She moves through the fair
undaunted by the shouts
of peddlars hawking their wares.
Her feet are set firm on the ground.
No minstrel’s music moves them to dance.
No bard poetically persuades her to chance.
The walls have been rebuilt again
stronger than ever before.
Forbidding stones rise in darkness
protecting the citadel of her heart
like the silent sentry of stonehenge
guarding ancient secrets of her soul.
She needs more than a playmate
so much more than the touch
of a man’s hand or sweet words...
more than breathless kisses.
He had his fantasies, she had her pain
with no common ground in the middle.
Weary, yes worn, that’s what she is
with romantic fantasies and dreams
and promises made but never kept.
Her hope buried in a tomb of lies,
so safe behind her stone walls
she may never hope or dream again.
She watches the play from a distance
but no more will she take a part.
The puppet shows go on all day.
The magicians astound and amaze
but there's no magic to mend her heart
and no sunshine to end her dark days.
So she moves through the fair
unaffected by lively antics
of jesters and jugglers alike.
Her feet are set firm on the ground.
No minstrel’s music moves them to dance.
No bard poetically persuades her to chance.
This could be a song by Gordon Lightfoot; "the minstel of the dawn is here to wind you up to bend your ear" just like the Bell, so full of rouge shell melt your heart if even a scrooge. La-la la. La-la-la-la! Artsy
Reviewed by Lydia Shutter (Reader)
Reviewed on May 30, 2007
A heartbreaking scene you describe here, La Belle. Eloquent! Lydi**
I too have went to the Fair there in Larkspur
and it is incredible. I also enjoy the Scotish
fair in Estes Park, couldn't go to the last one
as I was ill. Alas, you must break open the tomb
and find your hope. Sad, yet enlightening piece, Belle!
Being an avid goer of my local Renaissance Fair in Larkspur, Colorado which runs for six weeks here, I truly appreciate this poem. The Rennies spark my spirit! Their tents, their grogs, their incense, their bawdy storytelling well into the wee hours of the morn after the fair shuts down for the day, the turkey legs, the steak on a stick, the horns of plenty drinking vessels, silver tankards overflowing with good cheer, the cornucopia of inspiration...the jousting pit, the glassblowers and silversmiths, the Rennies in those tight, colorful leotards, OH, the cleavage and bawdiness of yesteryear! The harps and the badmitton birdies fly in She Moves Through The Fair, Belle...
~~~Sage aka Keysta D. Lorean, the Renaissance Scooter Gypsy~~~
Loving Renaissance I knew I would
love this poem, and love it I did.
I find it so sad when someone has
no love to share, only dark days
one on top of the other.
Oh Sweet Sissy! This was so beautiful, but so sad! You are such a passionate, beautiful woman, you would not survive without the hope of true love! He is out there waiting for you, he is but a dream away! LOVE YOU! Sissy
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Be safe,
Karen
Love Tinka
and it is incredible. I also enjoy the Scotish
fair in Estes Park, couldn't go to the last one
as I was ill. Alas, you must break open the tomb
and find your hope. Sad, yet enlightening piece, Belle!
~~~Sage aka Keysta D. Lorean, the Renaissance Scooter Gypsy~~~
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
Another keeper! :)
love this poem, and love it I did.
I find it so sad when someone has
no love to share, only dark days
one on top of the other.
Beautifully expressed, La Belle.
Love,
Katherine
and no sunshine to end her dark days.
Quite a sad and captivating poetic tale, La Belle, and a wonderful graphic.
Like Cesar would say, "e tu Brutus?"
Very fine literature.
Georg