Hot and red, Texan sun breaks
Steaming mist from grass doth wake
The dozing stables, warm and hushed
Through pre-dawn; my chores I’ve rushed
For on this day come once a week
The Blacksmith and his iron seek
He sets his anvil, his furnace lit
Make sure each shoe the perfect fit
Walk down the row with horse in hand
Before the ‘Smith we come to stand
“The mornin’ to ye, stable miss.”
He said as molten iron hissed
I put the mare in crossties sure
A final stroke through silky fur
“How have you kept, mistress of stalls?”
The Blacksmith asks as mallet falls
“Quite well dear Sir, you must believe
I’ve done nothing your mind could conceive.”
“Aha,” he laughed and replied so sly
“Surely known, I’ve purest mind’s eye!”
I watched him from beside the mare
Sturdy built with greying hair
Strong rough hands and muscles taut
In game of wit and words we’re caught
A laden look, a sly grin hid
Iron into the furnace slid
“Where shall we break for lunch young ma’am
I’m sure you’ll want a cool dram.”
“Why yes kind Sir, I surely do
Some sugar sweets and chocolate too.”
“Is that all young miss, you must be mad
For sweeter than those you could’ve had.”
“I’m sure dear Sir, from kindness such
You’d simply melt under my touch.”
“Ah, will the Lady not even try?
For through such jests ye’ cannot lie.”
“But dear Blacksmith there’s naught return
For nothing you give, I’ve not ready learned.”
“Oh young miss, your mind let fill
Do anything for you I will.”
“Come now Sir, we must to work
For these days’ chores we mustn’t shirk.”
“Alas dear Lady, you are quite right
Though from below there’s quite a fight!”
So forage stoked and rasp to file
The labours continue for awhile
I come ‘round time the mare is done
To supply him him with another one.
“How thou fare, dear Blacksmith now?”
As I give him drink, to me he bowed
“Come dear Lady, I must thee show
For there is something ye’ must know.”
With sudden twist and strong hands wrapped
Pulled me in the stall he trapped
My breath stolen by his deep kiss
I teetered on the edge of bliss
With gasp of shock I teareth free
My body quivered to my knees
“My Lord we cannot do this here
For surely there are workers near!”
Sultry eyes and lusty growl
“Be assured miss, there’ll be no foul.”
“Surely not Sir,” his ear I bit,
“Safer the lamb between lions sit!”
“Oh sweet lass, don’t deny me this
So long we’ve skirted our hidden bliss.”
I pulled him close, felt the heat within
Our roaming hands, heedless of sin
Fingers fumble over chinks of leather
His kiss my neck; the softest feather
Aches of lust betwixt us each
To forbidden pleasures do we reach
A flash of truth and steady sense
“Sir, we must stop these pleasures hence!
I cannot be caught here with you
If banish’ed, my options few.”
A nearing voice we heard too clear
Passion vanisheth to fear
Rapid fix of garments laid
Visage wiped clean, innocence displayed
From out the stall the ‘Smith doth walk
To greet the voice and gaily talk
“How now Sir, on this sunny day?”
“Superb!” came the voice from not far away
“Hark lass, what business you there?”
“Naught, dear Sir, but a stall worker’s care.”
Out I stumbled with polite a smile
And stood to talk with them awhile
Niceties told and politeness exchanged
At last the intruder went on his way
“Aha, now ‘Smith did I not warn thee?
Our lust shall be the death of me!”
A slow grin crept o’er lips still red
A shiver slid down from my head
“Finish you must, dear Blacksmith Sir,
Before I fall again to your lure!”
The clash of iron renewed once more
The furnace beltched a steady roar
To all the world, a ‘Smith at work
Though heady lust and passion lurk
At last he stood with deepest sigh
Of muscles pained and tired eyes
As I walk the mare back to her stall
I fell his gaze, on me it falls
This day of work is nearing done
Yet there he stands, in setting sun
By guise of aide I draw to him
Fighting mind, welcoming whim
His wares we packed, most workers gone
Brief glimmer in his eyes doth shone
Swept close to me and my hand took
He beckoned me with lusty look
“One last, my Lady, a final kiss
For hence this while I shall thee miss.”
Pressed up on shadowed wall so hid
A very sweet goodbye we bid
“Breath, dear Sir!” I said pulling away
“For you’ll return in six short days
So until then your mind must make
Your heart, and lips, and body wait.”
“Six more days, that will not do
For this work’s lacking, without you.”
He said and groaned with laden sigh
As I held his hands and then replied
“There’s plenty work yet to be done
Though in between, we’ll have our fun
And from the rest, their notice passed
For we’re but Blacksmith and Stable Lass.”
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I rarely give a 10, but this is so far beyond the talent of other poets I’ve read on Urbis. (Yeah, I know, a million poets are now going to give me shit; but I call it as I see it.) In fact, since the style of this poem is classic, what some others might call old-fashioned, I couldn’t help but wonder if you weren’t a reincarnated poet of old. And, the fact that you wrote this at work and consequently couldn’t be as boldly lascivious as you might have wanted to actually gave the piece an added touch of class. I wouldn’t change this for anything. Good work. Now, let me read something else that really gets down and dirty.
Success it seems for your intent. I found no spelling errors. Not my taste, but I applaud you for the steady verse, the pace, and length. Great idea to make it an earlier time. It works well. Hope to read a more serious one.
I love this piece and how you remained consistent with your theme throughout. I thought it was a little too long , but I also thought it read rather quickly. I would edit it some, but the work is awesome and your writing is filled with very nice imagery.
I could understand how a lot of people would like “Blacksmith and Stable Lass”... but i’m really turned off by the way you approached this piece. Your approach seems to be “for the sake of..” but what do i know? I have to say that i like the last stanza though, it really ties everything together in a pretty little knot.
Lawl, in the first line you said this takes place in Texas, I’m sure this could be made into a harlequin if you took all of the talent and rhyme. Your right it was a good laugh, keep up the good work.
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