Articles, Poem

Poem: Another Tragedy, Titania

He said he was looking for his lover

In the woods

And in the poetry, he’d read after dark.


I was looking for him in the faces

Of the paintings

On stucco museum walls.


Was there something that he saw

In the branches?

His darling nymphs and angels.


Was my crown of brambles

Too modest?

A Titania shrouded from pleasure.


I wish very little for his affection

Yet thirst for it,

Unquenchable boy prince.


Sword stowed in its scabbard

Resting at his side.

Boy prince, dare I bless it?


Am I not a Queen by most accounts?

Yet I am the fool

Who was bewitched to fall in love with him.


A feminist retelling must correct it

I never loved him

Rather I never knew him.


That crown of brambles

Has thorns

And it draws blood with each pinprick.


Philosophy cannot be found in

The arms of poetry.

I have no mistress nor master.


Lyric and epic are my realm

As is the wood.

I am the wicked witch transformed into maiden.


Adore me, crave me, thirst for me

The tricky poet concealed

Behind his blinding masculinity.


Search, little boy prince for

Your nymph lovers

In the places where I lie


You will never find me

Veiled in luminosity


Hi there!

More Posts

Follow Me:

You may also like

Leave a Reply