love bite on da side of her neck

Gash ain’t de same as dey was in old dayz

Dey gon’ all picky like dem at subway

but dey all eyelash and lippy wid nuttin to say

Gone are da suffragettes of dat Victorian past

fightin to break down der limitin caste

Now dey pull out der tits for dat cash

dat propa fit bloke or dat well mental bash

Robyn Williamson