Best Covent Poems
Then Margarita gave her father mind,
for she was very happy being home.
Hence three years placed in a covent confined
where she's had little use of brush and comb.
Removed from places she loved most to roam,
the fields and plains of fine San Luis Ore.
For loving Yankee, sealed in great round dome,
but home with father, spirit high did soar.
Was she wrong thinking happy home thoughts, priest,
when she should be now praying while on knees?
But really she now didn't care the least
for she had little mind the priest to please.
Took she all pleasure fine that mind could seize,
a gold cross o'er the alter gained her eyes.
The somber monotones of priest did ease,
and lady greatly marveled golden prize.
Benedicat vos onmipotens Deus, Pater,
et Filius, et Sprititus Sanctus. Amen.
Dominus vobiscum. Et cum Sprititu tuo.
Initium sancti Evangelii secundum Ioannem.
Gloria tibi, Domine.
Categories:
covent,
Form:
Rhyme
Back in 1887, The Convent Of Our Lady was built,
It was part of a school for girls run by grey nuns;
1971- demolish, sad that tilt,
Art gallery wanted it and offered big sums.
It was part of a school for girls- run by grey nuns,
Reconstructed in the heart of the gallery;
Art Gallery wanted it- and offered big sums,
After ten years, rebuilt with skill and mastery.
Reconstructed- in the heart of the gallery,
Yes, all the various components stored for years;
After ten years- rebuilt with skill and mastery,
Oh, beautiful the interior, it brings tears.
Yes- all the various components stored for years,
Marble columns, windows, alter, soaring fan vaults;
Oh, beautiful the interior- it brings tears,
Huge open space, it would make a good place to waltz.
Marble columns, windows, alter- soaring fan vaults,
1971 demolish- sad that tilt;
Huge open space it would make a good place- to waltz,
Back in 1887- The Covent of Our Lady was built.
_________________________
March 22, 2016
Poetry/Pantoum/The Chapel
Copyright Protected, ID 16-770-953-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, A Pantoum- A Poet's Choice,
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Categories:
covent, history,
Form:
Pantoum
In Dickensian time
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain
At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea
At the local tavern
Behind steamy windows
The opportunists sit
Gleaning local gossip
Ever watchful to ensnare
Any hapless stranger
come wandering there
Covent Garden
still well lit
As lamplighters
carry out their remit
Striding with ladders
about old London town
With a cheery wave
and a purposeful frown
Patrolling policemen
in forbidding places
Echoing footfalls
as boots make paces
A courting couple shelters
under the arches
Oblivious to passerby's
and dray cart horses
A hackney driver cracks his whip
As high stepping hooves
on cobbles clip
From Westminster
stove pipe hatted M.P.s from
parliament sitting
enter a members club
to continue their
political discourses
unremitting
Mudlark urchins ankle deep
in moonshine glow
watch chugging steam boats
along the Thames flow
Billingsgate Market's
straw boated and
stripe aproned men
are found sluicing
with brooms in hand
the blood drenched ground
Along the West End thoroughfares
Come wealthy patrons
in open carriages with lantern flares
wearing evening attire
Bejewelled ladies in fanciful frocks
And around bare shoulders
Stoles of mink and silver fox
They ascend the red carpeted stairs
And look towards the royal box
A pretty young street seller
of violets and roses
with straw basket on hip
proffers up the scented poses
A peasouper fog blankets from
Thames to chimney tops
As a trader hooks his shutters down
Outside his haberdashery shop
Across London Bridge the East End rabble
Trail homeward to Hackney, Bethnal Green
and Whitechapel
From an open pub door
streams a music hall tune
played on an accordion
in a crowded tap room
Wending amongst the walkers
in the Strand
run beggarly children
with outstretched hand.
And......
Charles Dickens
walks the streets
at night
taking note
of every sight.
Categories:
covent, places,
Form:
Free verse
Coocoo chacoo!
Well, you’d think a blithering idiot
got hold of my governor controls……..
You’d think Watt had never invented a throttle for my mouth
Of course, no one ever has, and doubts exists anyone could
ever muzzle me with a full head of righteous steam ready to blow.
Issues well, there are few civilization doesn’t seem in my mind
able to get a grip on without a damn good tongue lashing!
Like why does one faith think they’re “tapped” for heaven
and the rest of us peons are damned to hell?
