John Lars Zwerenz
I row my wooden skiff, approaching the brilliant shore,
On the sanguine sea, with rubies in the bow;
A troubadour, I leave the jewels within the prow.
(I hide my little boat in the grasses by the moor.)
I scuffle on the dales as a poetic patrician.
With an aureole about my head, I hold a silver spear.
Am I Virgil, Keats or the author of King Lear? -
None of these: I am of my own- a meta-physician.
A Carolingian invader, I have crossed the English Channel twice;
I have met my foe in battle, as the maddened Mongolian kills.
My lover awaits me in a flake white dress, with aristocratic frills.
Her tone and her aspects entrance as they entice.
I have voyaged over land and sea for her kiss of adamantine.
And I shall leave my sword behind me- for her pearly skin of wine.
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Comments about this poem (The Swashbuckler by John Lars Zwerenz )
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- OVER THE ROCK OF SUICIDE فوق صخرة الانتحار, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Just For the Record, Joyce Sutphen
- lonely wanderer, The lonely wanderer
- The day my angel died, whole world cried, The lonely wanderer
- the day I get to call you mine, The lonely wanderer
- No goal, hasmukh amathalal
- gud bye my love, The lonely wanderer
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ- 77, Ronjoy Brahma
- Ordinary Goddess, GRANT FRASER
- u and I are never alike, The lonely wanderer