Best Lordly Poems
He walked with her a good mile
and talked with increasing smile,
with wonder he sat,
for the gladness in her heart;
...spent her days with wild hope ---
that he was in her eldest dreams,
from the beginning smote her monsters
and eased her deepest fears...
Now he rode with her again on his great white steed,
'til the edge of some mystic dusk;
and turn they could though too darkling
the winnowed wood, and chasing with shadows
the misted nite path, and she finally bade him
and his hidden forest hideaway;
so quaint and annointed with its little beds,
and bruin skins 'ere the hearth
and lordly portraits above its mantel;
and he lit it alive with warmth,
and the moon had come swift through the garland window
And in her hand he thrust the dearest of wine,
with nectar lush for a goddess,
and dearer her heart for him more they dined;
yet he pressed no closer ---
and gazed delicately glancing her bosom,
remained mostly her lunar eyes...
and bade her a fine warm shawl ---
But the wine and fire...his eyes...
his eyes upon her though brief ---
stroked her where they fell,
and smiling she was longing his lips,
but caught her lust...
her heart! she could hear it drumming desperate
" I am almost too warm for your fine shawl..."
" Too warm? " said the lord ---
" no wine could simmer so, and the fireplace
too slight for such heat... your eyes undress me... "
And no nite they had ended...
nor any morning come betwixt them,
(but a kingdom of love in some forest green)
Held unyielding in your narrow mind
is the ignorance which keeps you blind.
Building dams will only hold you back
from accepting that white is not black.
Like a slow moving, barricaded stream,
your thoughts clot like curdled cream.
Thin skin has need to slough rejection,
Your rigid stance in mirrored reflection.
Break open the dam across the estuary
that hinders your vision. It's necessary
to move in sync with malleable fluidity
instead of sputtering words of stupidity.
Shedding skin will allow you to breathe.
Release your potential from its sheathe.
Even a snake slithers out from its skin
to crawl from where it once had been.
Little is the chance you have to accept
new ideas if they are not circumspect
to the fault of having such a closed mind.
Throw off the veil that keeps you blind.
Don't become stagnant and decompose
by turning your back, continuing to oppose
any idea with which you just don't agree.
You'll drown in arrogance, acting so lordly.
In my ear something whispers, tells of tales of burning blisters,
forbids the haunting of my sisters, last of sons to bear our name.
Like fleas in whiskers- embedded splinters,
a Soul that's known too many Winters,
felt just one too many shivers-
puts my family crest to shame!
Sin of Sins is potential wasted, failure tasted on a daily basis.
Jaded thoughts in anger basted, long awaited signs of Truth.
My secrets naked, cut and pasted, Time to Space in cryo-stasis;
bring masks of faces, changing places, all I need to seize the proof!
In our nest found Viper eggs, Black Mamba mouth and Widow webs;
cobra fangs, Komodo legs, the sting of buried Scorpion.
Killer bees on murder sprees, venom- how it quickly spreads!
Such toxic bites, to my delight, end my role to be "the son".
My duty relieved, can freely breathe, no longer bound by obligation.
I now have need to craft and weave the lordly exit of earthly King.
So I take my leave, my goal achieved, looking for a grand reception-
I do believe my aching Heart, the Soul of Art- is my only precious thing!
my red-robed friend grand on your perch
how regal yours - now dressed for church
so formal how you meet the springtide dawn
thus singing bright 'til morning's veil is gone
oh bright - folks praise your gowns of red
but I'm charmed with your song instead
sweet a Capellas start and end each day
that must be how a Cardinal learns to pray
bleak winters, late, I’ve strained to hear
you tease those tympans, deep my ears
so sad the song, it haunts me thru-and-thru
your mate now gone, that never …
answers you.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Brian's Select 2, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Songbirds" Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchin, Judge & Sponsor.
The wise owl watches
The cunning fox prowls
The lordly lion stalks its prey --
The hapless human stares at a screen
Physical is the coat I wear-out
in the elements – the ephemeral
shell of me, and not the yoke, man's
embryo of spiritual wealth...longevity of
experience and immortal growth –
True! -- of the Eternal Now in my
biological years not one has convincingly
surfaced, risen above the depths of doubt
to undeniably attest, my only proof
the intimate echo of a heart-heard
voice, reciting from the velum of a
supposed soul, surfacing despite the negative
chatter of fatalists: lordly provocateurs
of fiery electrons, rejecting sparks
of individual ethereal sense: despite no two of
us ever proven exactly alike, each of us
the unlikely oddity of billions....
a mathematical contradiction that
can only be attributed to the reality
of a God....
