A poem

 Everybody wants to be master of the universe

Many little lords say on,

They come riding with the sun,

Such and such and so and so,

Here they come and here they go,

As did Seabiscuit in his season fair,

Lenders throwing coins up in the air,

Even fortunes panties played truth and dare,

All the poor boys stopped to stare,

They waited, as the best horse always falls,

Pride is a ruthless bear that mauls,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

Seas of servants obey contritely,

To lords they aren’t a sou, by almighty,

These masters have goblets of bezants,

They give orders to that army of ants,

While the worthy endure groaning hunger,

Frighting that failings will turn them bugger,

All that toil, and for what?

You gave a fatted lord a bigger gut!

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

Thick ranks of men die in flocks,

They know well the frost on weathercocks,

They take upon themselves divers maladies,

For that skunk who knows only frailties,

Soft hands kept warmed, for the other death,

Beastly beauty cannot hide nor rest,

Gladly does the good man cut his own head,

Little does he care to wind up dead,

And if they shack up with a strumpet,

God knows, she can well play that trumpet,

I give my alms freely to know his end,

Whom she with no honor forgot to mend,

What glory! The man who plays the play,

Suddenly he is more gold than grey,

Prattling muse, give my old son a cookie,

It was my first love, that man that took me,

Give the gossips something to talk of,

By St. Denis and the Sweet Maid above,

I wouldn’t dare give them a mirror,

To make wolves eat their own error,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

This is glory, that mountain peak of desire,

Hearts more burnt than St. Anthony’s fire,

It is easy to forget, a dread to remember,

This season of lent, well after December:

Misfortune was the bird that raised me,

That goon from her talons dropped me,

The fatter I was not when lost in the ocean,

Wading through white caps, sick by motion,

In the gem chamber one forgets the streets,

For in the streets there are no tasty meats,

No precious dainties to call by the bell,

Nor is there a dame to comfort the swell,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

Recall the apostles who went door to door,

They had not riches nor so much as a cord,

It was God who armed their backs,

He did by them well, warding off attacks,

Meat pies and strumpets in divers kinds,

And all the treasure below the skies,

Could not do so much as a twirl,

His infinite wisdom is compared to a churl,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

I’ve tried all the drugs that wizards contrive,

I’ve had the mistress from over seas wide,

I listened to the owl murmur black spells,

She turned me to a wolf who ran the dell,

A galley full of treasure is emptied by storm,

Venus made me wish I never was born,

For all the honor I gained by good works,

Was lost out at sea, it pains me and hurts,

She offered no Paradise or comfort at best,

Not even a morsel of bread or a mess,

Gossips mocked and laughed to say:

“I told you so, he isn’t worth hay!”

Cackle and gape you wrinkled fools!

She that bangs her head falls from the stool,

St. Denis, loose an arrow for that gizzard,

I saw the storm and wept at the blizzard,

When I granted that woman my love,

I did it in earnest, by God up above,

Wo! She loved not me but shiny treasures,

Guile so sweet assuaged my half measures,

Before that, I was the worthiest mite,

From here to Babylon; the colorful kite,

How worthy are they charred by false law,

Bones cleaned in yellow teeth and the maw,

She said she loved me but it was a lie,

Even the harlot’s intent is clear as open sky,

What irony when honor is involved,

Those most discreet are magically absolved,

Not at the end! We all come to judgment,

So say your paternosters or be bludgeoned,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

I am a liar, a fool, and a lovesick slave,

But I don’t kill or cuss at any knave,

I think the poor are the best presidents,

They put God first as a precedence,

Grab on the prow and cling to the mast,

It is said he who is first is last,

And she that goes last is first,

Sickeningly purged my thoughts did burst!

By gale and winding wind was I thrown,

Not by an island where Sirens made home,

A faithless girl, Anaconda, sucked my life,

Now I’m worn out with constant strife,

But it wouldn’t do to take revenge,

I appeal to the court, have at her, avenge,

If my case is heard, they can place the fault,

I’ll prove it by combat, as a hawk molts,

Although God is the final judge, in faith,

He visits the sick in the guise of a wraith,

I wander at stars so sublime far above,

Take my sword and take my glove,

It is a miracle I’m not dead or in jail,

If God is with us, let us set sail!

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

There is one master in this world of games,

He gathers our bones and other remains,

Now love gives me hope when it’s too late,

Burdened I am with cases of estate,

How sweet she is at my demise,

A kind of love I frankly despise,

In the seat of honor I had aforetime,

Eager jealousy sour like the lime,

Gossips hacked me like hyenas,

Just as wolves ate alive fair Remus,

It was so familiar, the bitter gall,

I didn’t see the pit before the fall,

I even thought Seine water sweet,

Cow dung was my salted meat,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

If you compel me to keep singing I will,

Although it pains me to go to this mill,

Spilling my heart’s contents I do mourn,

Not ever so bitter a drink was there born,

This false ‘true love’ a lie that ruined me,

Heartlessness is her name, my bride to be,

Even Harlots are clear about the rules,

No jape or joke to beguile the noble fool,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

 

 

I will be buried in Paris: please make a note,

No lady croons so sweet, nor harp or rote,

There isn’t a woman from here to Cathay,

Who talks as sweet as the Parisian maid,

By St. Genevieve, and all I possess,

To save those girls I would fight to oppress,

I want my soul to always hear them croon,

May they one day grant me my boon,

The world ends when they stop dreaming,

All that is forever was by her seaming,

Everyone wants to be master of the universe.

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