Wailing For Her Demon Lover

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice!
          Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Woman wailing for her demon lover,
Not less than this the enterprise
Every poet tries to ring from a holy instrument,
Her body lowered from her stricken mind;
The hailstorm of media’s ceaseless electronic bling
Flashes in the rising notes,       
Selfie’s drama of streaming fate,
And on her dulcimer she plays
Such a music loud and long,
Intricate in every sensuous measure
Like a bright green snake coiled round a fallen dove,
Delicate and unrelenting means,
To worship her form, her cunning ownership
Of what men dream they will surely be.
A lovely visage waved its tongue,
And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head.

© ross 2020
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(Through caverns measureless to man – down to a sunless sea.)
Yes I get the message here, nicely done…


Beautifully-phrased poetry, Ross, while also being cross-reference informative as it attempts to give insight into the style of thinking of previous great writers. Much enjoyed. To get a better aesthetic feel to the reading of this fine work, I think you should adjust the layout a tad. Go in EDIT place the mouse cursor before the first “W” and click on the “Return” key, once or twice, and then highlight the whole of the main poem (not the intro) and then click on “1” in the lower toolbar at the top, which will reduce line-spacing, and while you have it… Read more »


That looks and reads a lot better, less like notes written on the back of a fag packet!


Fabulously dark, Ross.
Alison x

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