A heritage no man can sell,
a history no man can tell;
so much we share in Jesus' band,
nothing to fear, in storms we stand.
To lordly things we are kindred,
mansions of gold, pure and sacred;
to endless beam, to saintly streams,
to heaven's gaze and holy hymns.
Our dreams are shaped eternaly
by faith and love in God's alley;
no baser thought our spirit fills,
as we approach heavenly hills.
We who are born of Christ Jesus,
Hallelujah is our chorus;
pilgrims we are, on earth we roam,
yet pressing on to our glorious home.
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023
Almost always, as additional allurements arrive, ask as a Being...
By better borne behests become best Causes ?
Can causes create concise concepts Diligently ?
Do doers do decidedly dumb doldrums Ever ?
Each eek echoes egotistical efforts enduring Familiarity...
Faith fathers forgiveness for flaunting fabled Gifts.
Gasps give great grief, growing gruesome Hatreds...
Hasn't humanity had hurt hearts hung Innocently ?
Is insistence in increasing irritation inevitably incongruous Justice ?
Jimson jars...jitters...joggles...jolts...just jocose jurisprudence' Knell.
Kerfuffle kin, kickshaw kept ken, kindly knaves kneading Lamentations...
Leaving love's loaves, lordly lotharios, looking like lowlifes Made.
Marking more madmen mere moronic monsters meting mayhem Nearby.
Now, not never, nab needed nerves, nurture nasturtium near Openness !
Once only one, ordained our ostracism, outrage outdone on overwrought Plight.
Perhaps pride precludes passable patience, posing portentous prolapse Quickly !
Quiet quandaries, quarrelsome qualms, quivering quixotic quirks Resplendent...
Reaching relapse, revolving recidivism, reconstructed reflective reform Seen !
Searching secretive states, seemingly simple, sincere serenity sought Through...
Tender tears, touching together to total tympanic transformation Unjust.
Unique union...unimportant, unbending, unpopular, unless universal Veracity !
Verbose verbalism, vertical vignettes verify vital victory Won.
When written with wit...watershed words work wonderful Xerography !
Xyloid xylography, xeroxed xeno X, Yet...
Yesterday's youth, yowled yummy young yips Zanily !
Zeitgeist, zombie zealots zapping zonked zingers...Away !!
COPLA UNO: This Bad Guy World - in all seriousness
[The entire sequence of 114 coplas: “This Bad Guy World”, dedicated to Jorge MANRIQUE, 1440?-1479. I give here in translation his third “copla à pied quebrado” in Arte Menor metre:
“Coplas a la muerte de su padre” (Coplas on the death of his father) -
Our lives are like rivers
that empty into the sea
……..where we expire:
There the lordly peers
come to their final spree
……..and no more transpire;
There gushing rivers swell
and others less imposing
……..and the rivulets
All arrive at the same sea level
those who toil with hands living
……..and the fortunates
Translated, December 2013, Paris by T. Wignesan
Suspenseful, sweet air
of my lordly cathedral...
hum my faithfulness.
Once I was sand dab small
urchin of the tides
shrieking with the gulls
on my blanket of sand
and head high as the waves
I was playmate to the sea
One and one were we
under the clouds of foam . . .
Sand crabs tickled my toddles
The conch sang hushabies of the surf
The horses of the sea
whinnied the tunes
of my periwinkle dreams . . . . . .
Who sells cockles for my suckle?
Who can cuddle stars to sleep?
What Sandman rock-a-byes yesternight’s cradle?
All the sun long day
I melted from green to gold
holding the hand of the sea
for only a rainbow long
and gathering handfuls of mist
I was Captain of the tides . . .
Dolphins dipped to my horn
The turrets of my castles
trembled the wind
The shrill of my whistle
shivered the still
of the serpent’s lair . . . . . .
Who can ride the ebbless tide?
Who can borrow wings from the wind?
What Sandman can cool the burn of my yearnings?
Each stolen night and day
I streaming down the shore
danced the fire dance
in the tongues
of the leaping waves
Neptune strong
Colossus high
I strode the shallow deep
Buccaneer of the boundless main
Captain Hook
of my mussel fleet . . .
