Best Mansion Poems
It's a place, beneath
dark sky island which
I created just for me.
A piece of eternity far
away from clouds, stars
or land.
To get there all I need is to
meditate, breathe deeply, place on my heart, these poetic hands.
Shaped like a moonstone dome, the home is, and I
am free.
It has a huge window
where I can observe sea
life in awe and in wonder.
There is the fireplace with
its amber glows, which warms
my body and soul.
Here, there is no frantic
search to reach goals.
Candles are lit, I have my
sheepskin cover, to lie down
upon or to get under.
I lie there in awe,and such
fulfilling peace.
There are no electronics there, but I can smell the
sea's refreshing air.
And can go back in time,
and relive moments, fair.
Complete, intact, as they were, with no surcease.
I don't need a movie or
music to reach that space.
It's the healing powers of waves and myriad fish at
the window.
That makes my consciousness rise to
a glistening crescendo.
And touch all those
moments that time can
never erase.
3/10/1
~1~. Edited...
Haunted Mansion – Beware!
Abandoned mansion cries in loud creaks and groans
From deep within the dark cellar ghostly moans
Attic lights flicker...then suddenly turn off
By unseen hands of haunted souls castoff.
Windows rattle, winds intone incantations
Of tangled webs to strangle all sensations
Hallways echo spectral chants as terror flows
Reeling rhythms - eerie haunted vertigo.
Deep in vaults dark plots of midnight roses grow
Thorny canes drip with poisons like black snow
Chalice filled with toxic brews from blighted petals
Touches lips in a toast of stinging nettles.
All doors and windows tightly locked and chained
Only unheard shrieking prayers still remain
Foreboding fears smothers like a phantom kiss
When screams free fall into a bottomless abyss
10-13-22
Contest: 12-16 Lines of Scary Halloween Rhyme
Sponsor: Tania Kitchen
Rhymes checked with www.rhymezone
On the hills of glory,
where my mansion stands,
lay the streets of gold, made
by God's Almighty hand.
The sparkling living waters
flow,and on it's banks,
the tree of life doth grow.
Over there, what a glorious site,
a golden throne arrayed in white,
No!, it's a robe glistening as snow,
and the one wearing it, their face is aglow.
It's Jesus! our King,Savior,and
Friend.Yes! this is heaven,and
I have just entered in.
Angels were singing a song
I could not relate,as they
stood before those beauitful gates.
Things were happening all
around this place,but I wanted
to see Jesus face to face,as
I walked forward ,His eyes met mine
I've never seen such love pure,
Holy Devine.
I've made it home,and got
a mansion so fair,and down
this same street, I'll find you somewhere.
This is a poem was written by my sister!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Be patient my soul for your earthly shack will soon be replaced by a mansion in the sky!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
02 August 2017
Virtue Is More Than Mansion And Great Wealth
If ones honor and word is not intact
What the hell ever else truly remains
Whenever ones word is considered fact
There exists no deep doubts no wicked stains.
Virtue is more than mansion and great wealth
It is the light, the truth, the commandment
So goes the truth, medicine for one health
When rights are guaranteed by government
Hold love and mercy to be way of life
Family a treasure its meant to be
Far, far more happiness instead of strife
Our nation a shining beacon from seas to sea
What does real freedom really, truly mean.
Is it far more than a mirrorlike sheen.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-13-2023
Sonnet
A mansion the child says, with a million miles of green grass.
I hope his heart will not be broken, if this does not come to pass.
Shelter in the form of a house is really the important part,
I tell the young one. A home is truly the best start.
Shelter in a lean to, a cave, or thatched hut in France B,
Can be the best of places, it does not have to be fancy.
You must remember about shelter the main thing is…
The people inside who love you, who make you feel like a whiz.
They are your true shelter, your place to go in a storm.
They know how to nurture you, to love you up and keep you warm.
Shelter is not a dwelling as much as a wonderful place to be.
A mother, father, grandma, auntie, whose love eyes clearly see….
