A Rosethorn by That Very Name

To Mona

If home is where the heart is

I could not be more away

On her threshold broken

in the door-frame jamm'd

There's no gold over the rainbow

nor silver hid in the clouds

Thou art Kansas, Oz be hell

and I am damn'd

I wrote these words for

her whom they are meant

A doting letter better sung then sent

Lady, queen and princess

sweet tastes the oyster of that girl

Maiden, whore and mistress

until you choke upon the pearl

Mother, daughter, sister

where fair winds blow the storm's not far

Virgin, wench and infant

My heartfelt voyage I fear will end

at 'cardiac infarction'

As it seemeth this time Cyrano

must do without Roxanne

I found a free ticket to the

latest attraction appearing

on love's pleasure ground

But were not alone in the

queue (who sought action)

to my merry-go-round

She grows in brier, woodbind and chive

and glows as ember at firesides

Yet sleeps with hoarfrost in winter's bed

then trickles like dew on cobweb threads

The wish in wells when coins are toss'd,

a star somewhere for a vessel lost

Sweet tasted on the lips men kiss

This and yet still more she is

Guinevere, Arthur and Lancelot

drown hopes at the bar

On a 'relationship' that sinks

in the sea 'Menage-a-trois'

May the night forever whisper

of her passion

Let the moon eternal glister

in her fashion

That which one hold dear

one must set free

That philomel never return'd to me

Lady, queen and princess

the sweetest pome in paradise

Maiden, whore and mistress

my Eve a serpent in disquise

Mother, daughter, sister

from heaven far the fall to hell

Virgin, wench and infant

Once bitten - twice shy - third's the

charm, count forth and find the same

Watch the moth time and again

fly scorch'd into the flame

I sought to sow my seed

where greener 'tis grown

(the proverbial 'other side' this be)

Beheld the bridge burn

as I reap'd what I'd sown

when promised crops fail'd me

She sways atop the spruce with cones

but 'neath uprooted treestump moans

Tho' scented in the vernal air

still as autumn leaves she'll be there

As foam in flagons such as ale,

ours alike in mead turn'd stale

The bitterness of lips men miss

These and yet still more she is

Treaded grapes and gracious trulls

have not help'd me endure

For tho' heartache mayn't be terminal

that ailment hath no cure

May the night forever whisper

of her passion

Let the moon eternal glister

in her fashion

Her locks are wheat I winnow'd where

a tarn each eye darkled in there

At hillocks blossoming I slept

while far beneath stalactites wept

The 'good witch' but a witch still;

Jezebel, Juno, Judy, Jill

A rose by any other name

A rosethorn by that very name