On a Day of Tired Eyes
A poetry series

Turtle Gypsy

The turtle waves,
A raise and lower of head
The gypsy, well,
It's good she doesn't really hate
Those she loves
She could make work the spell
This she knows
Crave, instead, hell's gate, dove's knell, woes

The gypsy deliberates
The tortoise in the shell
A cloying protector's
Pleasure pitted aches The turtle dictates
With her slow lumbering And pulling inside
Aggravates, belle abhors breaks, rapes, plundering-abide

Which is better off the cuff
Fear swallowed hate
A wink or a wave
Something brave,
A gate,
Or a bluff

The gypsy knows
Breath tastes of magic And to strike
When the bell tolls Tells the turtle
When to take a hike A gypsy's weep
Blows tragic, like coals, hurtles spikes deep

The turtle waits
Out the battle blast Inside its wits
A friend of the fates An angel's sibling
So the gypsy will survive the hits
Turtle believed of the gypsy
Baits last, pits traits, mingling mitts, tipsy

Which is better off the cuff
Fear swallowed hate
A wink or a wave
Something brave,
A gate,
Or a bluff

The gypsy kept the turtle as a pet
In her net
To make use of its shell
For herself
To temper her spells

The turtle kept her shell
For herself
Left the gypsy to her own devices
Trusting
She'd survive off her spells and her spices

Which is better off the cuff
Fear swallowed hate
A wink or a wave
Something brave,
A gate,
Or a bluff

~November 2003, RMKS

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