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The Legend of Iris
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 445 pagine6 ore
- Editore:
- Douglas Stockwell
- Pubblicato:
- Oct 23, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9780578598659
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
A work that combines a neo-classical revival of the Western tradition of drama and poetry within an Eastern legendary setting, revealing timeless themes of enduring love, power, and greed.
Set in the distant past of Korea, the ruling King choses to flaunt the traditions of his nation in order to increase his family's already significant royal advantage in both power and wealth. Unknown to him, his actions against nature set into play events by which justice will be poetically achieved. Unfortunately, the royal family has discarded the most critical element: wisdom. This oversight in time will expose the corruption of the soothsayers and royalty. Nature's and destiny's arc are both interwoven in one character: Iris.
Informazioni sul libro
The Legend of Iris
Lunghezza: 445 pagine6 ore
Descrizione
A work that combines a neo-classical revival of the Western tradition of drama and poetry within an Eastern legendary setting, revealing timeless themes of enduring love, power, and greed.
Set in the distant past of Korea, the ruling King choses to flaunt the traditions of his nation in order to increase his family's already significant royal advantage in both power and wealth. Unknown to him, his actions against nature set into play events by which justice will be poetically achieved. Unfortunately, the royal family has discarded the most critical element: wisdom. This oversight in time will expose the corruption of the soothsayers and royalty. Nature's and destiny's arc are both interwoven in one character: Iris.
- Editore:
- Douglas Stockwell
- Pubblicato:
- Oct 23, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9780578598659
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
Correlati a The Legend of Iris
Anteprima del libro
The Legend of Iris - Douglas Stockwell
List
Published and distributed by:
Douglas Stockwell
––––––––
Cover illustration:
Thea Marie Nebria
Opening Sonnet
Upon a crawling child’s first year from birth,
they choose from book, a sword, and golden coin
for what shall strike their fairest cause on earth
in what they yearn to dually serve and join.
The primal two are power’s call and wealth,
which prattle loud to lords of royal class,
who year to year make toasts to lasting health
though sacred lines and earthly treasures pass.
And yet the final choice of three departs
since wisdom lights the path through simpler ways
to never live for self but other’s heart
and breathe that beauty born through every day.
So, cheer when two shall crack and bow to one,
as words unfurl from simple shepherd’s son.
List of Characters
The King of the land: A rather self-absorbed leader who overvalues any and all of his abilities and characteristics.
The Queen of the land: The properly chosen mother of the next generation.
The Prince of the land: The future ruler who—like fathers before—believes in their divine rights.
Abella the leader of the religious order: A somewhat mysterious figure presiding over the spiritual acknowledgment of earthly power.
Ansuji the second in command: The assistant of a mysteriously promoted figure.
The Archaic One: A mysterious behind the scenes power or essence.
The Prophetess Ah Juma: The lone individual following the tenants and spirit of faith.
Kim Ap-pa: A local farmer who stumbles upon a victim.
Kim Om-ma: Also, a farmer who perceives the powerful backstory of a helpless victim. A true believer of karma and follower of faith.
Iris: A simple creature of natural royal birth.
Shep: A shepherd with unending love.
The Herald: A former villager promoted to mouthpiece of the king.
Village Grandma: The senior female and hidden strength and power of her village.
Village Children: A selection of the brightest and youngest with high verbal acuity.
Village Mother: Daughter of the village mother who is a conduit between a generation older and younger than her.
Chapter I
A Thousand Years Ago
A year has passed. Traditions have been kept. However, the Royal Family (in their highly selective style) had distinctively added and subtracted several intriguing clauses. Alterations completed according to the proper blend of authority with a distinctive assumed privilege and class. A rather regal process culminating in a peculiar blend, achieved so that discerning members all within their proper bands of self-ascribed dignity, could somehow endure the significant burdens they had so unfortunately placed upon a life dripping with overwhelming wealth, prestige, and attention.
