[Jen]

Hello everyone! My muse showed up around 3 a.m. and inspired the following. (I warn you in advance that my muse is a bit strange.)

Is there any coffee left?

Royal Pain

In this rhyme, I'll tell you a story
of two seekers of fame and glory
one wants to be royal
the other so loyal
if you cross them, you'll soon be sorry.

The pretender who needs adulation
now professes victimization
'I did not solicit
a thing deemed illicit'
claims she with much indignation.

And then to her consternation
the record shows impersonation
you must have no mind
(or be one of her kind)
to believe any of her proclamations.

Hiding the truth, she tries to deflect
onto those whose trust she's wrecked
and her minions so spiteful
find the task delightful
at all cost, the queen they protect.

These witches with a sick malediction
(a shrink would call it projection)
through anonymous names
they play evil games
and their charges are nothing but fiction.

But this pair made a miscalculation
with their unjustified provocations
their fate is sealed,
the truth soon revealed
they can just wait with trepidation.

© AntiJen 2003

[Darksheare]

Seems my inspiration made a detour on it's way back here.
It was with your muse.
We'll see if it remains, and if you're permanently infected.

[JustAmy]

Thank you for the poems!!

Looking forward to more from you in the future. Amy

[dansangel]

they can just wait with trepidation.

Bwahahahahah! But tell us how you *really* feel!

:-)

Great poem! Looks like you were in the same mindset as I when I wrote "Bitterness" posted yesterday.

[MistyCA]

Awesome work, Jen! That was well worth the wait!

[Billie]

Hi, Jen. What a regal poem, colors and all! :)

[ST.LOUIE1]

Royal Pain

LOL!!!!

[Victoria Delsoul]

Woohoo!!!!!! Oh Jen, that's fabulous. Wowowow!! I love it.

If I may add this humble little poem, with many thanks to Saber for his help…

Wicked witches on the run,
Melting! Melting! Lots of fun!
It’s time to clean the neighborhood,
Their words and ways are just no good.

So let them keep on playing
At their nasty naggy braying,
Unaware what future looms,
To sweep away their bitter brooms.