Within her breast sweet Jimah lock’t deceit Veiled sweetness edged of guilt is but a lie Kept secrets ever darker than discreet Her lovers knew no truth to judge her by For like so many fools she took them in So willingly would each one taste her fare And then be cast as chaff into the bin All left to ponder why she’d tossed them there Til came Donato wise in worldly ways Played Jimah unaware and sore beguiled By fulling of the moon she’d count her days And know beyond a doubt she was with child Full on the very day she bade her bonne Donato stropped his ass, and he was gone
Last Edit: Feb 25, 2014 0:23:52 GMT -8 by feralpen
Thanks for the read jeanne; I'm very glad you got the love part. It's weak, but needs to be there because of her being duped. It's tough sometimes to get the story told in 14 lines. That's why I sometimes use Rime Royale instead of the Sonnet.
There are some really nice touches in this; I love the second line, for example.
There are just a couple of things that I would query. The meaning of the third line, as I read it, does not quite fit. Her lovers were not fooled about her character 'Even though' she was discrete, rather, they were fooled 'Because' she was.
The only other thing that stopped me was the last line - to 'strop someone's ass' is like a school punishment, or, possibly, some sort of self flagellation - you could strop a horse's ass, to spur it on, as you galloped away... unless there is a meaning for this I am unaware of, that line did not make sense to me either.
Jeanne: Hello visitors....Thanks for dropping by. Lets revive Poetic Horizons. I'm very tired of Facebook and have never felt comfortable posting poetry there. So look around and register. Lets get this place moving!
Mar 30, 2019 1:55:53 GMT -8
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.