As one of the more critically adjusted traditions, the Queen of the mountainous lands, faithfully imbued with a healthy respect for the finer ways (from her earliest if not primal breath,) hasn’t stepped outside her bed-chamber, nor dared to wean herself from the attending kindness lurking within the castle’s darkened shadows. One of many heartwarming signs and enlightening moments that have been ruminating since that far less than silent evening announced the arrival of a highly waited and anticipated successor. In this ballet or dance to avoid the light, every one of her choreographed endeavors was undertaken and rather grudgingly accomplished by a soul dedicated to that regal sacrifice and bold inactivity that so loudly presents class. Unfortunately, (from the castle’s stock-perspective) such royal nuances tend to lose their cultural as well as artistic significance upon the less refined classes that thickly spackle the mountainous lands.
However, even with the established safeguards tucked within their saintly porcelain-boned status and coddled life, the elite of the day thoroughly immersed in some self-approved concoction of spiritual and mental broth (deeply simmered and tepidly steeped with a bubbling primal need to demonstrate their subtle grip upon the common touch) fail gloriously. This bone based and flavored broth of sorts draws heavily upon a nation’s simple and ancient ways. Of course, only after appropriately settled upon and divvied accolades are ladled, favorably for one side and spindly line.
And so, in a regal tribute to highly promoted commonality: carriages, highly laden with prestige, in a balance of excessive and levelled quantities, have tired sweating horses barrel down a humble forest path.
This uneasy combination and positioning of extremes create quite a spectacular show well beyond the entertaining scope and confinement contained by any oversized tent or properly buttressed ceiling. To which in fractured clans and en masse, nature now as then, wisely flees the clattering rush of the constantly rumbling attention-seeking class. All for a few squirrels, who stand their ground to chatter back: maybe in disgust, maybe in delight, maybe in kinship.
Within this backdrop and in its proper time, a cabin in the woods appears, piercing the thickened mist of clear unworldly forces. Its outline cradled in the most spectral of manners: hauntingly, weepingly, calling, impervious to mortal resistance and dimensions beyond the logical realms and rules methodically established by polished beakers, flasks, and cylinders. The trees bow in fear-filled reverence as a hush scatters across the forest.
Portent is thick. And thoroughly embraced by the emaciated sinister clutches of such a maliciously arising ether, the leading tier of sisterhood of soothsayers steps out (or by the standard accepted technicalities of defined mobility, glides) from their dwelling the proper fraction before a forest emptying entourage breaks the tree-line which rings their spiritual compound. The ladies’ actions and whispered incantations blend so precisely throughout this particular wooded enclave that the presently present-filled caravan with significantly appropriated splendor dances and lurches beneath their watch and whim, stumbling, bumbling, rumbling in a methodic skipping and butchering of beats, trochaic-ally.
Soothed and balanced by the ear-piercing strikes of a haunting vibrato rebounding across the forest canopy, this respected bastion of spirituality, this line of powerful sentries, these chosen few (through long-uncounted generations of commitment) have fervently guarded the lucid gates dividing and ever protecting the boundaries of carefully reasoned minds from dark unspooling realms ever teeming, ever seething with immortal danger, divination.
Beyond emotion, beyond measured thoughts (but duty bound within an eternal singularity of cosmic alignment that breaks before the birth of an upcoming legend) the sisters concentrate their physical, as well as spiritual efforts upon the visitors presently arriving, with palatial gusto. Self-announced guests, exiting tastelessly over-garlanded, over tinseled coaches presently burdening the unfortunate horses chosen to pull the royal burden. From the lowest level of servants frantically spilling from their horses to the pompous gated prance of proudly related kings, each escalating layer is accompanied with a measured increase of bugles, drums, and full suspension of time and logic.
Neither touched nor swayed by the rhythm and rather cancerous mind-burrowing blasts tritely crafted and coldly enacted for each echelon, the leading prophetess, Abella, having stood blandly as a blest witness to thickly layered command performances (within the field of stylized originality and acceptable plagiarism) plays along with an award-worthy pontifical grin. A flat-faced approval of sheer religiosity highly polished through the life-extending wisdom of passive acceptance. As the final bugle stops interfering with the forest’s calm, she speaks.
Greeting, greetings respected lords.
In times of timely parceled words,
we regally bow to regal lines
in order orders find their task
through service served unto their ranks
of ranking lines through higher bones,
though misses marks of beating mass.
