Julie, Wow! I really, REALLY like that.

Wow, thanks! A previous version was rejected four times, so I'd given up on it for several years...until I saw this thread and I decided it might be fun to tinker with it again.

I can't imagine anyone would be fool enough to reject it!

Julie, what Marion says. This is a real delight. Very clever indeed.
Jim

Julie, when the only thing I can pick at is the spelling of Quixote, you've got a good one.

Do keep trying with it. I just got one taken after eight tries, and Quincy just reported one after, count 'em, fifteen.

testing, one two three four five

Missolonghi Vigil
(Or Byron on his death-bed)

I sense thee Southey and thy set hard by;
Bibbias in hand and bile in heart;
Withal to judge my fittedness to die,
To pay the forfeit for my blackest art.
Thy Most Satanic Arch-Padusha, I
Am husk and kernel ready to depart;
Thy herald Bob, thou wilt forgive....my scansion
---My Father's house, for thou, has sure a mansion.

No Mausoleum of the Living Dead,
But hermit's cell of moribundant brick;
An alms-house for the numb in heart and head,
A gravely cromlech for the less-than-quick;
Wherein your saintly muse may safely spread
That incense physic for the sensive-sick;
As pungent whiff as any monk might please
---A host of rank Sweet William's on the breeze.

Go fetch my helmet, pistolas and blade,
My sable tunic and my bandoleer,
My hunting horn, the saddle from my jade,
And build for me and mine a martial bier:
Carrozza Omerico, Spartan staid
---Nor Turk nor toad in pious mode may jeer.
Bring Fletcher hence, let Tita kiss my cheek;
Je suis le soldat manque. Pathetique.

Ah fawn not by my flacid, febrile head,
I'll mint no phrases for posterity;
Where bandied words were aye my ale and bread,
Within this fasting hour were levity.
Embroider, when you judge me good and dead:
Staccatto breaths bespeak but brevity.
Enow, enow, the moment's terror passed,
I'll be the man I would be at the last.

Notes:
St 1, L1: Robert Southey and the Lake Poets:Wordsworth and Coleridge, whom Byron despised with a vengeance.( The feeling was decidedly mutual).
St 1, L2: Bibbias. It. bibles.
St 3, L5: Carrozza Omerico. It. Homeric carriage.
St 3, L7:Fletcher was Byron's long-serving man-servant.
St 3, L7: Tita was Byron's 'favourite' servant at the time of his death.

Parting Advice

The door here opens inward when you pull,
but gravity will tip back with a push
and slam it shut as you depart. Please go,
but carefully. Don't let it hit your tush.

Alternative take:

Advice to the Soundman

Please cue up the effect, though it's hackneyed and crass,
Of a screen door just missing an exiting ass.

TO MY LOVER, AFTER OUR DISCUSSION OF POETRY

When you came in last night and said, “What’s that
you’re writing?” and I answered, “Poetry”,
you told me that I couldn’t feed the cat,
much less indulge in truffles and Chablis,
on what I’d earn by that. So now I know:
you need a higher income in your bed,
a lawyer or a lady CEO
whose metaphors are businesslike as bread.
Tomorrow I'll have one last rhyming bout,
pack luggage, do the laundry and my hair.
When you come home you’ll find that I’ve moved out,
taking my unproductive life elsewhere.
We’re through, my love. But since you knew no better,
I’ve left this poem and not a Dear John letter.

(Full disclosure: This is the last poem in my book, Easy Marks.)