CASANOVA’S BEREFT ETIQUETTE

wedding

You wished for the whitest of weddings, unspoiled maid of honour, fine lingerie

said you needed the chicest of soirees, yet he gifted you just a death’s door bouquet

you lost a twin yet unveiled translucent coincidence, on the merry-go-round at a fair

spoke in riddles only blind men could fathom, for the sightless there is naught to compare

you ignited the flames of indifference, sat down in the library reading tales of ‘past sell-buy date’ lust

came home to a bed full of heartache, managed to turn love’s sweetest passion to a powdery dust

you bought the grandiose bed, he the stained mattress, you paid for red roses, he the chipped vase

the wasted preachers shamefaced variations, obscured since he counted up all his lucky stars

in collection bowls the clergy have faith in, nursing mothers and lovers bow their heads, look away

if time could refold all of its wrappings, then for you it would repackage yesterday

you dressed as his article of ostentation, paraphernalia fitting Casanova’s bereft etiquette

a dare you forever regretted accepting, the very instant you hand shook on the bet

time came when the path reached a crossroad, you no longer pleaded for more honesty

blocking your way, a decrepit old witch’s fat black cat, that would define your new destiny

are the victorious the naked or the blessed ones, or the Legions who rampaged Carthage?

thieving artefacts, coinage and conscripts, enslaved girls for the auctioneer’s stage

glorifying the past is to humiliate the present, a thing you knew well yet ignored

put trust in the fact you were certain, a life locked away was better than a new one explored

when they told her she would be sectioned, to where the psychotic’s squander all once held dear

that was the worst bad day in the life of, the cloistered girl who had thrived on vacant fear

(regarding someone I once knew)

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37 thoughts on “CASANOVA’S BEREFT ETIQUETTE

      1. You know I might just change my name. My middle name is John…I think Misery is so much better. Back in the day, down the pub they used to call me ‘Dr Gloom’ – which I have based a character in a few skits on!

      2. Oh yes, I remember Dr. Gloom. Quite miss him actually.
        Michael John is a bit common. I think Michael Misery could be quite punk….or then there’s Misery John…which could just be a really disgusting toilet.

  1. “Spoke in riddles only blind men could fathom..” Sounds like what my husband would say of me… Or sometimes ask me if I was asking him a trick question.

  2. I won’t ask who that someone was. I will simply say that from the death’s door bouquet, through the refolding of wrappings to the glorifying the past and then beyond, this is a feast indeed x

    1. The someone as it happens is/was someone I thought had been archived in the archive space of the mind. God knows how the memory slipped back to the forefront. A Polish gal, here in Blighty before communism crumbled. Poor thing died very young, breast cancer. She always tried too hard.
      Anyhow how are you this fine day young Shehanne Moore…it is so hot here; first day for six months without my thermal (one with panache) vest!

      1. All the more touching then Mike. Ah, up here it is freezing, bollixing freezing. Nae sun, howling gale, spiting rain…Oh well, it is Scotland. Hope you are good Mike. you sound very cheery. x

      2. The sun is out along with the blossom…always puts me in a good mood. The sea is a mill pond…just watched the ferry off to France, my only regret is that I’m not on it. Oh, even told a UKIP chap I thought he was a tosser when he collared me in the street!

      1. Better still Nicola is on a roll I note. Could she save my European identity. England votes out of EU; bulk of Scots vote to stay in. Nicola calls for an independence referendum; UK falls apart; EU quite understandably questions what exactly is now the UK and ‘bingo’ the result of the EU referendum falls apart! Job done…wonder if Nicola will let me give her a kiss?

    2. I was brought up in a socialist household. My father who was a labour councillor for years nearly threw me out the house for voting SNP, after the labour party sent up this useless wee guy from Yorkshire to stand as MP in Dundee East. The saying was if the Labour party put up a pig in a red rosette in Scotland it would be voted in. That time it wasn’t. Dundee East voted SNP. After all this is the town that kicked Churchill’s ass and voted in a prohibitionist when it was known as the drunkest city in the British Empire. I am unashamedly SNP because THAT Labour party my forebears were proud to belong in has long gone. My dad once walked side by side with Michael Foot on a CND. march way back. Tony fucking Blair goes to war in Iraq. I think a lot of folks outwith Scotland and even in, think if you are SNP you are anti English and wanting to break up the union. I am anti the kind of colonial attitude we have talked of/ and having studied it, know that Union was sealed by a bunch of noblemen lining their pockets–as aye. Always glad to get a wee chat with your good self you honorary Scot! And if Nicola winnae give you a kiss I will x

      1. Michael Foot by the way is a bit of a hero to me. Where are his ilk now? As Billy Bragg once said, “Will politics get me the sack” – very nearly did for me during my contradictory days working in finance (had to, so as to pay the bills!). Then again Billy wrote my favourite phrase from a lyric ever when referring to English louts, “The wasted seed of the bulldog breed”. And Scotland hasn’t got a King, and it has not…etc. My old chum from Dunfermline would sing it in English boozers when the worse for drink!

  3. Gave me the heebie-jeebies – in a good way. So many fine lines conjuring quite the images. It had me thinking of Jane Eyre and Rochester’s wife. That one gave me goosebumps too.

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