More to herself than to the King who rarely listens to anyone outside his oddly cohesive advisors.
As outward blight of inner sight
exposes twisting fiber’s core,
whose sacred seed with royal flaws...
bears bulbous child we can’t ignore
that chins expose a mighty clan.
The King (exuding an abundance of palace-dictated decorum) accepts the greeting, most humbly, but not before offering his formally enraptured audience (who are somewhat less than willingly taking in such a blessed evening) a delicate barrage of highly practiced hand flourishes. Ones punctuated (ever so thoughtfully, ever so musically, ever so spasmodically) with throat-clearing exercises reserved for this and other glorious occasions upon command. As wisdom of such distinction needs to be enhanced, enriched, and fortified by his circumstance of poncy and graduated distinctions.
After which, the glorious ruler, formally burdened by one’s owned staged success (and a minimum of thrice the medals to recorded battle ratio) stumbles over his impressive head-to-toe collection of valor-escaping medals. Such a minor inconvenience is considered an acceptable loss within the noble battle to lead his growing family along with a scattering of his most trusted caretakers the hazardous few meters from his closely parked carriage to the presented house of worship. As every eye methodically turns away, he gathers himself all within the sovereignly polished guises and semblances of courtly manners established for such an occasion.
Less than mysteriously and without a given cue, the core work with stunning efficiency only achieved through untold experience. The royal suit-adjuster scampers over to collect, brush, and realign each meaningful, kingly-bestowed award for attending this or that epically proclaimed battle at varying distances from rather far to extremely distant.
When everyone (regardless of the heavy perils valiantly placed upon themselves for the enrichment of others) finally reaches the intended doorway, the straggling Queen is most formally introduced with the aging respect a veinly chosen mother of any spindly, linear branch impaired tree is clearly due. Who by the laws of lucky draws, they never question nor wonder if dreams or blood could ever alter or evolve under the clamps of royal hands.
Cautious to overtly ignore the couple’s frailty and plodding missteps, Abella stays in line by carefully, skillfully regurgitating the proper pomp and circumstance concocted for such a rarely encountered moment. Digging into the thick binders and tattered scrolls booklets from her previous experiences of this and other lengthy laborious processes, she engages and disengages with an overly practiced method within the lighter arts of mental defenses. Which in this less than magical case, means that she has deeply if not cruelly buried a snicker or two deep within the folds of her garments. Being in such a balanced manner, the apparel appears designed for just such a function.
Ansuji, the second ranking prophetess (with the same comical concerns as well as the so fashionable to be functional snicker-cloaking robes) also struggles to hold back her increasing rounds of shock and laughter. Ansuji, who in order to avoid tipping her hand (and more than likely losing her head in the process) decides to walk over and receive the prodigious yearling. The symbolic Prince with semi-neonatal emotions and expressions exchanges motherly-presented arms. A smile breaks from that day’s equally impassioned, yet surprisingly willing to relinquish their specified duties, baby holder. After imitating standard noises with the child, the present holder of the future crown continues with the string of breeze aided pleasantries initiated by her leader. But as is her custom, Ansuji thoroughly spices her roasting words with a few local jabs that snap on, at, and around an already far too weary to notice opponent.
We see that spring has sprung its shoot
among the rows of foddered class,
who’re blest this regal burden’s bound
to root through berms of higher minds
through rising sun of raising sons
by chilly grip of blinding heat...
Some snickers sprout among the palace guards and decorative staff that are quickly snuffed out by senior leaders.
Whose precious bent for shiny things,
will cost this earth much more than price.
That pealing season’s waddling course
could ever place on fashioned heads.
Who strut like cats for bony prize
where dress is lord and persons twigs.
After a few prancy moves sparking painfully suppressed guffaws, she continues.
But by our royal jelly’s sting,
now let’s just add our country touch
and brace such hands which cut us down.
Their roles which roll as born to pass
through regal name like polished brands,
Somewhat in the moment but out of time, the words tumble forth.
Which base their cause on pointless want
and take their due through fattened cut,
by carols sung in lieu of truth.
