Category: Poetry

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The Thorned Rose of Naples

Resplendent in her Neapolitan crown,
Joanna reigned, both beauty and renown.
A queen of arts, of wit, of regal grace,
Yet shadows lurked behind her lovely face.

Golden tresses framed a mind so keen,
But whispers spoke of deeds obscene.
Her husband’s blood, they say, stained her hand,
A crimson secret in a sun-soaked land.

Oh Joanna, fairest flower of the south,
Sweet words of culture graced your mouth.
But venom, too, dripped from your tongue,
As princes fell and kingdoms swung.

Accomplished, yes, in politics and prose,
You played men’s hearts like virtuosos.
But in your wake, a trail of tears,
Of broken vows and mortal fears.

History paints you cruel and cold,
Your beauty tarnished, your legend bold.
Were you victim or villain, pawn or queen?
The truth lies buried, forever unseen.

Joanna of Naples, enigma divine,
Your thorns still prick across all time.
A rose of passion, of power, of pain,
Your petals scattered o’er your domain.

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Sentient Tragedy

In a photograph, the child stands still,
Born in a time when hope was a thrill,
His mother’s love, tender and bright,
Extinguished too soon, stolen by night.

At six, he learned what loss truly meant,
Her eyes closed forever, her life was spent.
Two brothers by his side, they grew in the shade,
Of a world preparing for war’s cruel trade.

The drums of 1914 called them to fight,
Three boys now men, their destination blight.
He fell in 1917, in mud and despair,
His dreams buried there, beneath death’s stare.

The photograph fades, the memory thins,
A boy, a mother, a war that wins.
Yet in that still image, their echoes remain,
A story of love, of loss, of pain.

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Miguel – A Tender Message for Love and Imperfection

My love has got no money, he’s got his charm,
A carbuncle on his nose, no cause for alarm.
He’s ugly but funny, with a wit so bright,
His jokes and his laughter lights up the night.

His clothes are quite shabby, his pockets are bare,
But he struts with a swagger that’s beyond compare.
His smile is crooked, his teeth are askew,
Yet there’s something magnetic in everything he’ll do.

The townfolk adore him, they enjoy a chat when he’s near,
His presence brings joy, dispelling all fear.
He dances in the square with the grace of a clown,
Turning frowns into giggles, and tears upside down.

He may lack a fortune, a mansion, a car,
But with him by my side, I feel like a star.
For love isn’t gold, or jewels, or a yacht,
It’s the warmth of his hand, and the love that we’ve got.

So here’s to my darling, with his nose all askew,
To his heart full of laughter, to a love that is true.
For in his funny face, and his bumbling ways,
I find my forever, my nights and my days.

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Baby Don’t Hurt Me

Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t quack and run,
I’m a duck in love, and you’re the one.
I waddle up with feathers so fine,
But you, dear hedgehog, with spines that shine.

I swim in ponds, and you roam the ground,
Yet in my heart, your love I’ve found.
You curl up tight when danger is near,
While I spread my wings without any fear.

Oh, hedgehog, sweet prickly delight,
Together we’ll soar, from morning till night.
You might be spiky, and I might be quacky,
But our love, dear friend, is never tacky.

So, baby, don’t hurt me, embrace our fate,
A duck and a hedgehog on a quirky date.
We’ll laugh and play, in fields and streams,
For love knows no bounds, not even in dreams.