Best Emperors Poems
#One should be cautious in starting a war, but
once begun, it should be carried out thoroughly#
#Quote by Hirohito circa Dec 1942#
Onslaught
As little boy fell over Hiroshima,
a demigod dismayed how it grew
Into a fat man above Nagasaki,
Hirohito said, so I’m the devil too
Both are one, and the same person,
to say otherwise is splitting atoms
When two suns appear overhead,
an emperors duality, cannot fathom
And necessary evil is a dubious sin,
willpower making its choice that day
Expedience worked saving millions
I’m firmly on the side of Enola Gay
Reckoning came, not a flash in the pan
for marching POWs to death, at Bataan
Also, Pearl harbour, Iwo Jima, Guam
Midway, Okinawa, Tarawa, and Saipan
Job’s done, the mission accomplished
a time to celebrate, peace be strong
our conscience does not need absolution
obliterated by belief, we did no wrong
Little Boy/Fat man, US code names
for the atomic bombs in WW2
Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Prompt chosen Onslaught
07/11/22
Violet, a lovely lady, kin to Purple, can be a contradiction.
Between her fellows Red and Blue (yet more inclined to Blue),
she lies with a calm passion! Unique and unconventional is she!
A symbol of humility, through the ages she has listened to confessions
as she draped the shoulders of Roman Catholic priests.
Yet often in society, she’s been seen as extravagant and vain!
Just for having embellished the rooms and the attire
of monarchs, emperors, and princes,
and just because Violet is flattering to the yellow found in gold,
should she then be punished for her wealth of beauty?
Should her shades with other lovely names such as
Lilac, Lavender, Amethyst, and Mauve
be seen in any other way as simply gorgeous?
Perhaps for her ambiguity as she shifts to deeper reddish hues
then back to cool blue, she is perceived in western culture
as uncertain and ambivalent, for she is not popular with the masses.
Van Gogh, however, understood her,
painting her as irises and showing her in swirls of stars!
And in the oriental world, where she is extolled,
she radiates the sublime harmony of the universe,
as the melding of the yin and yang of red and blue.
Violet, who sometimes spreads herself splendidly
across the twilight skies
and peeks out from rainbows,
is a beauty so rarely seen in nature
that the birds, stones and plants that she enchants
are not even too numerous to name.
Have you seen her purple pearl or coral in the sea?
Have you heard the song of African violet-backed starlings?
But oh! Violet loves flowers. . . Besides her small sweet namesake,
She colors crocuses, petunias, asters, geraniums and pansies.
Not many other things in nature does Violet cling to,
yet she adores the grape and plum,
and with a certain whimsy, she’s charmed purple cabbage,
the turnip, eggplant, and beets!
Rare lady in nature, Violet, my adored, why is it that you are not more loved?
As I cross a field of lavender and breathe you in, the answer to my question
eludes me.
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
The world has always been this way
With Emperors and Kings
Fighting with toy soldiers
And the glory that it brings
Land, beliefs, religion
The basis of the war
fought by young toy soldiers
Who all die by the score
Time has taught us nothing
But, it's changed the way we fight
War is a full day job
Now that it is fought at night
The boards of little armies
Are now shown up on the screen
With all the little soldiers
Lit in different shades of green
They used to be all metal
Painted up in nice bright shades
With a General on horseback
Leading all his smart brigades
Then, the men were plastic
glued to bits of wood
Behaving as a unit
Just like a soldier should
Now, the war is different
They're up there in different hues
You can watch them fight in real time
Just like on the nightly news
The only thing remaining
The thing that's stayed the same
Is that nobody in power
Know the Little Soldiers names
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
April 29 2018
I went to visit Farmer Fred
Found him out in his wood shed
He was splitting up some oak
As I approached, he paused and spoke
“When I was young, I served my country and was willing to give my life for what I believed this country stood for.”
“Today I’d give my life to protect my family from what this country has become.”
I looked at Fred a bit askance
And he could see at a glance
That he should explain his new stance
‘We will bury you’ is coming to fruition.”
“Our country is becoming the very thing I fought against.”
