Best Emperor Poems
An emperor spoke in poetic verse
Which led to fame for him at first
But after some time, it became a curse
For the Emperor had no prose.
Poetic measure determined his fate
The body politic could not relate
Leaving people in a befuddled state
Yes, the Emperor had no prose.
Seeking solutions from all his wise men
Beseeching them each, again and again
"When will poetic proclivity end?
For I'm the Emperor and have no prose!"
Long and hard, the wise men thought
With no answers to the solutions sought
So they hemmed and hawed, yelled, argued and fought,
Still, the Emperor had no prose.
The Emperor ended his quest in time
No cure for his affliction could he find
Relinquished the throne and became a mime
At least he was able to pose!
L'Empéreur s'amuse
(after Victor Hugo)
For the banished ones, of stubborn resistance,
France is far off. The tomb is near.
But don’t worry, Prince. Enjoy your existence.
In the Bois de Boulogne, chase deer,
chase women in the theatre. Rome’s burning incense
for you. The Tsar calls you “mon frère”.
Play on, sweet Prince. You have swans in Compiegne
and you have the wines of Bordeaux.
You seek novelty, amusement? Why then,
they’ll bring you fourchettes from Les Baux.
Swooning under your crown of grapes, tiens!
You’re something out of Caravaggio.
The convicts are building the lighthouse. Fine.
So ordered, by the King.
They’re casting bells on foundry lines.
In hellish heat, they’re suffering.
One day their light is going to shine.
Those bells are going to ring.
So dawdle, dally. Have your fun.
Put on your languid airs.
The thread of Fate’s already spun.
Who’s going to hear your prayers?
Who will save you? Where will you run,
when the people take what’s theirs?
After the Gold Rush, the lawless boom town went cold
The Emperor of Wyoming broke camp and left
But love will keep him searching for a Heart of Gold
The Needle And the Damage Done left him bereft
The Emperor of Wyoming broke camp and left
The Loner went from Out of the Blue And Into the Black
The Needle And the Damage Done left him bereft
Like a Hurricane, or a train jumped off its tracks
The Loner went from Out of the Blue And Into the Black
Everybody knows This is Nowhere, the Loner weeps,
Like a Hurricane, or a train jumped off its tracks
Danger Bird soars ever higher; his Rust Never Sleeps
Everybody knows This is Nowhere, The Loner weeps,
A real Powderfinger would have a better plan
Danger Bird soars ever higher; his Rust Never Sleeps
But he lost his Cinnamon Girl, his Cowgirl In the Sand
A real Powderfinger would have a better plan
He thinks he’ll just keep on Rockin’ In the Free World
But he lost his Cinnamon Girl, his Cowgirl In the Sand
The Thrasher rolls down the road, Stars and Bars unfurled
He thinks he’ll just keep on Rocking in the Free World
But love will keep him searching for a Heart of Gold
The Thrasher rolls down the road, Stars and Bars unfurled
After the Gold Rush, the lawless boom town went cold
5/19/16
© by author
For contest: Musical Pantoum
Sponsor: Silent One
This poem used the following 15 Neil Young songs:
“After the Gold Rush”
“The Emperor of Wyoming”
“Heart of Gold”
“The Needle And the Damage Done”
“Like a Hurricane”
“The Loner”
“Out of the Blue And Into the Black”
“Everybody knows This is Nowhere”
“Danger Bird”
“Rust Never Sleeps”
“Powderfinger”
“Cinnamon Girl”
“Cowgirl In the Sand”
“Rockin’ In the Free World”
“The Thrasher”
"American Stars and Bars" is also a Neil Young album title...
He cannot soar as eagles do
Singing is not for him tis true
So this tale is told in black and white
in places where cold winds blow
So bundle up and take this flight
On a journey to the floe
It's summertime but freezing still
And his mate passes him her new laid egg
And then she's off to feed on fish and krill
As he balances the egg on his feet with skill
He must incubate the egg till hatched
As he awaits her return
She will come back and feed baby bird with her catch
And he will go to sea for which he yearns
He will dive beneath the churning waves
And glide beneath the ocean blue
Catching fish for which he craves
He will do an underwater ballet too
He calls Antarctica home
And is the only creature to winter there
It's much too cold for others to roam
He is attired well, a 'tuxedo' he wears
7-9-2020
Gentleman in tux
Left out in the cold until
Wife returns with food.
Limerick: Once a gay Roman bored Emperor
Once a gay Roman bored Emperor
Sailed Near East as great Conqueror
Queen there married brother
Was this a great bother?
He married Queen to have the Other!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
emperor's dry tears
fallen spring violet
of love
people coming
crying.
Caste of language and literature to the eyes
You embrace the culture of Bodos
The Bodo race in the world to introduce
Sweet stories you wrote
Great race and all of the fields to watch
You are the emperor of the Bodo short story
The poem of you bikram
Like brush many your creativity
Your poem in the blooming flowers
Does embrace thousands poet
You are screenplay writer of Bodo films
You wrote Alayaron in 1986
You have written for 2002 film Songali
Wonder how much of you creation!
Takes only your creations
We are lose you!