The Finest Antebellum Mansion in the South
By Elton Camp
Windsor was near the banks of the Mississippi River
Extreme luxury, size, beauty and comfort it did deliver
The manor was completed just before the Civil War
It’s builder, Smith Daniell, couldn’t asked for more
Only a few weeks after his palatial home was complete
Its wealthy owner became ill and his own death did meet
His heirs were left a four-story house & a huge plantation
It depended on slave labor that was ruining the nation
Windsor had twenty-five rooms, each with a fireplace
And running water and inside baths the house did grace
A rare feature indeed: that two dumbwaiters were found
From floor-to-floor more easily to move the food around
A ballroom on the fourth floor had an observatory atop
The rigors of a civil war threatened to bring it to a stop
It came to be used by rebs and yanks, so it did survive
And the family who owned it managed to stay alive
The mansion become a social center for the entire state
Invited guests arrived early, partied and the stayed late
But, in 1890 to Windsor the greatest disaster then befell
A guest left a lighted cigar on the balcony and it then fell
After the fire, only the thirty-foot-high columns did stand
And an architectural treasure disappeared from the land
The magnificent ruins remind of the South’s glorious past
And that no civilization built on human suffering can last
If a glimpse into the way planters lived you wish to see,
Go only a few miles from Port Gibson and there it will be
The ruins will remind us of some ancient Grecian temple
But built at the expense of slaves kept uneducated & simple
For pictures of the mansion go to http://www.scribd.com/doc/57710764/The-Finest-
Antebellum-Mansion-in-the-South
The picture of the ruins was taken years ago by the noted
writer Eudora Welty of Jackson, Mississippi. Some of the
English faculty at my college actually knew Eudora and had
studied under her at various workshops.
Rongtern Mansion
By M. Taha Effendi
(Verse Libre)
The front door of the mansion mysteriously creaks open,
I freeze.
Hoping to hear a welcoming voice,
But all I hear is the wailing of the cold wind,
The pitter-patter of rain outside,
And the roar of lightning,
The room reeks of damp, decayed wood and dusty furniture,
I enter.
The hall is dark,
I can only make out countless ornate mirrors glittering on the walls all around,
And a tiny candle that flickers on a table at the far end of the hall,
An old telephone sits beside it,
Squinting around nervously for any sign of life,
Groping through the darkness,
I reach the table,
An ornate frame is perched on the wall there,
An old man, balding, with a heavily creased face, firm jaws,
and blood shot eyes, bearing a somewhat sinister smile,
Looks back at me from it,
A strange macabre feeling suddenly engulfs me,
I pick up the cold receiver with a trembling hand,
holding it to my ear,
about to dial,
When suddenly with a flash of lightning,
I catch the smile of the old man in the portrait falter,
And hear the sobs of a little girl on the phone,
"H-h-h-hide me f-from d-d-daddy... H-hide m-me f-from d-daddy,"
Terrified, a cold shudder trickles down my spine,
fogging my mind and senses,
The phone slips from my grasp and hits the floor with a thud,
And instantly the echoes of the girl's sobs get louder,
They seem to be coming from behind a closed oak door a few steps away,
As I reluctantly make my way towards it,
The constant howl of the wind seems like an evil cackle,
I can't help but feel that someone is breathing down my neck.
I swallow a nervous whimper,
Finally I am at the door,
I turn the knob,
It is locked.
Just then I hear a floor board creak inside the room,
Confused, I crouch and peep through the keyhole,
I see nothing but darkness,
But I wait,
Perhaps my eye will adjust to the dark,
It does,
And what it beholds makes the very blood in my veins curdle,
From the other side of the keyhole was peeping,
A bloodshot eye...
Winner of contest:
"A Creepy, Scary Haunted House Poem, Please"
by
Constance - My Dear Heart
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3/1/18
2018©
Best to get there early and don’t forget some food and drink.
It’s Friday again and time to celebrate.
It’s hat week, Carmen Miranda’s birthday, toga, toga, toga.
We all had another week taking care of 80 children at the local mental hospital and anything one could think of was the theme of celebration.
The only difference between “US” and “THEM” was we carried the keys.
Circa 1970’s and The Rocky Horror Picture Show so if you hadn’t had something too bad and was sitting on a tree limb in the big tree on the corner, come 11:00 pm grab your paper, rice, watergun and toast.
Off to the movies we would go dressed in our favorite costume.
Summer time and the living is easy.
The pit was dug and a pig on the spit.
