Best Aristocratic Poems
FILLY’S FAMOUS STORY
Although I am pink, don’t ever think
That this filly is just frilly and silly,
For I am a thorough bred filly who instead
Of eating just oats, for my owner dotes
On me, am fed in a pasture of my very own,
Whose green grass is a sight to be seen,
And oh, so pristine!
What is my mode of work you might ask,
It certainly does not involve any task,
For I am shown off to the rich and elite,
Who think it’s an absolute treat,
To be shown a beauty like me
I do sound vain but where else would
They find a pink filly to see!
My mane is brushed every day,
With a gold plated brush by Fay,
She is so proud, I always draw a crowd,
And is quick to explain, I’m a descendant
From the stables of the ex and late
Senator Nicholas Brady, I’m no ordinary lady!
Fay has desperately tried to find me a mate,
But am truly fussy, I know my destiny and fate
Is not from the regular horses around, but to be
Found amongst the Arabian horses abroad, for imagine
A local brown dowdy horse, I’d be fraught!
Yes I’m a snob, my mate must be a real heart throb,
For my vision and dreams are of never
Ending meadows, and flowers, and trees and streams
And a handsome horse of the same breeding as me,
Maybe even a Lipizzaner who has a reputed background,
They have been around for quite a while, Fay reads
My thoughts and gives me a smile, hey Frilly don’t
Stress pretty friend, for it is my eternal intent,
That you be matched one day with an aristocratic
Horse, and together you will take a romantic course,
And have little foals, of which one might be pink,
So never, ever think that your predominant,
Pink genetic line will become extinct, you re such a
Refined fine filly, nothing about you is silly,
You will go down in history and be recorded,
As the most beautiful pink horse ever born,
Have patience, you will be rewarded!
Frilly looked at Fay, and gave her a neigh,
She loved Fay so, would Fay ever know, Frilly
Hoped so, for if Fay looked deep into Frilly’s
Eyes, Fay would know that she had won
Frilly’s heart as first prize!
Entering contest "A Fairy Tale For Children"
Sponsored By EVE ROPER
2019/01/27
Categories:
aristocratic, horse,
Form:
Free verse
The tricky question of how many animal farms we have
May be more complicated than most of us think;
There are at least some fifty-five animal farms in the world
Where wild mammals play and eat and drink.
And although there lightning is feared more than law,
These farms all seem to have the selfsame collective code.
Since different from the mainstream law, we may call it lore:
The silent cipher that governs the primitive farms.
There everyone is entitled to their share of breath
As long as they breathe within their native home,
Breathing within the territories of other beasts
Wins you mob lynching according to the animal tome.
No animal may acquire such vast knowledge
As to threaten the rule of the Elephant and the Lion.
The acquisition of illegal learning only leads
To the doom Artemis wreaked on the restless Orion.
There you must not shout of forbidden things
Such as animal rights and equality of beasts oppressed;
For it is clearly stated by the immutable silent code
That some mandrills are more equal than the rest.
A beast of worth begets offspring of the same worth;
If a beast be an outcast born, the same must a pariah remain.
No animal may rise from the bottom to the aristocratic realm:
No beast must such thoughts of improvement entertain.
The lore of the mandrills is not lean,
As said, these codes make a huge-volume tome
Which you can’t leaf through in a day,
Though you may get a copy and read at home.
Yet the problem is that censorship there is tough
And as such the lore has never been put in print;
The few Cheetahs who championed for a free press
Were one by one snuffed without a hint.
Categories:
aristocratic, abuse,
Form:
Verse
Prince of this world,
you've meddled in the affairs of mankind
since the beginning
From the time of the Egyptian pharaohs,
whose gigantic pyramidal tombs
had been built primarily by slave labor
A living testament to man's ingenuity and cruelty
Then you were behind the Assyrian reign,
carnage was the calling card hallmark
these fierce kings signed whenever they came
But the Babylonian kingdom you really liked a lot,
ancient free market traders and slavers
Their god was commerce;
they bought and sold any and everything,
they trafficked in any and every whatnot
Then came those warring factions of Persians and Medes,
pure lovers of aristocratic indulgences of greed
They would fight you to the death,
until the Greeks came along
and became the gold standard, the best
They loved to preach democracy,
they loved to practice idolatry
For every god you said you had,
those Greeks said they had three
The Greeks fell to the next kingdom,
not so much by war, more through debauchery
But the prince of this world
came out of the shadows,
and was moved to want to rule when the Romans came
They had them lying cats named Caesar,
and crucifixion was their favorite capital punishment game
The Romans learned a lot from their fellow Greeks;
give the conquered their councils,
give them a voice with a vote
Then let them exercise it wickedly,
declaring the innocent Jesus Christ guilty
Oh, the prince of this world
was as ecstatic as a mad despot can be
The Romans were the best kind of servants ---
they were cruel, they were hard
They killed you dead with no regard
But alas, even their mighty kingdom came to an end
Since then, all of his wicked servants
and their feudal kingdoms have served him well
But alas, it was the Roman kingdom
he brooded over the most when it came to an end
And it's been a long time, since the prince of this world
had a Caesar he could call friend
Categories:
aristocratic, spiritual, truth, war,
Form:
Epic
Come on Jiggles, let’s go for our walk, and remember, walk with pride
That’s my girl, my beautiful standard poodle, with your sexy stride
Jiggles short tail pounded from side to side,
Her excitement she could never pretend to hide
And her longing to get out was surely not feigned
Jiggles was a flirt, her desire for a handsome dog had never waned!
