The JesterThe Jester
The curtain draws, the stage is set,
For the travelling dancer, jester, he's yet,
Prances forth, with confidence full,
And begins his act, all else annulled.
Colours twisting in the air,
You cast a glance, but he's not there.
His limits of skill, the jester meets,
In spirals, back flips, turns and leaps.
He holds the crowd with a paralysing spell,
The children, too, their interest tells,
All are stunned at his daring tricks,
Not seen before, an exotic mix.
His hat adorned with many bells,
Of happy times the sweet sound tells,
A break from hunger, and tiring work,
To see this actor, from task they shirk.
'He has a gift!' is said by one
The cry taken up, none to shun,
The talented performer on his stage,
Gold coins thrown, they are his wage.
The dancer slows, and takes his bow,
A tale to be told, of the jester, long from now.
The Epic Tale of the Man-Eating CouchHear ye, hear ye, to what I say,
For I will tell a tale from yesterday;
Regarding the terrors of a ferocious grouch -
The man-eating, child-gobbling, bone-crunching couch!
Once upon a time, in a place not so far away,
There lived a little couch that was brown and faded grey,
His name was Bob, and a kinder soul
Could not be found by any of us all.
Made of embroidered cushions, dusty and worn with use,
Turned to a resting place for piles of clothes and shoes,
It lay in a mansion's attic, sleeping its days away,
The unused couch had little to ever do or say.
The house was owned by an elderly lady,
Who in the past would rest on Bob gladly,
But as time passed by and she grew older,
She laid in bed until she mouldered.
The rats grew brave and chewed on Bob,
And defiled the house, that which he loved -
Until the old lady aged and died,
The poor little couch wept and cried.
For a time the house was peaceful,
Not even the rats did the slightest evil -
Until one morning, when upon the door
NeverI flicked the black velvet box shut with a snap and tossed it onto the table, checking the doorway behind me for the fiftieth time. Around me, the restaurant's inhabitants murmured in fluidic French, garnishing the salty air with affectionate warmth. The golden sand of La Charmante Baie shone more brilliantly than the table's polished silverware, waves splashed on the rocks like bubbling champagne, and climbing ivy slowly enveloped crumbling stone walls. The leaves cast a kaleidoscopic pattern of shadows on the table's pristine white cloth.
Where the hell was she?
I ignored the glances that my thongs, ratty backpack and slouched posture received, glancing at the doorway again and fiddling with the stem of a tapered wine glass. A bottle, unopened, lay in a bucket of ice. Inside the little box was a heart on a chain all $400 of my meagre savings had purchased the worst that money could buy, in a pathetic attempt to break the ice that had formed on our relationship. I was now utter