Medieval Times

by Johnny Carlton

Copyright 2012 Johnny Giesbrecht

Johnny Carlton is a writer of suspense thrillers available as e-books at www.amazon.com

(This poem is from the novelette, “The Dungeon of Valor Castle,” which is the third story in Johnny Carlton’s book, SWORDPLAY, available as an e-book at www.amazon.com.  “Medieval Times” is written as though from the viewpoint of someone living in that era.)

 

In damp, chilly castles when winter winds blow,

Sit nobles and ladies, pink noses aglow.

The jester froze solid while juggling with money;

The times that we live in are not always funny.

 

There are blaring trumpets and steeple chimes;

The chimes speak of honor, the trumpets of crimes;

The trumpets are many, but few are the chimes,

And that means we live in evil times.

 

The peasant must crawl or his head will fall;

He must be content with his life.

While the nobles brawl, for fight do they all–

Oh, we live in a time of bloody strife!

 

The knight in bright armor fights to stay free,

Yet kneels for a lady and weds her with glee.

Then she kicks him around for the whole world to see.

Oh, we live in a time of great chivalry.

 

Brave men-at-arms crown every castle tower,

In this great age while knighthood is in flower.

While just below in perfumed chambers fair,

Sit lovely ladies preening at their hair.

 

And in the feast hall somewhat farther down,

There struts the liege lord in his kingly gown.

His noble friends are there with wine and song,

All faces happy in that brilliant throng.

 

But pray do delve yet farther down below;

Into the darkness of the dungeon go,

Where prisoners lie and rot for paltry crimes.

For those poor souls these are … the terrible times!

 

The Black Mouse and the White Rat

by Johnny Carlton

Copyright 2012 Johnny Giesbrecht

Johnny Carlton is a writer of suspense thrillers available as e-books at www.amazon.com

(I wrote this while I had a headache and didn’t feel good enough  to do anything more important.)

 

Once there was a little mouse

Who lived by himself in a little house.

His favorite food was corn on the cob,

And his second choice was shish kabob.

 

But he was lonely in his house,

So he said, “I’ll marry me a mouse.”

Yet the best he could find was a hot white rat

That he bravely rescued from the jaws of a cat.

 

Their wedding took place near the rhubarb plant;

The best man and bridesmaid were a bug and an ant.

For their honeymoon they took a long hike

All around the garden on a two-seater bike.

 

They stopped for the night at the Motel Gopher Hole,

And the white rat said, “Now pour on the coal!”

After a while a bellboy called Bob

Brought them a platter of corn on the cob.

 

But the white rat refused to touch any food;

She said she just wasn’t in the mood.

The mouse ate slowly—when he finished his corn

A little baby mouse-rat was born.

 

The three went home, the honeymoon over,

And lived in their house in a field of clover.

They were happy together, day after day,

Which proves that mixed marriages work out okay.

 

 

Thunderstorm

From time to time I write a bit of poetry. Here’s one sample. The accompanying photo is by my wife, Yvonne.

THUNDERSTORM
by Johnny Carlton

Copyright 2011 Johnny Giesbrecht

A soul searing bluish white
Crooked spear of electric light
Rends the sky and thunder follows fast–
Not a drum roll but a numbing blast.

A harbinger this was,
For the storm is not yet here,
But rolls on wheels of thunder
Across a field of fear.

Those who see it coming hide–
All mice and men and mules;
The only ones who fear it not
Are babes and poet-fools.

My room is dim, my lamp turned low–
More humble yet its feeble glow
Appears against the window wide,
Where mighty forces flash, then hide.

And so it is with men;
Their Earthly splendor quails
And fails when there is greater
Glory on the scales.

And that there is, for we are small
In a universe so wide
That all of us and thunderstorms
Are one wave on the tide.

Soul searing bluish light,
And thunder shaking up the night;
The storm is here with pounding, driving rain,
And I have written poetry again.