The simple crafter builds a house,
while ivory leader’s blubbered words,
have double takes at every turn
in practiced tears which tear this earth
by sadness meant to blind ones’ eyes.
With toxic fear these predators,
renege on honest ballot’s choice
then hide their crimes with purchased views
as shiny charm has dulled the mind
which base their cause on pointless want.
Abella continues earnestly but not in earnest as attention and concentration are rarely royal traits.
Yet deeply knows their culling grip
since cutting core’s directly cast,
by sprouts of budding pain from birth.
In staking claims through every course
that blends through morn of baby’s breath.
Till blossomed sets with cattle calls
have fiery rolls through flowerbeds
no spread the germ to claw ahead
as careless deeds with lusty weeds,
now burn as nettles neath the skin.
Since regal thorn arose to bloom
in modern posts of random word
that terms resound as empty spheres.
The hollow head is key to pass.
As if holding class across the ages, she continues a lecture heard not by the present but past and future.
Across the grains from stemming fields,
it blights the heart of logic’s light.
Till drying leaves of cankered greed,
reveals who leans like potted plants.
Yet useful fools can sway the fight
of rusting minds with tepid hearts.
Ansuji, still cradling the royal gift, quickly, coherently perceives there isn’t a chance or point of being heard, as the Royal Family, mainly the King, is fully distracted by another critical task at hand. So, having a rolling abundance of time on, but more specifically within her hands, she continues to gently rock then roll a future graduating ruler upon her knee in a calming rhythm bound to a time-killing cadence beneath a lackluster monotone drone. Whether the baby’s naturally drooping, significantly off-centered orbs independently close and then rattle open with or with just cause or apparent reason, she takes a mentally needed comical break to formulate talks of politics and mothering, possibly for the benefit of her spiritual assistants or unfortunate mud walls.
I see through pairs of wandering eyes,
the bridge has dropped a precious stone
then left its course to current’s care
to bobble ‘cross a mountain range.
Where wavelets weave their ancient path
in nation’s honest building cuts.
That carve our valley’s cradling cliffs,
till bouncy nugget tumbles down
and crashes ‘pon the broken crown
a son of quest ‘n many ifs.
Watching the particular gem struggle to keep his head up, she clears her throat before speaking further upon the private subject of public knowledge.
If I’m so bold to take a guess,
a year before this night’s discourse
was final time these two have seen
a smile alit on other’s face.
And felt the warmth of human flesh
impressed from cheek to loving cheek
so building precious moment’s loop
as simple human being does.
Still rather bored with the ongoing lack of events or even the most rudimentary facial interactions commonly associated with the vast majority of lactose-imbibing species, she turns her head in a kingdom, class, and proper order family lineage to directly address the Queen about her skin-deep enlightening secrets (not so mysteriously associated with this specific brand of sun-escaping beauty). A slight buzz murmurs semi-connected with breathing and birthing of queen bees and being queen.
To encourage any further entangling hope of inter-class alliance taking root among the universal sisterhood of perpetual secret-swappers, the recently promoted babysitter offers complimentary words with dollops of thickly sweetened spirit-soothing emotions. Without any concern for its after-effects or well-known and documented medicinal warnings, a careful care giver then incorporates a particular blend of sickenly trite sugar-addled observations and oversights into the broiling broth, all of which country members have refined in order to survive their constant dealings with the randomly roaming wealthy. She speaks, with the discerning wisdom of never meaning anything but the words flowing out of one’s mouth.
The Queen’s so fair in fading sun,
bestowing beauty’s faintest form’s
too fine to walk ‘neath daylight’s rays
or lift a cup to from tabled fare
to breach that crease of precious lips
which lack the hue of flowing blood.
The Queen by intent or accident makes an appropriate motion for the situation.
And filling scores of empty days,
she pricks her ears to bitter quips
like rabbit slowed by hearing barbs
has lost the race to plodding thoughts.
Through casted words and failing plots,
of standard fair through scripted works
such trite and tired music plays.
After a quick glance into the eyes of a blank mind, she continues.
Please take your time to move in sync,
since you are why we’ve turned our clocks
away from stage of breaking morn.