How come some folks think skin color determines brain power
or sex determines ..any kind of power….oh yeah…
there’s a bit a steam coming out of my ears now!
The cogs in my cerebellum are spinning
like a pinwheel cracker on the fourth of July!
And how come there’s a surprise when kids raised
in a dictatorship school system come out
not being able to think for their self’s?
Yup, the lips are flappin’ and the eyes are buggin’ and
the soap box in Covent Gardens better watch out!
Categories:
covent, passion, political, social
Form:
Free verse
The Marshland
In the middle of the fen where the soil is full of rotting foliage,
roots of tree from the time the land was a forest,
a dam where ducks swim and as is the way of ducks noisy in
their chatter with each other, social bird with no musicality
I mean have you ever heard of an opus titled:
“When the ducks sing in Covent garden.”
Yet they like it here and can spot a Cheney miles away and
thus avoid getting water-boarded. We used to go there
the farmer and we dug into wet soil square sized turfs
which dried in the sun and in the fall we had carts full and
primordial roots that burned brightly when snow fell outside
Categories:
covent, culture, friendship, giggle,
Form:
Blank verse
An auld Covent
watches over its town
by shedding grey husk all over
wondering to be once more found
on the antipodes - across
bygone graveyard
not here neither lost
stubbornly lasts
between the stalks of overgrown grass
from the shadows of Bremen's wings
amidst the dreams of Osiris
Mr. James Michael Christopher Fitzmaurice
holds the town in his care
as a bronze god on a marble chair
and if you dare to step
across the horizon
go by the blue ribbon of a steel bridge
as mighty Jason on a quest for a golden fleece
which probably lies
hidden deep
beneath decrepit walls
of an old fort keep
funded by the order of Queen Mary
a town full of hopes
that floats throughout the current of dreams
dreamed with the words
of dozens of languages
with one common expression
Of home - Port Laoise
Categories:
covent, history,
Form:
Ode
London’s districts
Cricklewood, Greenford, and Edgware are nice districts of London; I lived there
Amazing moments, times, and emotions all of them. Wembley is my residence
Lovely nights, rainbow times, Wembley, and other districts gave me a great life
Lovely daily moods, amazing night desires, and colors, people, ladies, night lights
Oh, decadence! Why do you love me so much? How do I say thank you for my life?
Oh, decadence! Thank you for being my friend, and for all the unforgettable night moments
London’s districts, there are more magnetic places here, I love them. London’s dreams
London’s dream? No, it is a dream from London, ask for the photos, all are mine.
London, Central London, Westminster, Soho, Covent Garden, I love all of them.
Night
Life
London
I
Love
London
Categories:
covent, life, london,
Form:
Free verse
KELP SEAWORTHY.....WE KNOW ONE THING: HE VALUES HIS TIME AS CHAMPION
HIS CROWN IS COVENT, IT'S THE MEANS OF HIS WEALTH
AND IT IS THE REASON HE THRIVES. HE WORKS HARD TO BE A TOP TALENTED SUPERSTAR.
HE WORKS HARD TO BE THE MEDIA DARLING, THE FANS CHEER HIM, AND WOMAN ADORE HIM. BUT MAYBE JUST MAYBE HE'S MET HIS MATCH, WHEN IT COMES TO THIS ENCOUNTER WITH " SHOUT " LOVE CHORE, THE NAME SEEMS STRANGE, IT SOUNDS LIKE A SINGER MAYBE, BUT THIS IS AA DOUBLE TOUGH HOMBRE' WHO'S EARNED HIS KEEP. HE'S SMART ENOUGH TO DRAW A DQ, HE'S WISE ENOUGH TO GET COUNTED OUT.: HE TALENTED ENOUGH TO WIN, AND HE'S CRAFTY ENOUGH TO GETOVER. WE ARE IN FOR A TREAT, THE MAINEVENT IS UP NEXT!
COMMERCAIL BREAK...……………………………………………….1 MINUTE...………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..…………………………………………….2 MINUTE...………………………….3--------------------2----------------1 ( WE LIVE)
kELP SEAWORTHY......WELCOME BACK WE GO TO THE RING FOR THE MAIN EVENT!
RING ANOUCCER. mOCHO MENINDEZ.....LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S TIME FOR THE MAINEVENT!
RED CORNER AND BLUECORNER STAND OFF...….