“Pravda had nothing on the propagandist news in our nation.”
“Give it any name or label you will, government control over people has failed “the people” throughout human history.”
“I do not hold that government is evil, rather power which is corrupting and evil.”
“It has always been about power over others.”
“Kings, Emperors, Chancellors, Prime Ministers, and Presidents all abuse it.”
“Using government power to control others by controlling their means of earning and amassing wealth.”
“Feudalism, Socialism, Communism, Fascism, all place government at the top and make all people beholden to government.”
“Free market capitalism was the only exception.”
“Some played it better than others and acquired more wealth and wealth is power.”
“Thus, the role of government should be to check that power by ensuring the playing field and rules were applied equally.”
“All men are created equal, not all outcomes should be equal.”
I hold my hand up
Fred paused quite abrupt
With a pained look like please don’t interrupt
“I will simply say, we are no longer ‘The land of the free and home of the brave’ rather the land of the aggrieved and home of the knave.”
This was all he had to say
Fred dropped his ax and walked away
Hell belches out more black-hearted ballads
than the accord of heaven that releases
only the innocent and wafting
lofty dreamings of a population
unversed in the ways of emotion.
They simper and insipidly bow and release
delicate praises to the air as perfume... oh joyful
white roses. Sweetly sing with your monotonous harpischords.
Not we.
We are the fire in the blackest midnight...
the mud that births monsoons of a terrible beauty.
We tremble lest our own fire overtake us, we are the torrents
that pain your face with every gleefull beat.
We are the dreamers of dreams.
We are lovers, burning holes in sheets of purity and
invincible morality... we scream and shiver to our toes...
oh haunting electricity.
We are intense anger... the fury of emperors untold...
we shatter our enemies into the oblivion they beg for mercy
fists bulging, contorted eyes stinging from the battle.
We are howls of bitter triumph, the sweet partakers of the
lost cause. We are brazen to the thought.
We are the aroma of sadness that arises from the blackest pit,
we are the oppression that snuffs out the candle.
We praise from the very depths of our cavernous abyss
our own masochistic knowledge... the fiery knowledge that burns us
as we consume ourselves.
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
This pomegranate heart
dreams to travel upon
a periwinkle path which
leads to the province,
where her royal majestic
persona resembles
papillon emperors,
floating under
mauveine skies,
adored by radiant rays from
the plummeting plum sun.
Serene clouds drift under
her lepidolite lilac gaze,
holding morning glory
amethyst raindrops,
ready to soothe her
fervid velvet petals.
A plethora of heather shelters
a rare rose dressed in violet,
flourishing under an
enigmatic Jacaranda tree,
surrounded by lush lilies,
infatuating irises alongside
opulent orchids,
blossoms infused with the
allure of musky ambience.
Tranquil twilight paints the
horizons in lavender hues,
stars appear like raisins
under magenta moonlight.
Her desires flow like rivers
of sangria and Syrah waterfalls,
bursting vibrantly through
mulberry mountains over
blueberry hills.
I have no desire
to reside in a place where
burgundy is too red
and indigo is too blue -
only in her unique aura
of heavenly purple shades.
A towering inferno loses
a cluster of flames once held dear.
19~11~2014
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Contest Name: Crystalline
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A BONUS CRYSTALINE NOT FOR THE CONTEST
Hard Oak
Softly swaying - in sensual ease
embraces a warm autumn breeze.
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*always read the fine print
Other Then The Title This Next Crystalline Is Written In Special Ink That Only The Best Of Poets Can See And Read. It Is The Best Of All My Writes. It is inspired by "The Emperors Clothes."
ONE MORE BONUS CRYSTALINE NOT FOR THE CONTEST
The Naked Oak
19~11~2014
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -
J.A.B.
In mount caves of the West, rich of looted gold
Sleep scaled beasts of fiery breath and poisoned wings
But son, look to the Eastern seas and there behold –
The majestic and the true, the great Dragon Kings!
They ride trains of cloud through azure skies
Bringing rain to bless the wilting land
Through epochs they have climbed, the most wise
A thousand years clutched in one clawed hand.