Which by the dawn of primal breath
our cultured nature set its birth,
the rays awake with glowing hope.
As what one’s life can fairly reach
in light of noon’s approaching sun
till darkness spins its shaded course
and shrieking bats have chased the birds,
from tangled bows of spindly branch
to shake in depths of falling night.
Her mood changes faster than the falling of a cold winter night.
Yet by such dark enlightened move,
this regal shift reshifts the blame.
Whose betters bred by better claims
must rip the reels of moving themes
to suit the hands unsuiting strokes
whose steins of wine have filled their cause
through molted marks of spotted leaves
by rising stars through falling lace
the act of stealing proper place.
A few of the sisters, in training, weakly smile as they feel the force of each stunning jolt dancing beneath the delicately covering petals of perfectly practiced and pleasantly presented words countering if not dissecting harmony.
After Ansuji’s fully roasting ham-fisted performance, comically commanding the respectful choir’s silenced awe, Abella decides to complement this crassly acidic flavor burst. In this case, a brew that has been waiting for this particularly overly roasted within that moment. And while any overpriced, overhyped product has a more scholarly than spiritually uplifting presentation, it requires a rather blatant if not childish effort to make contact with a thoroughly vacant smile resting below a set equally unquestioning empty eyes, which in their own manner have been polished to or past the point of reality. And though mutually schooled and raised in palace conforming thought and courtly established ways, either orb discovers their particular way along some independently-minded path, to masterfully miss every cue directly in front or between their independent glare. Of course, even within separately seeking routes, such richly enlightened eyes maintain the most beautiful presentation of thought pleasantly recorded.
But manners mean we mind our manors
stay housed within protective walls.
With backgrounds checked by bloody lines
the lords take flight through hollow bones.
Who roost above the common clutch,
their pullets foully grounded down
by morning blasts of loud and proud,
they wake the sun with pitchy noise.
She speaks a bit softer to strike a more powerful chord than noise has ever achieved.
Yet even cast to holy cast
when living past our structured plays,
we know our way’s to press our lips
within the vales of rounded hills.
In cheeky course that just undress
the willing hips that shake for show.
While dirty cast is cast to work
of earth that just upholds our lives,
they’ve never dipped to earthly means,
but taken firsts of every crop.
Ansuji adds a few of her observations to her leader’s well-known and established thoughts.
While ‘neath the force of beating suns,
we roast to darker shades of earth,
through filth engrained by seated lords
who state such state is due to us
for crimes beyond the legal scope
are punished by the scholared truth.
Seeing they are starting to be watched by a few members of the entourage, Abella starts to speak a bit softer and even more carefully.
Till by the times of sweat earmarked
is lost by those with higher call...
As fairer means the fairer breed
can barely breed itself through time.
Or find that charm beneath the sheets
has clearly caused a drop in temp,
while wrinkled times with wrinkled touch,
now simply shows the ugly truth
that even youth has lost its prime.
In cosmic plainness clear to all,
the heat has cooled through tepid void
so grudging bed, the beast they’ve wed.
The dwindling flame can’t spark its coal.
Ansuji temporarily jumps in with an extension of loveless thoughts.
But duty bound to nightly deeds
and purging urge of royal needs,
their seeding weeds of nethered parts
rebounds through strangely looking line.
In continuing their game, Abella mocks the strangly line of thrones.
Incesting truest love’s entwined
beyond the means of mortal man,
in ways that nature’s law forbade
such proof that’s held in fragile bones
your frame and mind are weak as chaff
till earthbound clans now soundly laugh
at practiced words of pointless clones.
As knowing they might be close to stepping afoul of the royal hand that feeds, spoils, and in some manner protects, Ansuji turns away and whispers within a softer register to her younger sisters while in mysteries rooted in shallow hypocrisy, she still maintains a respectful smile to those in front.
I’m ripped by such a jealous rage
that common roots cannot come out
with greying strands of ageless guise,
which snort and laugh their grander airs
beneath that peak of nasal flare.
Though lifted nose recut for pride
cannot disguise the wilting rose
has dried to dust within their lies.
