A Cloud in a Cardboard Box

Soft sobs are muffled,
he has lost his way,
he has lost his friends,
a lonely blue cloud
in a cardboard box.

He weeps and weeps,
praying to be found,
sodden with sad rain,
his little face so glum,
blue fluffy melancholy.

He sings soft songs,
comforting himself,
embracing himself,
his weak arms hug,
squeezing pain out.

The box opens up,
sunlight rushes in,
arms reach down,
he smiles so hard,
he has been found!

To be held like that,
he wept so hard,
from heaviest blue,
to the lightest white,
his soul is now clean.

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Martin Antoinette

The ramblers and day-trippers always run away from me,
all I want is to offer them tea and French fancies, that’s all!
My incredible beauty must be startling as I run towards them,
in this gorgeous second hand wedding dress and haystack wig.
My name is her royal highness empress Martin Antoinette,
and welcome to my humble home, the Cave de Versailles!

You might be pondering on how such a spectacular creature
would end up here, in the derriere of nowhere in particular.
This was what my mind had been plotting for my demise,
as modern life took its toll on my nerves and my finances.
My wife’s relentless spending on credit, rising living costs,
shoddy modern products and services failing, costly repairs.

There is only so much fighting and arguing one man can do,
with someone who simply must have their own way regardless.
I finally just gave up, and let her do and spend what she wanted,
we ended up inescapably in debt, she then upped sticks and left me.
All in my name of course, my own fault, my phone rang off the hook,
Family and friends all turned their back on me, I was alone.

Perhaps throwing all our possessions out of the bedroom window
wasn’t a particularly lady like thing to do, but it had to be done.
I stripped myself of my life and ripped down all of the curtains!
Oh how I had longed to wipe my arse with those horrid ugly things!
Arms up and naked, I walked out into the street to meet the people,
“I am the Queen of France!” I cried, “I now must leave for Versailles!”

The shopkeeper of the local charity shop in town was awfully pushy,
“These jeans and this polo shirt would probably suit you better sir…”
Bless him the foolish peasant, that is no way to talk to a Queen!
However I do doubt he had ever met royalty before so I paid no heed.
The magnificent bridal gown in the window had captured my heart,
A little bit baggy I admit, but I can always get my seamstress to fix that!

I took his advice in the end and bought the jeans and the polo shirt,
A Queen, let alone one as beautiful as moi, can’t run around town nude!
I also didn’t want my subjects to mob me, so I put my dress in a bag
then headed out on the road, sleeping rough, walking, begging for change.
Some time away from the pressures of royal life would ground me in reality,
I headed from the city towards the countryside in search of my palace.

After many weeks of wandering and begging it finally occurred to me,
I didn’t actually know where I was going or how to get Versailles.
Once I had loaded up on food and trinkets (I needed a tea set!),
I perused the hills and valleys for a few long days and nights
before setting my eyes upon a lovely little spot with a small cave!
With a sparkling stream close by, oh how wonderful! How quaint!

So here I have made my home… I also made this simply darling pouf wig!
I set out the table for tea every single day, awaiting guests who never come.
Every week I change into those peasants clothes and go begging,
I always return with supplies; cakes, apples, vin de table de France.
Here I can be the real me, the most beautiful Queen the world has ever seen!
In this exquisite gown, twirling forever around the countryside.

The Outcast at the Marionette Theatre

Heavy cast iron limbs, rusted joints and chains instead of strings.
Why is everyone around me made of the finest oak?
They are nimble, blithe and put on an elegant show, the crowd cheer.
I am clumsy, I stumble out onto the stage, the crowd politely claps.

For hours on end they demonstrate the finesse of their design,
how well adjusted they are to this environment, the marionette theatre.
I on the other hand am miscast here and currently unable to leave,
complacency and fear has rusted my confidence and ambition.

It makes me look like I’m bad at my craft, despite my experience,
but they cannot see that inside my mind I am slowly oxidising
and the little holes in my head that are letting bad thoughts in.
They don’t retire me because the Oaks enjoy looking down at me.

I have painted tears on my cheeks which have partially flaked away.
My visage is of a sad harlequin, a lonely fool, once nurtured now lost.
They all look the same, bland, mass produced, at least I’m unique,
I do secretly want to be accepted by the wood puppets sometimes.

I have no lines, I take my place in the background of the scene,
never will I be cast in the leading role, I wasn’t made that way.
I am an extra, in the shadows cast by the Oaks from the spotlights.
I wish this play was more interesting than it is, we can all agree on that.

At least at night, when the crowds have left I get put back in my box.
I have filled it with beautiful pictures and trinkets I have found.
My love lives here with me, he is also made of metal instead of oak.
He is always here for me when the play is over for the day.