Malimar

Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars

    my mind implodes in Malimar

        where Naiads bathe in caviar -

            I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.

 The captive kiss of Princess Mars

    (who talks in tongues at seminars)

        burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -

            I writhe within Her pale peignoir.

Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,

    bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,

        serve teas beside the reservoir -

            I sip them from a samovar.

Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar

    Her Genies gender gold dinars,

        evoking flames in ginger jars -

            I plea before the Commissar.

At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,

    white shadows slip through doors ajar

        to drape my dreams in ash and char -

            I long await the Avatar.

Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)

    paint pretty scenes on VCR’s

        while sailing ships to Zanzibar -

            I strum the strings of warped sitars.

Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars

    else while at each and every bar

        to speak of space and time bizarre -

            I pass my pride for small pourboires.

Her Necromancers trace in tar

    tall tales of wisdom flung afar,

        transported by the Registrars -

            I hitchhike on their handlebars.

Her seers conjure repertoires

    where She and I are on a par

         in infinite surreal memoirs -

             I sometimes sense the void is ours.

My Princess never sees the scars

    cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -

        I often wake to ask ‘who are

            these Gods that sail the distant stars?’

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

Extremely clever and rather intricate.
You don't just turn a phrase, you body-slam it!
Excellent!

[iand63]

Reminds me of beat poetry. I can hear Miles Davis playing in the background. Nice one

[Terry O'Leary]

Thanks, iand63!
An interesting link that hadn't occured to me!!

[iand63]

Yeah I can hear this being read by J J Cale or Tom Waits