All sweetly spun with crooked words,
which steals one’s gaze from weakly eyes
whose empty lacking windows hide
that naught’s behind such glassy spheres.
Staring once more into vacuous eyes and receiving no perceptible response, she continues.
Yet painted ladies’ greatest sport,
in powdered tricks through blended bluff
absolves their hands from any work,
but grabbing credit, jewels, and cash.
With service served through royal hands,
they sit and stare at empty gifts.
Abella, knowing that neither notes nor points are getting through, comically raises the musical register within the side-splitting conversation, as the royals continue to take a most glorious amount of time sitting down within the most proper manner and regally approved alignment of their ever-extending day.
My sister...
I wish our points were only chaff,
which lightly danced on windy days,
and failed to blight our fertile earth
with billowed haze on clearest dawns,
whose gangly shoots of noble lines,
now drowns the sun from giving trees.
And lazy times and days until
the busy workers buzz and rush
to snip the buds before they bloom
and fools forbid return to seed.
She speaks to now and later as truth in layers beautifully appears through time.
Yet greater crimes than hazy thoughts
are constant gripes o’er stolen lands,
that only lead to barren fields
of cycles born on bloody nights.
To further mask their deepening resentment along with the night embracing darker nature of their side barred comments, bursts of conversation-covering, motherly mimicking laughter break out as a few chosen supplicants begin to coo and caw over the recent royal kernel that fate by all-seeing thought or blindest chance has bountifully blest them and their entire kingdom. Taking another hidden cue cleverly bestowed by their elders, the trainees meander in line to more worshipfully adore this singular crop of absolute leaders-in-arms. Cheek and toe-pinching abound to pass the test of killing minutes, hours, days, along with the accidental storage of any the present unwanted memories.
After time, time, time and a half, the royals have apparently achieved some grand accord in reaching an acceptable seating order. As the final assistant fervently scrambles into their properly presented position, all appears ready. The cast of die is near. Sensing this brief opportunity for progress, the two leading sisters lean forward in a mutual attempt to push the program along its severely altered course. In hopeful hopelessness, a few parceled sounds and motions of a somewhat invocational nature are mumbled more out of a sense of procedure than duty.
However, all struggling progress and progress only gained through struggles is formally lost (as in an angered flash) the King jumps up in order to more efficiently bark a couching cast of critically needed orders at the royal decorating committee. Pregnant words exploding over some grotesque misalignment of clashing shields and or totems. Which for some unknown and inexplicable reason, the palace anointed entourage must place into their precise pecking order, before the spiritual reading can start in the house of worship.
Having learnt, from decades of regal interactions, that awkward silence plays even more mind-numbing as well as spirit-crushing than any of heaven’s appointed leaders (grandly known and thoroughly talked about propensity for uncounted tales without wonder); the sisters of a spiritual order in order to spare their spirit, grudgingly accept the lesser evil, presently presented.
Which for their survival within this specious time, Abella (without much conscious thought and even less of a thought-out plan) instinctively goads the King to willingly share his grand observations, of which he is seldom too shy to ever share his borrowed words. And from the emergency reserves of her inner mind, she hopes that such planned distractions will enable the servants to finish their work without further rounds of staged advice of pointless management tripling the task through their refined mix of business mastered commands. And so, in the cultivated manner, her second in command appropriates a most respectful country voice.
Has son revealed his inner call
from tablet, coin, and flashing sword?
As her spiritual training has instilled through many painful lessons and experiences commonly studied and proponed by the royal masses as the common life, she politely waits for an answer while handing over an overabundance of time for special cases among the royal minds. However, in this particular case, the lengthy and deeply thought-challenged stare of their sovereign King muddily states that it would further behoove the spiritual caretakers to further spell things out into sub-letters and fractured motions. Fully aware of ceremonial intent as well as the kingly go round.
These sisters wait to hear that tale
that wanders round the grandest themes
from east to west with common thread,
which royal twist and early start
must feed the mind above its heart.
Since bumbling stab from stumbling bud,
in chosen future one from three,
reveals that truth is truly staged.
Where every partnered rolling dance
has role that’s once embedded cast
by utter chance and better lines
that’s blared from now till final breath...