I put the leash on Jiggles, within 5 minutes, she had spotted Plato
A bold young handsome powerful dog, a Labrador, I let her go
She lowered her eyes demurely, as Plato sidled her way, so slow
They sniffed each other and walked towards a bush, both had to know
They disappeared from sight, their love consummated, Jiggles wore a flush,
And Plato, this aristocratic dog, I could see a definite exited blush!
I looked at Plato’s owner and he at me, what were we to do,
These two would not be separated, this was truer than true,
So owners and dogs visited regularly, and the due date
Now close, mummy Jiggles came into labor, Hugh and I tended to Plato’s mate
Three beautiful Labradoodles, fluffy and cute, to meet Jiggles was Plato’s fate, Hugh and I fell i love, because of two dogs and an affair on their first date!
Entry Contest: List With A Twist
Sponsored By Charles Messina
28/02/2021
Categories:
aristocratic, cute,
Form:
List
You carried yourself with confidence;
And with aristocratic grace.
You had an air of mystery;
And a very handsome face.
Women loved you;
Many fell; Like timber in your wake,
Yet you moved quietly undaunted;
Not loving for loves sake.
Yet in the turbulent years to come.
As you sail upon life's sea.
When you think of those who loved you.
Think back and remember me.
Think of me and silly laughter.
And my loud, too many friends.
I wasn't used to gladness.
But my laughter blended in.
Your memory weighs upon me.
To accuse my silly brain.
The heartache comes to greet me.
And the tears come back again.
I have not forgotten;
Nor can I soon forget.
The unrequited longing;
That I felt when first we met.
Think of me with painted eyelids.
Blinking back forgotten tears.
Number me with those who loved you
In those strange uncertain years.
Though another man may hold me.
Like perhaps you wanted to,
I find my silly heart pretending,
All the time that it was you.
When you pause some day to ponder.
Those days when we were free.
When you think of those who loved you.
Think back and remember me.
Categories:
aristocratic, boyfriend, cry, jealousy, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
there is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
__________________________
March 01, 2023 (Repost)
Poetry/Freed Verse/the painting
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1528-736-01
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, You Pick Again
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/02/2023
Third Place
Categories:
aristocratic, art, love,
Form:
Free verse
Tho’ the soft voice has an aristocratic tone,
the haughty attitude ain’t no street gutter different:
Being rude ... dropping shade
Dark keystroke mood,
shallow indigo indifference shown
Another bad online day made
Royal pain of a social media princess
giving good grief
With a sunny disposition staged
That same persona
is acting out in public again —
Digital tongue intoxicated by the viral fame
Drunken thoughts of superiority
are spilled on the laptop
As her mental runt rants spew more shame
But[t] always couched behind banal positivity,
trite emoji expressions
Mousy pooter loves to sphincter the blame
The same gaslight persona
is acting out in the public forum again —
Low heel clicks from lattice lips
Drama queen on a toilet spin,
gossip lovers say she has such a hater handle
Royal flush of a sent sewer clip
Petty web of inane intrigue
got much diva curiosity following her
A Twitter litter trail of trash-talking catnip
Different window dressing edit, peppermint vetted,
has the same bittersweet facade —
Hard candy hits from her gentle fingertips
Categories:
aristocratic, humorous, imagery, psychological, satire,
Form:
Tristich
Down in Louisiana, by the bayou way,
A secret recipe, has been blending for generations,
Tenderly, stewing in the great American melting
Pot.
Spanish spices, mixed with French Canadian
Hospitality, lends to this gumbo's savory
Appeal.
African voodoo magic, leaves a trace element,
Of mystic's charm, and mysteries dark beauty.
To this harsh, rustic, and swampy landscape.
Carved from the wilderness wild, a people
Discarded came to call this land theirs.
From toils sweat and bloods sacrifice,
New Orleans is given birth, this great southern
Countries, back born.
A grand lady of elegance, and intrigue,
An ebony beauty is she, dancing with the
Gentleman Cajun, to the waltz of tradition,
And cultures aristocratic society.
But beneath this beautiful opulence,
The ghosts of the Mississippi cry out,
Don't forget the roots, from which our
Bones lie, to create the historic city,
Known as New Orleans.
The couple bows, to it's heritage in a
Sacred trust to always remember, those
Lives given, and sacrificed with honor's
Golden reverence.
A silver linings promise, weaved into
The fabric of every Southern civilian,
Born beneath the great flag of the
U.S.A.
What special ingredients make up
The Cajun?
All are welcome to go and experience,
That for ones self and judge?
I'm going to stay at home within
It's natural realm of beauty, and
History for I call New Orleans
My home.
