Meretricious Madame Mouley – #napowrimo22

Sometimes I find a story in history that is begging to be told – this is one of them –

I was researching an ancestor General Poeymiru, and found this gruesome tale. It was going to be a short story but since it is national poetry month I thought I would try writing a poem – It may have been wise to stay as a story x

I  would appreciate any feedback on how I can improve – Thanks for reading!

A woman lived in a wall in Fez,
her treachery you would never guess,
the press called her the Fez Ogress,
and her slaves lay down at her bequest.

When a Muslim garrison mutinied,
they abandoned their officers brutally,
but the Frenchmen found their sanctuary,
in the Chez of Madame Mouley.

Mouley, Mouley cheated the grave because of the officers that she saved.

Before the officers could be oppressed,
the girls with razors and great finesse,
Shaved them and put them into a dress;
In a strange harem they made their nest.

Funny how pretty a man can be,
with a bit of make up and a veil or three,
When the mob turned up they couldn’t see,
the frenchmen in Madame Mouley’s.

Mouley, Mouley cheated the grave because of the Frenchmen that she shaved.

Poeymiru and a thousand men,
were given a warning from the fatal femme,
Intelligence that they didn’t ken,
that a plot was hatching to murder them.

But when they came to give her a prize,
The women of Fez raised up their cry,
That the French men shouldn’t Idolise,
Meretricious  Madame Mouley.

Mouley, Mouley cheated the grave because the garrison was unscathed.

For in her home in the wall in Fez,
important men would come for sex,
Her slaves were really put to the test,
never found any peaceful rest.

They danced all day and danced all night,
they had to stay and face their plight,
No feasible way to take their flight,
from the house of Madam Mouley.

Mouley, Mouley cheated the grave because she kept such pretty slaves.

One dancing lady held her ground,
she was told to dance and whirl around,
with a scalding goblet on her crown,
when she burnt she never made a sound.

To dance with danger, boiling tea,
can not be done very easily,
she couldn’t fight she couldn’t flee,
dance naked poor Cherrifa.

Cherrifa slave girl danced in vain; if she spilt the tea it was her to blame.

Then a fat old Pasha wanted pins,
to be stuck into Cherrifa’s skin,
he heated the bit that didn’t go in,
but instead the fire welled up within.

She’d had enough of being a slut,
so she hit in him in his greedy gut,
and he came back with an uppercut,
split the lip of sweet Cherrifa.

Cherrifa slave girl, danced in vain; it nearly made her go insane.

Madame Moulet screamed and spat,
when Cherrifa hit the aristocrat,
they kicked and beat her with a brutal bat,
and feed her flesh to Mouley’s cat.

And under the fig tree by the wall in Fez,
lay the bones of poor Cheriffa, dead,
yet Mouley never lost her head,
when she murdered bold Cherrifa.

Cherrifa slave girl danced in vain; endured a torture most profane.

The children watched her cold demise,
they couldn’t tell, they couldn’t cry,
they couldn’t find the answer why,
cos they knew that they would also die.

They couldn’t run they couldn’t hide,
or contemplate their suicide,
they couldn’t even get outside,
to pray for poor Cherrifa.

Cherrifa slave girl danced in vain; death her only freedom’s gain.

The children couldn’t flee from harm,
but the fig tree fell and raised alarm,
so this time the French Gendarme,
were forced to ignore old Mouley’s charm.

All she had to say to them,
was I saved the lives of 1000 men,
they couldn’t see, they couldn’t ken.
Behind the wall in Madame Mouley’s.

Africa’s stolen sons and daughters, in the wall starved and tortured.

‘Answer in the name of the law!
Is there anyone behind that wall? ‘
All they heard was a trapped cat’s call,
bumps and scratches, that was all.

‘Would you walk into my private chamber?
Would you question my behaviour?
Would you insult Poeymirau’s saviour?
Said formidable Madame Mouley

Africa’s stolen sons and daughters, were buried in the bricks and mortar.

As the Gendarme turned to leave,
and Moulet thought she’d won reprieve,
the wall did sigh, the wall did heave,
and the Frenchmen wouldn’t be deceived.

Since one small boy did give the shout,
we are dying here please get us out,
now the Gendarme had the proof to doubt.
The terrible Madame Moulet.

Africa’s stolen sons and daughters, four days without food or water.

They smashed and took down all the plaster,
Mouley got in a dreadful fluster,
She knew that this could spell disaster,
When the news got to the general master.

Madam Mouley couldn’t flee
Emaciated children finally free,
they told the police the whole story,
Of evil Madam Mouley

Africa’s stolen sons and daughters, barely escaped a brutal slaughter.

The gendarme had to apprehend,
French colonials couldn’t defend,
they had no choice but to condemn,
and plan for Madam Mouley’s end.

They told her they would have her head,
then instead she hid in a prison bed,
and the people assumed that she was dead.
Grave cheating Madame Mouley

Madame Mouley cheated the grave, despite the children she enslaved.

Mouley dodged the guillotine blade,
She already had her rescue laid,
by the men she saved and the men she played,
The cost of freedom was pre-paid.

A year and a day and she was free
the twist of justice was for-seen,
but one thing she could never flee,
was the ghost of sweet Cheriffa.

Now Cheriffa dances in Mouley’s head, and she wishes she had lost it instead.

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Filed under For the Love of It, Napowrimo, Poetry, Political

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