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The Poet Casanova

by Ken Harnisch

Gather ye rosebuds, he said so many eons ago
Speaking in tongues to the young girls flying;
Their hearts a-soaring into the stratosphere
In search of the perfect word, which surely
Augured the perfect heart.

No one had yet told them there could be
Thorns in and among the flowery verse; that his
Charm was only superseded by his plotting
To unearth and undress maidenhood in its purest form
And claim the remains as contraband.

And so her plaintive cry, what of me and the innocents
Went unheard in those decrepit warrens where he
Bedded the beguiled and most vulnerable, and to whom his
Salacious attentions were turned on high
Illumed by candle-poems he wrote with the brightest flame

It would be justice to report he earned his just desserts;
But as life is unfair, so is karma meted out in unequal
And uneven doses, if it is meted out at all. Suffices to
Say he wrote in his ivory tower and his seductive
Offerings continued unabated into tomorrow

And so shall they be, as long as soft hearts
Crumble on a rhyme, and young girls seek
Love in metered verse that unearths
That fierce, untapped longing in their closeted souls.

To him, such angels are but fair and copious prey.

02/04/2016

Author's Note: your turn, M...

Posted on 02/04/2016
Copyright © 2022 Ken Harnisch

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/05/16 at 04:47 AM

Clever witty stuff Mr. Harnisch. I tip my hat to you once again.

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