A French Execution
It was dawn when they woke me up. Not the dawn with the cream-coloured sky and candy floss clouds. Not the fairy-tale dawn caressed by the mellow custard sunshine, nor the bright crisp chirping of exotic birds. The sky, painted khaki and flecked with dullness, seemed to have been the perfect setting for an apocalyptic period. Well, then again, I was in an apocalyptic situation. After all, the entire country wanted me dead, simply for having lived life to the fullest.
I suppose I was living idyllically, unaware of the changing times. Unaware of the blood boiling in the veins of the country. People wanted change and I suppose I did hinder this change. But how can I be blamed? I was forced into an uncomfortable, awkward and lonely position that I had to make something of it. I had to brighten up my days, have fun, invite guests and create my own social revolution. I did bring change, but not the change the people wanted. Whereas I created my own social revolution and transformed the world of delicacies and fashion, the people constructed theirs only to kill me. I am innocent. I only wanted happiness in this world in which I succumbed to expectations. However, I made myself happy by using my power and wealth, but I suppose a woman is is alsways to blame in this world. Whose fault was it that I was married off? Mine. Whose fault was it that my husband was too awkward to sleep with me? Mine. Whose fault was it that consequently I could not have a child? Mine. No matter what I did, do and will do, it is my fault because I am a woman. A woman who must be responsible for all the wrong in the world and carry men's burden because they do not want to carry it themselves.
They say I murdered the country. They say I murdered men, women and children. They say I murdered everything they owned. Why? Why am I to blame, to be executed, when the responsibility also lies upon my husband, my friends, my entourage, my society? Why, out of all of us nobles, am I considered devilish and sinful? If anything, I am the victim. I am a victim because I was stricken with so much burden, hate and disrespect. I am a victim because despite this, the world hates me, and despite this, I am responsible. I suppose it will be centuries before people feel empathy and love the underdog.
After they awoke me, stripped of dignity, wealth and power, the trial began. Whereas they had the world supporting them, I had my lawyers who were given a day to plead my case. They had decided my case before the trial, convinced I must be executed.
Then, shoved around, they ordered me to prepare myself for my execution. If only they could kill me now. The unfairness of this world is too much to bear. The unfairness of being a woman is too much to bear. I was forced to change in front of my guards. Humiliated and naked, I was just a pale broken thing. With a plain white dress, they sheared my hair, stripped me of beauty and femininity. Hands bound behind my back, I became an empty vessel. I wasn't the devil, I wasn't unkind, I treated others with respect. I was a sweet person who, although lacking foresight, only wanted good.
Unlike my husband, the culprit and coward, was given a carriage to ride in to his execution. Me? A simple open cart, under an ominous sky, where everyone could chant and humiliate me. Calling me names, I maintained my grace nonetheless, silent and poised. They may have stripped me of all my wealth, but I am, until the end, royalty.
Kind and loving, misunderstood and alone, my very last words were: "Monsieur, je vous demande excuse, je ne l’ai pas fait exprès."
Forever a Queen, forever myself, forever, Marie Antoinette.
Soaking Wet! (ode to YoungWriter)
You're wet behind your ears,
they need to be cleaned,
you're completely lacking in years,
you're not old enough
to compete with your peers.
Your words are leaky
sputter out of your sieve
and are not complete -
your thoughts drift all over
pull them back to earth.
I stomp on your ideas
reduce them to mush,
scatter them to the wind,
spear you with my pen
and set you on fire
to ignite your words.
I crumble you
into your written phrases,
roll you up in clouds,
throw you down the abyss.
Your fractured idioms
need to be splinted
before they can climb
back up to the rim,
but you can't negotiate
the hovering summit
just out of your reach.
I take your blood
inhale into my pen
and transfuse some of mine
to give you fighting chance.
As you said in your poem,
you tried to fail
but if you succeed
what will you have done?
When you age,
not too gracefully, I assume,
you can try again
to compete
with your superiors.
For now,
you've lost your battle
but can win your war
when you've grown up
to be all you can be!
Chasing Memories
Treasure my love in the folds of your pocket,
imbibe tranquil memories of feet hitting sand,
float on breathless wind currents as you’re left
with faded reflections and frayed, ripped jeans.
Look for me in passing faces but you won’t find
the missing puzzle piece to TOGETHER AGAIN.
Your longing reveries will lay stake to your heart
in sunlight beaming through windows of our past.
Seagulls cry as you lift our oceans to your soul,
prisms of your eyes mourn empty twisted sheets,
wrapping you snugly in remembered cozy words,
our rich varnished wood of existence once near,
a lingering scent as we walk into spiraled darkness,
a non-existence that hovers within broken pieces.
It won’t matter because I’ll be gone and you’ll be left
CHASING MEMORIES OF WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN.
Used
There was never
The need
Nor the desire
For her mind,
Her words,
Or her existence
Until their
Greed
Overcame
Their
Self-control.
Then they needed her.
They were desperate for her.
They were desperate for her
Body and
Nothing
More.
He was different.
He wanted it all:
Her mind
Her words
Her body.
He couldn't survive
Without
Her existence.
But
For too long
She had been
Worthless,
An object,
A second-hand person,
And though
He held
Her and
Told her
That she was
His world,
She was always
Terrified
That one day
He would
Act just
Like the others
Proving
That she really was
Worthless,
Pointless,
An object.
She was afraid
That her entire
Existence would
consist of being
Used.
In My Head
Ice melts slowly in the glass
Dripping the remnants of my Chai
The crowds come and come
But almost don’t seem to go.
The smell of coffee beans
Overwhelm my lonesome intentions
Why did I come here?
Why am I by myself?
Maybe it’s best no one’s around.
No distractions, no obligations
But I still don’t know what to write.
Awakening Colors of Paradise
Cloak me in fine raiment of nightfall’s silk,
heartbeat following rise and swell of sea,
canary moon shining down on anchored love,
dew drops moistening brows of us entwined.
Beauty carved out of liquid seal of passion,
waves of lust from riled breezes rush
into welcoming sea arms on deserted beach.
The scent of him dwelling in moonlit hair,
dancing in harmony to whispered words.
Soothed by the endless ocean, I am home,
blinded by the luminosity of his love
Sun rises softly - a gentle kiss in briny air,
nurturing us with promise of endless tides.
As we dip our toes in calming cool water,
sounds of gulls gently skim our senses,
awakening pallet of colors in our paradise.
Never Forget
Of bombs and blood
And temper tantrums
A madman sought keys
To the inner sanctum
That he might spread
His hateful madness
And mark Man's end
In bitter sadness...
Upon a steed
Of bankers' greed
He burned the World
In meth-filled haze
Till men of conscience
Put stop his ways
Never to allow again
A monster masquerading
In the skin of a man
Never forget...
-DeRicki
Love’s Caress
I long to touch your life with sweet surrender
leaving soft fingerprints caressing your name
as your skin rises up to meet me in shouts of joy
and your fragrant hair tickles my belly.
Love presses between our souls as we hold on
to two halves of our hearts stitched in ribbons.
Laughter of love breathes for us in silken sounds
rushing in like a breeze unfettered and free,
hypnotizing when you whisper your sweet nothings.
I reach up and pick a shooting star from the heavens,
weaving it between the fullness of your breasts
and pause the moon while I touch your inner core.
Silence pulses in my soul as I dive beneath your surface
with secret thoughts of bodies entwined forever
in shouting crescendos exploding in ardor and love.
I tuck your kisses under my pillow and save them
for the morning when I’ll need a little extra love
until you return to my open arms which wait
until you, my love, are back where you belong.