Just said to me your philosophy
Can human effort and can be successful
Come on friends, let us go to try
Caste and country for advancement
I almost trashed an anhinga in the middle of a street
leading out to the highway from our copycat
barrier island: sibling of another it resides beside,
curling around the end of the Florida coast as far north
as North can go, where this part of our universe
spells Home. "What's an anhinga?" my visiting northern
friend asks, a query her southern friend takes to task--
no Emperor Bird in frosty Vermont.
Anhinga: a fish-eating diving bird with an elongated neck
and sharp bill that inhabits the warmer freshwater regions
of North and South America, Africa, Asia and Australia,
lot of A's here for an A-rated equestrian, sometimes
called "snake bird" for its awesome appendage between girth
and head; "neck" not a word noble enough to describe
his body part mostly assigned to lower orders that creep
and crawl. Demonic gray, angelic demeanor, the anhinga
spreads blessing while he sits at the edge of my
neighbor's dock, wings wide out to a warm morning
sun, Jesus worship, anhinga style.
I did not trash an anhinga in the middle of the road,
grateful it was bird, not lowly toad, easy to spot
his important neck so there was no eminent wreck,
when he crossed slow motion from one side to the other
of miniscule lakes at our entrance. Kingly fisher
of dugout waters, too large and handsome for any
cover, as I halted my ride, he gave me one grave and
quizzical look, then satisfied he would not be took,
returned majestically to the pond he just quit
Royal bird of noblesse oblige, no matter the offensive
of manmade machines, for the good of us all,
and our entire physical world, You, emperor entity,
beautiful and live, you must needs survive.
for Elise
Emperor
Happy news came from royal imperial agents of his majesty
Printed on provincial paper of the day
The emperor will visit the village within the week
For the golden chrysanthemum event
To bless the cattle and the rice and eat a couple figs
Bad news came back the next day from palace guards
The emperor has other engagements to the north
But promises to return and keep his word
Sadder news came on the following day from imperial officials
The emperor would be going even further north
And hundreds of miles to the west, deep into borderlands
He will return when all wars come to an end
Our humble villagers can only wait
No one has ever seen the emperor to date
Not even his guards or family are sure if he is there
One of the palace guards assured us of the facts
While walking in the royal court
He is sure he saw the Imperial shadow clear as day
It is the emperor’s true shadow for certain
Being held there by the radiant sun
No one ever questioned this event
It would be bad luck
Though the dark spot on the wall evaporated in a fleeting second
Yet deemed official business by the royal court
As something to remember or forget, you have your choice
Villagers learned real soon, worse news, from rumor mongers
Stories started to fly, by those who specialize in lies
Perhaps the Emperor expired, fighting in the hills up north or west
This information disturbed, confused, perplexed
Yet the simple country folk did not care about these matters
The truth for them is this
No one has ever seen the man
Perhaps his shadow knows
But it moved on
Another Emperor will spring up some time
In someone’s mind
Royalty is just another toy
To fill the void
In subjects imagination
Hail the Emperor Gauis Tommaso
In his gold chariot with a white horse
Popular with Romans who loved him so
For bringing in lax laws he did enforce.
He freed all the slaves and ended the games
Twelve senator's plotted to overthrow
A spy in the senate provided names
Who Gauis Tommaso did get to know.
Held one last games and in the arena
Put the traitors who protested and cried
With six starved lions and a hyena
Who showed no mercy until they all died .
His reign continued for forty more years
Elysium beckoned, Rome shed many tears.
Written 29th June 2019.
You've probably guessed that this is a work of fiction.
(This poem is based on the Star Wars movies.)
I'm the Emperor and my face looks like a prune.
I have dark circles around my eyes which also makes me look like a raccoon.
My name is Palpatine but I'm also known as Darth Sidious.
Everybody pukes when they see me because I look hideous.
I was able to trick Anakin Skywalker into turning to the Dark Side.
I actually convinced him that I had the power to save his bride.
I can't believe that I was able to turn him into a Sith Lord as easily as I did.
He actually believed that he could save Padme by killing Separatists and kids.
I thought that my new Death Star was safe from the rebels, I thought that I had won.
But Darth Vader dropped me into the main reactor of the Death Star to save his son.
Luke Skywalker removed Lord Vader's mask and he became Anakin Skywalker again.
I still can't believe that those damn Ewoks were the reason why my Empire didn't win.
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He lived too long and needed to be culled
The Emperor of Exmoor, the nine-foot tall stag;
His country-wide fame may have got him lulled
Into believing that he was invulnerable to be bagged
As magnificent dinner which would proudly enable
Visiting dignitaries at Her Majesty's table
To feast on the flesh of this royal beast;
No - the stag was too old to be relished as meat.
It was his horns that the stalker had in mind
As a trophy to excel the best of its kind;
The emperor succumbed to a well-aimed shot
From a licensed assassin who felled him on the spot.
The Emperor, Pharoah-like, partial to incest
Endangered the continuing survival of the fittest;
Bested by a young buck in a recent wrestling match
His reign had just ended as lord of his patch.
In the annals of Rome the least glorious
was an emperor named Honorius.
Though Rome's plight was alarming
he spent his time chicken farming,
a pursuit which made him notorious.