John Lars Zwerenz
The Swashbuckler - Poem by 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.
Comments about The Swashbuckler by John Lars Zwerenz
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.