Let my people go

To see Royal people in a cage
puts all of heaven in a rage.

No wonder they're all round the bend.
since they're expected to pretend

to be sun gods so paparazzi
can catch them at it dressed as Nazi

party goers. If they're weird
it's no more than we should have feared.

Trained puppets who are forced to fit
a mould without resenting it.

Consider the lilies of the field
who neither spin nor toil but yield

their loveliness--and then regard
the royals who we are working hard

at shaking hands and meeting folk
who bore them witless. If one spoke

sincerely they would surely tell
us all their life is total hell.

Let those people go, set free
the wretched British royalty.

Who gives a toss if horsy Camilla
rides into the sunset with her Chilla.


[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited February 17, 2005).]

Sympathy For One, But Not For All?

Noble Janet Kenny!
Comes to the aid of those we push.
Where were you, Janet Kenny,
when everyone was bashing Bush?

*grin*

[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited February 17, 2005).]

Jerry, no time for jubilation,
Bush is a distant blood relation.

Observe the eyes too closely set,
you'll have a dynastic ruler yet!

What am I saying? It's George the second.
It happened faster than I reckoned.

Janet ;)

Charles and Camilla,
axers of vows,
I've had my fill o'
such sacred cows!

One as bootless
as his mother;
the other fruitless -
they deserve each other!

Poor Little Charlie--Happy at Last?


I.

When Charles wed Di I found it romantic,
And admit to following his later antics,
But now that he's set to wed Camilla,
I confess I don't care a single scintilla.


II.

None of us could get enough
Back when Charles wed to breed an heir,
But now that he's to wed for love
Does anybody really care?

III.

The Queen agreed with wrinkled nose,
And finally poor Charlie chose
To be Camilla's wedded man.
Does anybody give a damn?

What a whammy
for Consort Cammi

At last she
weds her king -
(the former
Tampon string)

but the Queen Mum
wont come

The Blood Royal

Mistah Windsor, he wed

Cry Havoc! And let slip hounds of the press
(and your disapproving mother.) Nonetheless,
you weathered common scorn and royal slight
for what any man would say – for him – is right:

Who’d not a gleaming armor coat exchange
for Love’s new wider wings? Is it so strange
to absorb Love’s savory flow so read’ly,
to apply one’s heart to love so stead’ly?

O, be not ashamed! Always, and again,
Always! Love will triumph, in the end.
For when your play-text is done and wrought,
the playwright’s last and final thought

trumps the groundling’s. On the rag (from a period past)
that pit-fiend wears, Love’s play’s triumphant cast
will throw no roses, after all. The curse
of any play’s an audience – yours is no worse.

So if libels are leaves to fill the common pipe,
“Tamp on!” shout boldly, even as they type.
“Pack it tight, boys, for when true Love’s fire
ignites that bowl, the Sun’s own ire

will fade behind Love's sweet and cottony smoke
on the perfumed Summer’s eve – may you choke
upon Love’s vapors, light and white as pearls!” –
and on your staff, Love’s crimson folds unfurl.


[This message has been edited by Dan Halberstein (edited February 23, 2005).]

Will the groom? Much to soon

Dan

That's a bloody riot! *grin*

Jerry,

"MUCH TOO SOON!" LOL--That's a scream!

Poor Charlie!

Marion