A journal of semi-detached poetry.

Mary Rose Kurkowiak - Poems (2)

Long Live the Queen

Long live the Queen,
The most gorgeous you have seen.
With emerald eyes, porcelain skin,
And a wide, pearly grin,
She is the iron ruler of this land.

No man, no woman, nor child,
Dares to cross her path,
For fear of her terrible wrath.
A false façade, a welcoming mask,
"Join me for a meal," a voice kindly asks.

When you turn your back,
The monster attacks.
Her aim is true
And her knife goes through you.
Countless go missing from the wicked mistress.

Manipulating words make her our bloody Queen.
Lands once green,
No longer produce;
Another side of humanity is let loose.
Men are set against each other in a battle no one can win.

Finally, eyes begin to open.
The people turn their blades from each other to the castle.
For the satiated Queen, food is no hassle.

Chants of the dying rise up in wells.
"March, march, march.
Against the absolute.
March, march, march.
Her withheld riches, we must loot!"

Out the window looks the confident Queen,
At her soldiers in armor that gleams.
Down they bow,
Explaining how
The peasants plotted to revolt.

Now, frightened is the Queen,
As she had ever been.
Inside the palace, she orders her troops,
Unaware they are part of the coup;
She begs for their protection.

The gate is lowered,
Letting the liars enter.
The peasants grab her.
Trickery unforeseen
Is the downfall of the helpless Queen.

Locked in her chamber,
The tyrant watches the ravenous fools
Dash to the kitchen, dripping drool.
In the cellar, mountains of meat are stored.
Excited, their stomachs roar.

From her cell,
The isolated Queen watches as a feast is held.
Devouring meat cooked and dressed in every way,
They eat for several days.
On the last, they are again without food.

Cackling, the weaker Queen,
Much more lean
Than the time before,
Shouts from behind her chamber door;
Words combine no one cared to explore.

"Food was short for royalty too.
To my dismay, I had to improvise.
Akin to the job of flies,
I consumed the flesh of your dead.
That is the meat of which you fed."

No longer weighed down by hunger,
The people weep.
Into their hearts, anger creeps.
Eating their family is an act they did not mean.
No, it is the fault of the tricky Queen!

They smash down the barrier
And pin her
To the ornate bed.
In one blow, to the floor rolls her severed head.
Her death did not change the peoples' predicament.

Once a ruler, she no longer stands.
Towards the sky,
Stare her glassy eyes.
The swirls and splatter of blood are an artful scene.
Long live the Queen.


In the darkness where I dwell,
Thoughts and notions, inside me, swell,
Hidden secrets I will never tell.

The cheerful hopes of long ago,
Now, I must forego,
Forced by those I will never know.

My passionate mind begins to rot,
For all the dreams I once sought
Are meant for me not.

Once my own mighty Queen,
Realty brings me to my knees;
Age unravels the world before me.

(Text © Mary Rose Kurkowiak - Publication: Summer 2018)



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