And as an aside.
dear gods be sweet and give us death
before we hear such useless men,
wrench tired tropes from drying pen.
Oh, yes such is true.
The King breaks in for a moment upon the precise beat to ever so rudely cover up a certain crafty forbidden comment, after which Abella continues, within rhythm and without concerns.
When grip reveals a yearling’s choice
and teething spark confirms his fire,
that’s stained to life’s awarding couch,
in feeding broken dreams and hearts,
that mar the truth to pay the bills,
they walk the path of primal shame.
Yet proper act’s in proper play,
each dirty choice is cancelled out,
now writ by fine directing hands
are filled by clans with shaded pasts
where bottom’s top the practiced mind.
To which Ansuji conclusively interjects.
Whose central point of weaving path
from power, wisdom, wealth,
just means we’ll never doubt such minds
can squarely round the even odds
or chance which takes to take the chance
on better math through lovely binds
reversing logic’s linear course,
to follow rays of sweeter sums
where couple’s one is leaving two.
and minus pride can add a soul
whose gains are best through simple life.
Since quite outside the potted grasp
that tinseled dreams directly cast
some rusted theme repeated round
a useless crux and broken plot.
The leader of the land, absorbed in his assumed quest to overcome the common indignity associated with any significant time unfortunately spent outside the castle of self-adulating wisdom of a properly groomed and whim-responding entourage, has remained regally aloof to quite standoffish. However, with the mention of his son’s achievements presented through such a respectful and fairly balanced inquiry, he clumsily bursts with a burning flare typically associated with a gloating father’s humble pride. Which unlike the breathing and sunbaked common bones beneath their lord, was dutifully practiced and slightly modified under the watchful eye of the most country knowledgeable scholar kept within their bookish flock. In order to have an authenticated expert and presenter on such things, earthly and countrywise within one’s fold to confirm one’s observations.
My son’s exposed his sacred royal birth
with might of tiny pepper’s seething burn
that none shall mention words that lack of girth
or total length of reign from regal trunk.
Hearing common country jokes, the entire passive audience actively fight against a royal obnoxious laugh.
That early rises ‘mong the marbled flesh
and blood untouched or laced by country dirt,
whose filth just stains our richly crafted lines
through bitter truths from life of working craft,
which sharpened common wit of struggling days
have clever words that cut the high to low
and raises common dust to shake the skies.
Whether or not aware of the rippling laughs, the King thinks a while as if he may have misspoken or flipped a few terms possibly exposing the misaligned mechanics behind conflicting inner-thoughts (or significant lack thereof) but then confidently continues, as any respecting king or randomly placed authoritarian, worth their salty language, is gifted in casually restarting their spiel as if the previous phrases had never left their lips or were obviously crafted by someone else.
I can’t deny or speak to common terms,
he broke the binds from lesser laws of courts,
along with books we’ve kept to state our state
have higher calls that run the earthly courts.
In times of questioned laws and how they lean
the fattened quests of questioned stance,
show royal acts are proof that providence
is ever looking down its regal nose
to teach their wards of neatly seated drones.
Then in an even more dismissive manner than thoroughly practiced regal disdain, he briskly concludes and closes with a blustering breeze as dry as a wintery day.
As if we’d ever take some basic course;
of lessons earned through craft of worker’s stench
as high neglect the warmth of common touch.
Since all of those within the know must know
that every breathing act of cultured class
must lie above such common bones and souls,
who’re born to back the growing rows below.
And maybe by the bye and by some bend
to soothe the itch, the palace needs them for.
By battling bands well-tuned by deafened ear,
I tightly keeping grips on staged reality,
as just accept the roses cast our way
then bow to calls as forceful thunder claps,
reserved for heads who’re given favored leads.
The ladies of the cloth retain their full performance mode, which for the presented moment is rolled on thick enough to shield and fight against the slings and arrows that are bound to crop up during such trials and semi-tribulations all in all. A necessary defense since Abella and Ansuji have heard the King’s recycled nugget within various synthetic amalgamations a thousand times before from multiple layers of acknowledged as well as self-proclaimed royalty and have suffered well beyond the boundaries
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