Today I am bringing to you a piece which some of the readers from my previous blog may recall. It is only a little piece of the first part, edited slightly for grammar and presentation. The work is 23 parts long so far, written in August of 2013, telling the story of a lone warrioress in the desert. It is called Bathsheba – Queen of the Desert.
It is a strange style, kind of alternate rhyming couplets, nothing formal, little of my work ever is, but it remains an interesting record of a narrative poem series from myself as a different man to who I am now, who I have become. I have changed much in the past 7 months and I turn to Bathsheba with a different mind, a new perspective. I am planning to edit the whole of this narrative poem series and publish it as an ebook
I hope that you enjoy this small preview.
Goldset in late summer
As the desert guitar calls over
The dunes woven by winds
Caressing baked sands.
A masked wanderer makes tread
With rough shod feet,
Crests a dune without dread,
Though not as others before her felt.
Sunshine coming down,
Falling all around
And its weight is a tome unbound.
Weary with the long trek directionless,
The wanderer saw the board,
A long while ago in time fathomless
And has set out with at her back a sword.
Her hips bear a revolver each,
Solid grips of dark crystal rock,
Weapons of her far reach
While the blade is her close lock.
If she finds the one she would beseech
Before the desert clock
Ticks night-time over the breach
Then she is sure that no others do there flock.
Face a masked thing,
Hair all silver under a hood
Atop the cream colour robes bringing
A lighter top to the light flood.
Heat, heat, heat all around,
And nary a less inviting sight
Is there to be found
Than the crows in flight.