We all came the night before and took turns rotating the pig at a slow and careful pace.
If you spent the night, we brought blanket and pillow and slept under the stars by the pig fire.
We all participated in the watermelon seed spitting contest.
Saturday night was barbeque and bluegrass night at Buddy’s.
The Knoxville Grass, BBQ and pitchers of beer to share unless UT was playing.
Then Friday night we’d celebrate at Buddy’s.
We finally had to faced we were addicted to food.
We small band of addicts branched off to middle of the week gatherings with irreverent honoring to St. Porker of Assisi.
All meeting in a kitchen and cooking at the same time.
Making “Gone with the Wind” to “Away with the Breeze and someone wearing a pair of curtains they had looked lovely in the week before and each acting out a different character.
Then children came and jobs changed and some moved away.
Looking back, it was the best of times and the best of food and friends.
Oh ho! Hairstyle of hers has changed!
So different she looks today; mature and confident.
I like it. But oh! Her long old long tresses, I do miss...
Gaze I do, at her shining face, everyday
But I'm sad; look me into the eyes, she never does!
Strange, she does bow to me in prayer every morning
and hope of mine is sustained with her rare glimpses, up.
Her kohl lined eyes and quivering lips tell her mood….
In glittering gold and exciting red palanquin, it was...
The gate of this lovely mansion, she did cross.
Not without paying homage to me, the historical guard.
I longed to be the first to see the bride to rule here.
Alas! dutiful veils hide her...then, one was teased by a gust;
An elegant jewel clad hand came to grasp it and
A radiant face lifted momentarily towards the sky
And disappeared as quickly.... I was enchanted.
So lovely… a real queen who would adorn my white mansion.
Next day, she came blooming to the yard temple
For her first day prayer… a woman complete….
Oh ho! Those tresses, long and humid; her tightened sari…
And the sparkles of love and happiness on her bubbly face…
I decided to guard her from that day, praying she blooms forever.
A year now, my wish has been granted, she is as luminous.
But I do hope she looks into my aggressive tiger face, once!
8/08/17
24 lines
When all the paying guests had gone,
I broke in there one Halloween.
I thought at first it was all fun,
Then realised just what I’d seen.
The noises, smells and awful sights
Had made my blood run cold with fear:
The mangled, tortured bodies dead,
But even worse was Webb’s cold leer.
He neared me, instruments in hand,
And told me what he planned to do:
Experiments to make me scream,
He’d even thought up something new.
I tried to run but couldn’t move,
So spat into the doctor’s face,
‘You’re dead, you have no power now.
‘Go back to Hell and leave this place.’
The victims’ bodies faded then,
I prayed and cried and shook with fright,
The knives and blood all vanished too,
And Harold Webb was gone from sight.
*Dr Harold Webb tortured people to death
23rd August, For Gail’s Halloween Night contest
The ghosts all come out at night
In the haunted mansion with no light
The spider webs are prevalent here
Creating a case of unnatural fear
This place is never out of sight
Russell Sivey
K-ingdom of God in heaven,
E-ternal life in paradise;
R-eceive them in the flock,
S-alvation for the Church Of Christ.
H-ell is for the unfortunate,
E-verlasting peace for the chosen;
Y-es, the door of the fold is found by the heart so open.
M-ansion up in the sky,
A-bode so holy and glorious;
Y-es, the city's gate is ajar for the ones victorious.
B-ehold the promised land,
U-ntil you see it with your eyes;
E-ven if it takes tribulation,
N-ever turn away from prize.
D-ay ten of June morn,
I-nspired verses reach you;
A-side from warm wishes, good greetings won't make you blue.
M-ansion up in the sky
A-llows you to enter;
L-et your faith be strong,
I-n spite of the vile weather.
C-ome into the bright light,
D-arkness shall pass by;
E-arnestly aim to attain
M-ansion up in the sky.
Walls covered with paper,
To hide the secrets of a murder,
Done long ago.
As you could still see,
where the blood did flow.
Of a woman who came at the wrong time to say hello.
The full story has never been told,
With the house that has never been sold.
Still wearing the back paint,
Some windows now are alittle taint.
Nothing has been changed,
Nothing has been removed,
Concealed inside are secrets that can never tell,
About the woman who took the true story,
All the way to hell.