The peaks of my mountains
scraped the clouds
The crash of my drumbeats
thundered the sky
The sting of the salty spray
blurred my lordly eyes
Hickory Dickory heedlessly
I waded the Gulliver shore
While sands of the hourglass trails
trickled forever by . . . . . .
Who can caress the foam?
Who can touch nevermore?
What Sandman can dry the tears of the sea?
– Harley White
WEATHER SAILS
What if the clouds themselves were like sails of a giant
Heavenly ship, its masts the very shafts of ethereal light
Cascading from Nirvana itself, white powders weather wings,
Guiding this planetary blue worlds atmosphere, in the ocean
Of a vast universal black sea, amongst the elliptical timeless tides,
Of the divine!
Swaying to the shift, shifting to the sway, angelic thin veils melting,
Vaporizing into nothingness, moistures wind catchers these waves
Of the untamable storm, called the outer stratosphere,
God’s bluish green vessel, a bio-sphere of natural miracles!
Lightning’s lordly finger prints as a masterpieces maker,
Attempts to touch his living masterwork of brilliance,
And echoing with thunder’s joyous sounding, as his pleasures
Reply!
Aft to the sterns guiding wheel, this captain of the mortal soul
Guides all hands aboard through our lives perfect storm,
No matter the hellish tides challenges, the torrents currents
Of reality to be overcame, within the faithful hearts of
Spiritual flame, no lantern light could be more prevalent
Then our fathers on high!
Oh let the lost find their way homewards, by the lighthouse
Of the everlasting, allow the bright beams of glory’s shine,
To protect these sailors of the sinful, and finally be embraced
By his unfathomable love for his fallen children!
Dropped is the anchor of faith, amongst the stars blazing
In the translucent skies, as his moon shield sparkles in
Illuminance elegance, dancing across the aquatic lunar stream
Beneath!
What if the clouds themselves were like sails of a giant
Heavenly ship, its masts the very shafts of ethereal light
Cascading from Nirvana itself, white powders weather wings,
Guiding this planetary blue worlds atmosphere, in the ocean
Of a vast universal black sea, amongst the elliptical timeless tides,
Of the divine!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO: POET DESTROYER, VERA DUGGAN, MYSTIC ROSE
For these women of inspiration that I owe so much too,
To my sisters of the heart, whom have kept me grounded at times,
Yet have allowed me to spread my wings of inspiration to soar!
MASKED BALL – THE SURPRISE
The final sweet phrase has sounded
Our dancers await by twos
All still in mask, impatient
To hear their sovereign’s news
Queen Adaelade, Ball Chancellor
Has watched the evening through
Her task, by long tradition bound
Select the reigning two
Her selection goes a wandering
But, at last, in regal voice
She points the Lady Persephony
And her lordly patrician choice
The pair, to wild acclaim, unmask
Selection, (all along) contrivance knows
Will be the Lady Persephony
And her *Cavalier of the Rose
*I couldn’t resist the last line’s reference to Richard Strauss’ Opera
Der Rosenkavalier.
The blind night lay down in feet
to go outside there is no need
I walk in my deserted place
I have no rest without our grace.
The pain will find my temple, bounce,
and finger looks for trigger, glance
of love that swings like ghost in mirror
and there's no chance.
Oh, take my heart beating,
Oh, take my soul lordly
I am so alone in this time that I want fade away.
My home is not greeting
I broke my world only
the candle cries for me again when the dawn turns in day.
You died in rainy day and shades
swam on the water like the dates
I saw the Death first time, I blame,
It was so gorgeous and lame,
Pain didn't leave your pretty eyes
I want to share with you your cries
and love that swings like ghost in mirror
before sunrise.
Oh, take my heart beating,
Oh, take my soul lordly
I am so alone in this time that I want fade away.
My home is not greeting
I broke my world; only
the candle cries for me again when the dawn turns in day.
I hear now only the morning bell
it praises feast-day,
The gold and copper it gifts to tell
You're in kingdom of eternal sleep.
I hear now only the morning bell
it devils fiend, hey,
The sky is split with it o'er my hell,
Oh, I loved only you and I weep.
Oh, take my heart beating...
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Margarita Pushkina (song by heavy metal band Aria)