For whom else, could write about
Oneself better, than the Cajun
After all.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
aristocratic, adventure, america, imagination, immigration,
Form:
Free verse
They were once fine,
long-fingered and aristocratic:
photographed resting lightly
on a model's shoulder
as she wore a mink
while clutching a Gucci.
In childhood they played
like all kids' hands play:
clutching, grabbing, throwing,
waving to unseen allies
while fighting to a gory death
hordes of relentless foes.
In manhood they sought
to caress a woman's flesh
rather than play throw and catch...
they explored the wondrous nooks
and crannies with hunger and hesitancy,
always joyfully losing themselves
in her eternal unknowingness.
They were mighty then,
the hands of a young god,
giving pleasure in equal measure
to its taking...
but now their skin lies cracked and
shrieking of seven decades--
the fingers are bending like old trees
succumbing finally to the brutal wind,
with knobs sprouting from joints
and a low pain taking up a permanent
and most uninvited residence....
Categories:
aristocratic, age, angst, nostalgia, wisdom,
Form:
Free verse
INSTRIDE
My voice is shallow and cannot be heard.
I see with refinement even in crepuscular.
Desultory are my thoughts unraveled,
But my spirit is fulfilled with exuberant joy.
I drag my feet in a halcyon way.
A visceral mocking and a cynical mocker I am.
The snoring, as I travel on feet, was sonorous.
Penumbra was beneath the trees.
An opulent within his aristocratic jealousy,
However, I do not speak of these things.
_____________________________________|
Written January 28, 2016!
Categories:
aristocratic, blue, how i feel,
Form:
Verse
Useless Money
I often get petitioning letters so many people trying
to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal
and see their children die of thirst and hunger.
I wish to help them, but no money in the world is
enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven
flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do
nothing but look another way.
Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but
the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her
tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists
are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become
refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless.
She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general
Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply,
But I ask why she is staying silent now.
Categories:
aristocratic, anger, anti bullying, bullying,
Form:
Sonnet
There is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
Long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
___________________________
November 11, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/My Heart and Spirit
Copyright Protected, ID 11-435-073-11
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Categories:
aristocratic, art, love, me,
Form:
Narrative
ODE TO COFFEE
Published Hill Rag, Eskimo Pie, Coffee with Underwood
Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire
You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew
And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away
With your bitter {sweat} (sweet?) ambrosia{l brew}
Every time I inhale your {witches brew} (witch's brew)
I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes
I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms
In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink
I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world
And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure
Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweat loving coffee
Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight
Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence
Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left
Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends
And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup
A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell
Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains
It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you
It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it
Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea
Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweat brew sweet allure
All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic
Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady
Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion
Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire
I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too
Categories:
aristocratic, allegory, funny, good morning,
Form:
Free verse
My speech ain’t elegantly refined,
my words don’t dress up none too properly
Simply cloth words with no aristocratic design,
just plain, unassuming ghetto vocalese
Though I’m very familiar with
the Queen’s English tutorial
I don’t engage much in heavy conversation
that’s Harvard professorial
My talk is Oxford bent,
I got a deep Detroit-Harlem accent
Me be the son of a slave,
my nappy sentences ain’t straight
Neither is my speech, I’m afraid
My English is bent, I know ...
don’t always put my vowels where dey need to go
Teach sez me grammar skills is graded low,
I speak phonetically pure Ebonics with an Afro glow
But when it comes to surviving the Establishment game,
I’m da best you better know
Sometimes I speak me English right,
and sometimes I don’t
Still, I know how to ghetto walk at night,
us black owls don’t easily fright
We say, who say dat when I say dat
We say, who is dat talking like a rat,
creeping like a cat
We don’t like front runners
who don’t got our back
You understand what I’m saying,
though my English be bent
I don’t have fancy letters like some of y’all,
but me message always get sent
Now you received this truth water
straight from the Beth-el well,
so drink it all down,
it’s crystal clear speaking as a ringing church bell
And if my speech sound liberty cracked,
that’s when ya know something’s out of whack
Bent ain’t always bad,
‘specially when ya ducking from a bullet attack
Verbal or otherwise ...
my ghetto Bentley got a high market price
Me keep da conversation clean on da inside,
ebony gleaming outward on the black hand side ...
Leaning bent in da back diamond life
is a beautiful soul scenic ride
Categories:
aristocratic, culture, spoken word, truth,
Form:
Bio
Thunderous is the sound of Black
darkening the sky and
booming with a loud crack
Soothing is the sound of Green
leaves dancing in the breeze
and making one feel serene
Loud is the sound of Red
blood streaming from someone
screaming off her head
Silence is the sound of Blue
in a clear sunny sky which is
very tranquillizing too
Crunchy is the sound of White
icy snow lying on the ground
creating a beautiful sight
Mellow is the sound of Yellow
leaves sighing in the breeze
while falling to the earth below
Babbling is the sound of Colourless
water flowing in a rippling brook
on a ground filled with bumpiness
Boisterous is the sound of Crimson
rage from an angry mob
who pay no heed to reason
Whispering is the sound of Pink
flushed skin of sensuality
with an aphrodisiac drink
Pompous is the sound of Purple
representing royalty and
other aristocratic people
Categories:
aristocratic, color, sound,
Form:
Rhyme