It is an orb of pearl that they have earned
Some say it fell from a blossoming heaven
The Imugi that catches it is to Dragon turned
Entrusted with power to guard kingdoms of men.
No wings do they need that flap and scare away;
For true kings don’t rely on anything but their might
They breathe not dark fires; their souls shan’t decay
Carving rivers and seas, they bring hope and light.
So son, you need not fear of the dragons in false lore
That fly through towns, destroying with fire and shade
Instead, watch for these emperors prevailing through yore
These are the true Dragons, and their lights never fade.
___
FYI: The dragons I am speaking of here are those from Eastern tales -- the Asians have always viewed dragons as benevolent creatures that bless and benefit mankind. Here's a link to a graphic pic to guide your imagination... http://www.mtv.com/movies/photos/d/dragon_wars_082807/dragon.jpg
they're writing of their memories and things that they have seen
by walking down their childhood paths to places they have been
they're rocking with the sinners and they're rolling with the saints
by spreading love with brush strokes from the pallet of God's paints
they're shouting out injustices in free verse, rhyme and prose
by exposing all the naked lies of emperors in new clothes
they're caring for the destitute who die upon the street
by praying for a world that's one like oceans when they meet
they're mourning as one family when poets leave the stage
by making sure each writer's soul remains upon the page
they're finding hope and comfort in a time of war somehow
the poets are
where poets are
and we need them all right now.
We stand up
We gather our weapons
We band together
We fight
We battle
We win
We gain power
We are commoners over
Emperors
We are the powerless with
power
They came
They rebelled
They fought
They conquered
They are Royalty to us
peasants
They command God
They are power high
Ecstasy running through
everyone’s veins
The order of things thrown into
mayhem
Chaos controlling everything
Who are the leaders?
Who are the followers?
Who are the winners?
Who are the losers?
Who are the royals?
Who are the normals?
The leaders are followers
Followers are leaders
The winners are losers
Losers are winners
The royals are the normals
Normals are royals
Everyone is everyone.
Oh newborn king
to whom we the angels sing
You have left your throne
To become a man.
If sadness in heaven is such a thing.
Then we the Angels are beginning to understand.
You look so vulnerable, weak and tiny
But we know that you are invincible, fearsome and mighty.
Your all authoritative voice has shook the earth
Humbling emperors to their lowly worth.
Seas have been parted
Cities have been destroyed
With your spirit soldiers have shouted down a wall.
Your anointed nations have stood against those deployed
Only for they to return to their own and watch their nation fall.
You'll stand upon Zion
and roar like a lion.
Every tongue will confess to the great l am,
but for now only a few shepherds know
that a good shepherd will grow
To become the sacrificial lamb.
Oh how holy you are
That man has only known afar.
Now wise men kneel with gifts as you
sleep under a star.
Yes you our beloved, it's always been you.
Now let our wingspan
stretch across the land
in honor of what you have come down to do.. It is finished....
Jades of green, yellow and white;
the colors of life grow warm against the skin.
Precious gems of the lands minerals;
coveted by any, Jade is the stone of emperors;
lends a classy aire to any occasion and
a warm, rich presence to its wearer.
An Oxford Sonnet
We came again to city of spires and dreams
There: were England's aspirations built and carved
In honeyed stone of Jurassic coral seas
Where minds are sculpted, nurtured and preserved
From ancient college, fount of Nation's learning
Beyond oak doors, The High tells tale in stone
The buildings speak eloquence of spirits' yearning
In stately palace and in humble home
In the sun wide eyed emperors gaze in bewildered senescence
By Sheldonian and Clarendon, symbols of human elation
And in night darkened square the Camera's massive presence
Is viscerally discerned as of primal creation
Here we sought to kindle embers and to start
The fires of invention in youthful hearts
Notes
'The High' = The High Street, lined with historic architecture.
The 'emperors' = the series of sculpted heads on pillars that fence The Sheldonian Theatre.
The Clarendon Building = a fine and noble example of English Baroque.
The Radcliffe Camera = Iconic large Rotunda housing a library
Contest entered with NA : Cityscape
11 Jan 2020