The White Queen: A Poetry Collection

The Storyteller

Combing her hair

The maiden thought 

“What a shame about that cook”


That cook was delightful

Blue and gold eyes

So soft skin

But without any real title


For a night maybe

The maiden would lay

But, alas, her heart could not allow


Thoughts of that cook crowd her mind

Their hands intertwined 

Smiles exchanged 

The event that caused them both such pain


For a moment the maiden wondered

Who was that martyr? 

What sane man, under the queen,

Would dare steal a sip of her wine?


A question unanswered 

But a knock at her door

The maiden called out 


“Come in” she said

Before turning her head

And dropping her comb to the floor


Before her stands

Her one night stand

That cook, that goddamned cook 


“My darling,

I’ve come pleading

I need to take your hand

My mind gone

My career has failed

As you take the recipe’s place”


The maiden didn’t hear a word

She only saw one thing

An unbuttoned shirt

Informal style

Standing in her palace


“You’re right” she says

“Your mind is gone

Your simply not the same”


She broke a heart

One that she stole

One that she let become bloodied


She broke that heart

That heart she yearned for

As “leave” fell from her lips