THIS MATCH IS SHEDULED FOR ONE FALL WITH A THRITY FIVE MINUTE TIME LIMIT. IN THE RED CORNER WEIGHING 320 POUNDS FROM PARTS UNKNOWN, HE WEARS THE "MASK OF CHAMPIENO" HE'S EVERY WOMANS DREAM, AND EVERYMAN'S NIGHTMARE REPRESENTED BY HIS MANAGER MANGO MENEDEZ LADIES AND GENTLEMEN " SHOUT" LOVE CHORE...…..(PAUSE)…………………………………………………………..HIS OPPENT, FROM RED CLOUD NEBRASKA..... WEIGHING IN AT 297 POUNDS, HE IS THE WORLD HEAVYWEIGH CHAMPION, LADYS AND GENTLEMEN, " THE BIG SKY"!
Categories:
covent, adventure, celebration, film, inspirational,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
We were always a little ash white,
the girls always a bit cleaner;
the soap always green carbolic
the toilet paper always slick and hard to scrunch,
six year old bottoms always a little sore.
The nuns who ran these grey bricked barracks
called it the: Covent of 'Saint Hilda's Sacred Tears.'
There were lots of tears but no saints.
No black kids either, though there were many
seen on the grimed streets. They looked well fed and happy.
We were different. Our parents had sinned,
had broken the golden rule and got caught
birthing the unwanted.
Back then the birch cane was an instrument of love.
From here-on I must paraphrase...
Each Sunday, The scrawny priest
would look down upon us -
speaking thusly:
"You're all sinful
fit only for cannon or factory fodder,
forever doomed to poverty."
A pause while he did the sign of the cross
while mumbling to himself in Latin.
"The righteous must
resign themselves in good grace
to their natural place,
to humbly throw themselves
upon the mercy of their betters."
Such sermons filled us all with much joy,
and we were all briefly uplifted
until the hatchet-faced nuns
led us back to our own special hell.
Categories:
covent, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Extended Cultural Reaches
--------------------------------------------
entry themes and walk on music------------------
-----------------------------------------
They set the standards high
expecting alot from the
guys who were selected
to represent the covent title.
>064 Zinc plates Gold plated
beauty and magnificence
they kicked the ball around
awhile talking
often bragging
It was clear a couple
of the guys were agitated or intimidated
it was hard to tell
a level of competition was elevated
by what was asked of these men
" The Pro Wrestling Showcase"
was what the event was nicknamed
I heard one guy explain to another
why it was important for him to understand
it would ease the pain of him being
defeated
I heard them jive and giggle
everyone got quiet when they started
reading out the accomplishments of all the champions
one huy there never held any gold
he stood there
shifting from side to side
asking nervous or out of place
once he smiled while the tall guy
spoke until the tall guy snapped at him
for smiling or sporting a sill grin
they let everyone know the importance of
the prize
andus of the nostalgia that
the title represented
they told people they were
looking to expand there
audience
and were willing to offer
prizes to establish an interest
were people
and groups could prosper along side
of the host company
a jerk promoter
told one of the lesser known promoter
to stand and look cute and keep
your mouth shut
look at what real men with
money and ability can do
one guy told another guy he was putting
his families recipes for boudin and Pao Doce
and relish to make a great event even greater
he told the guy observe not allow
the simplness of greatness to make
him think he ws as great as he was.
In the Presence of Greatness
one often allow themselves to think
they are as great as who they are with
Categories:
covent, analogy, beautiful, clothes, education,
Form:
Ballade
My Valentine has a ticket to ride;
So London town beware!
New wings will carry her up north;
A pass to Leicester Square.
Let Big Ben toll and chime aloud;
St James's Park prepare;
The hustle of the Covent calls;
For her to stop and glare.
Our Festival will a singing show;
But not a stage needs she;
For Shakespeare wets her rosy lips;
Or a lovely cup of tea.
A winking Thames will guide her way,
Along a South Bank charming;
For knowing swans will nod and sway;
To see again their darling.
And she indeed is friend in kind;
To changing guards and steads;
A wine bar to intrigue her sense;
But a wooden hut to feast!
She rides the tube - this surfing queen;
No palace holds her bound;
No chains to shackle regal wrists;
In no tower is she found.
Free as the wind, sweet honey bee;
She feeds my love in rations;
My desire for her will never fade;
But London is her passion!
Categories:
covent, valentines day,
Form:
Free verse