Monica Morante

Rookie - 380 Points (Jan.22, '96 / Jeddah, Saudi Arabia)

Sweet Jacqueline - Poem by Monica Morante

The storm clouds with all its mighty bows,
hang low with a threat of a hundred blows.
the broken window's woes,
echoing to and fro.

Came rushing in was Jacqueline.
The mere contact with her skin
sparked steam and desire.
Her presence, ever dire.
This room, too small for us two.
Why, sweet Jacqueline, why?
Thou knows't resist I'll try,
but failure
I shall meet.

She drew closer,
and to this I shudder.

As her ashen fingers trace,
the outline of mine lips,
a thought- so sudden to entrance,
desperate for ponder, begged.

She kisses mine ear
with a passionate whisper.
One hand on my zipper
another one on my hip.
She presses her lip
on the edge of mine thigh,
resist now, I dared not to try.

An old infatuation
awakened
by this trigger.
What I never said,
passion screamed.
What deeds forbidden,
now lost in grips and scratches.

She, the sweetest sin
one would welcome in.
She, the danger in
the shadows of the night.
She, the corruption
of purity light.

Ask Aphrodite
how Long
will hearts endure the puncture.
This beating thing's
the sweetest torture.

Our love
was
and still is
one
but another
won.

The one who has her hand,
brought her to sorrow land.

This white neck
that once was mine,
he turned into heck.

To my sweet Jacqueline,
he is unkind.

Her besmirched lips, black and blue
because of his punches three or two.
As we kiss, I taste the bitter
smirk her husband left.

Aghast!
Juvament!
Anton!

He bursts into the room
turning love into gloom.

He grabs sweet Jacqueline,
a pull on her hair,
a smack on mine face.
a deafening roar.

How dare him hit
my sweet Jacqueline?

This unusual dark of the night
shudder even the angels to fright
and I ought to do what is right.

Anton, that filthy son of a gun
shall in this land,
BE GONE!

I grab sweet Jacqueline's
red stiletto
and aim at beastly Anton
then I struck the head of
my sweet Jacqueline.
She's now dead
and bloody,
but soft! Still roses
can't compare
to the beauty
my empress possess.

A cry!
A shout!
A wail!

Before the hideous Anton
could move two fingers or one,

I stole the other pair
and slit my throat bare.

Finally, death did them part.
In another life,
sweet Jacqueline and I
will never part.

A rush in my blood,
for what I did,
I know she is glad.

A smile on my face,
finally, the end of the race.

Topic(s) of this poem: betrayal, love

Form: Dramatic Monologue


Poet's Notes about The Poem

Would you do the same?

Comments about Sweet Jacqueline by Monica Morante

  • Chinedu Dike (9/4/2015 8:53:00 PM)


    A well articulated train of thoughts depicting lethal blend of lust and love - lost of selves in bitter-sweetened sensation. Thanks for sharing this tragic but nicely penned narrative poem. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON. (Report) Reply

    Monica Morante Monica Morante (9/6/2015 10:14:00 AM)

    Thank you for that! I will! [3

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Fabrizio Frosini (8/28/2015 7:58:00 AM)


    interesting ''ballada''.. some typos to mend, but a good one.. Thanks for sharing, Monica
    Ciao
    (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags


Poem Submitted: Friday, August 28, 2015



[Report Error]