David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 8,072 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

Rasputin - Poem by David Lewis Paget

The Tsarevitch lay moaning,
He was dying in his bed,
The bleeding wouldn't stop,
It turned the little fellow's head,
When somewhere through the darkness
Where a peasant dared not roam,
A bearded monk came lumbering in
And headed for the throne!

He had some mystic power, this monk,
Worked miracles, somehow,
And Alexandra wept to see
Her son, so peaceful now,
The Tsar was more than overwhelmed,
Invited him to court,
This Grigori Yefimovich,
The healer they had sought!

Each time the haemophilia
Brought young Alexis low,
Rasputin, by his bedside
Would appear to stem the flow,
They saw him as a holy man,
The women, hypnotised,
They met with him in secret,
Raised their skirts, and spread their thighs.

He revelled in the scandals
And he bragged of them in court,
And even Alexandra
Was the subject of his sport,
The Tsar went off to fight the war
And left them all behind,
Rasputin with his mistresses;
They say that love is blind!

The nobles, they all hated him
His fame, and loving arts,
They needed to be rid of him,
Black murder in their hearts,
Prince Yusupov invited him
To visit at his home,
Then fed him poisoned cakes and wine,
And left him there alone!

The poison didn't seem to take,
The monk was quite immune,
The plotters there had panicked
When they came back in the room,
The prince took his revolver
And he aimed it at his heart,
Rasputin fell back dead - or so they thought;
It was a start!

He lay across the table as
The wine spilt on the floor,
Prince Yusupov bent over him,
He didn't seem to stir;
But then Rasputin lunged at him
And grabbed him by the throat,
And Yusupov cried out: ‘Will no-one
Free me from this oaf? '

Rasputin staggered to the door,
Another shot rang out,
Purishkevich had waited
‘Til he heard the prince's shout,
They rolled him in a sheet, and then
They heard Rasputin groan,
As they dropped him through the ice
Into the Neva, where he drowned!

He was buried at the palace
On the orders of the Tsar,
But the revolution came,
And saw Rasputin disinterred,
When they tried to burn the body
They were shocked to see him writhe,
Try to sit up in the flames…
As if Rasputin was alive!

21 May 2012


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 20, 2012



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