Who is The Black Prince?
There he stands haughty, resplendent in his shiny blackness, black as tar, black as night, with a touch of white, just to soften his stern image, a sign of his noble lineage that stern image.
Oh, those piercing lemon yellow eyes of his, oh God, help me and protect me! If this be a look of love or hate, of pride and vanity, or of desire and dominance, I’ll gladly be his slave: such is his black brooding beauty, resist it I cannot! “Here, take this small gift.”… What? He hesitates… Why this doubtful look? Why this change of mood? It’s not in his character to be timid…or is there a timid streak?
“Wait a minute, stay, don’t go”, I implore. “Look, I’m as gentle as a doe.”…Then he slowly moves closer and picks it up swiftly with his big black beak.
© irina dimitric 2012
Doug, this poem was written for Len’s Sunday Writing Essential, 19 September 2012.
https://dougwestberg.wordpress.com/2015/02/21/sunwinks-february-22-2015-waxing-prosaic/
Irina's Poetry Corner 
It’s very poetic!
Thanks, Doug. 🙂
Le prince noir est-il un oiseau? Bel écrit très poétique
Bonne journée Irina, bisous de coeur ♥
Merci de ton joli commentaire, Lucia. Tu as bien devine, c’est un oiseau qui nous rend visite tous les jours.
Bisous et bonne journee. ❤
Excellent:)
Thanks, Gigi. 🙂
I liked this! I was not expecting the black beak at the end 🙂
Oh good! The trick with the photo worked. I asked my husband, ‘What do you think this is?’ And he said, ‘It looks like a sleeve.’ ‘Great ‘, I said and showed him the photo of the bird.
Haughty and resplendent? Two unlike symbols evoke a brilliantly dominating image to be abhorred…why would a ‘doe’ implore before such a creature? Isn’t it acceptance of subservience? Am I misconstruing?
I took a picture of this creature and then let my imagination run wild. In the middle of the passage you learn that this creature is actually timid. When I realise that he is not approaching to receive my gift, out of timidity perhaps, I reassure him by saying that I’m as gentle as a doe.
I must stress that this piece was not intended to be philosophical, but I can see your point and your questions make a lot of sense. The poem is actually a riddle until you get to the last three words – it’s a bird.
The Currawong is a big black bird with a big black beak and in that photo I took he looks to me just like a Venetian nobleman: haughty, and resplendent because of his shiny black feathers. I was just having fun. 🙂
“Oh, those piercing lemon yellow eyes of his, oh God, help me and protect me!”
I love that sentence… It reminds me of a wonderful song by Amy Macdonald – Poison Prince –
Much love! Aquileana 😀
Oh yes, this song is pure passion and Amy’s eyes are irresistibly beautiful… oh that piercing look!
Thanks for your contribution, dear Aquileana. Hugs 🙂 Irina
Great to know that you liked the song, my friend. Have a wonderful week … Hugs ❤ Aquileana 😀