Best Nobleman Poems
You, my friend,
are not a king or a prince
neither are you a nobleman
of
a higher or lower rank,
you are just another poor man like me:
a citizen of perpetual want
yet
you carry within your heart a kingdom,
a kingdom, you very well could inherit
with God's grace
If
only Lord's divine Word you choose to
listen to and follow virtue's path that
He indicates!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
29 APRIL 2020
* Was honored as POTD.
Thank all my friends for their love and support.
Plus thank the site!
Categories:
nobleman, heaven, light, truth,
Form:
Free verse
So sensationally super; Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel
Oppresso de liber, optimistically captivating; oratorical
Saintly passionate, succulent salmon sampler; sweetheart!
Exquisitely enchanting, enchantingly amatorious; éclat!
Playful, painstakingly passionate, pajama wearer, patient
Handsomely helpful handyman, harmonizer of happiness
Sweet as syrup, shining armor off the shelf; savoir-faire!
Red-blooded poetry connoisseur and radioactively lovable!
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Won Seventh Place Position
"Tell Me About You Contest"
June 16, 2010
Sponsored by Amy Green
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
nobleman, friendship, happiness, inspirational, passion,
Form:
Acrostic
One summer eve in Galilee
I stood before my open door;
to me it seemed just one more night--
like all the others gone before.
Someone would come and, passing by,
would hear the tinkling of the bells,
would see the garish harlot's robe
and painted eyes beneath my veil.
Someone, a man like all the rest--
it did not matter much to me--
a nobleman, Samaritan,
a Roman or a Pharisee,
someone would pause and with one glance
strip me again of maiden pride,
and leaving, later, never know
the shame and shattered dreams I hide.
O, he would think me very gay;
he would not see my hollow heart
nor hear me curse him for his pay.
Just then I saw a band of men
approaching down the narrow road;
there should be one among that crowd
aho wants the favors I bestow.
Kind eyes met mine, and with one look,
He saw what others could not see;
He saw the hunger of my soul,
my loneliness and misery.
I only know that since that day
I live to walk along with Him.
His look of love has changed my life;
I need not sell my love again.
Tonight He dines at Simon's house__
all day the dusty paths we roamed;
but, still he waits, unwashed, unkissed;
small courtesies no one has shown.
My love for Him! It rolls and swells
till from His side I cannot stay;
I will wash His feet with tears of love
and with my hair wipe the sand away.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
Categories:
nobleman, christian, devotion, easter, faith,
Form:
Narrative
3. At the Cabin
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
(The Chokugan = a shinto prayer.
The priest is protecting himself from
the ghosts.)
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Do you live here?
MURASAME
Why do you ask? Who are you?
BUDDHIST PRIEST
Just a traveler, benighted on my journey to ...
MATSUKAZE
What you request is little enough.
But our cabin is sparse, unfurnished, rough.
We are ashamed. It's far too humble. See?
We cannot offer hospitality.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am not looking for feathers or feast.
I am a simple, unassuming priest.
A fog is gathering swiftly around:
Please don't ask me to sleep on the ground.
MURASAME:
I am sorry. You cannot stay ...
MATSUKAZE
Wait!
The fog is freezing, and the hour is late.
The moon sails out from the refuge of a cloud,
and I see the form of a man who has vowed
to abandon all license. That, I admire.
Approach, holy man, our wretched fire.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I am grateful, ladies. Yukihira,
the much-lamented young poet,
put it thus: "If anyone
should ever ask for me,
say I'm in paradise, and I know it:
in Kobe, enfolded by green sea,
and fine women, to dote upon:
no place could possibly be dearer".
MATSUKAZE
Aieee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
What's wrong, young woman? See,
I prayed this morning, by the tall tree,
two-trunked and handsome. Nothing bad
can come this way. You look so sad!
MATSUKAZE
You have mentioned the name of our dead lover.
BUDDHIST PRIEST
A peasant told me of two women from here,
who both loved a Kyoto nobleman.
He composed exquisite poetry,
but sickness took him, in the prime of youth.
MURASAME
Aiee!
BUDDHIST PRIEST
I think I have stumbled into the truth!
You are the girls who live in the tree!
You gave your hearts to Yukihira,
and now you're ghosts! The Chokugan!
Categories:
nobleman, myth,
Form:
Rhyme
What a lovely, lovely boy he was,
And such pretty manners-oh!
And a charming boy he was because-
He knew what to say, where to go.
Such a fine man he became, became;
And such courtly airs and flair!
As scents crowd summer, none the same,
And leave a memory everywhere.
A gallant man, so smart and all!
And honest and seemly strong.
His portrait graces palace wall;
And the days of glory are long.
Such a noble, nobleman was he,
All subtle in face and grace;
A finer man could never be,
He had admirers in every place.
As fresh a breath of air he was,
As in nature's own vast room.
And so much loved he was because
He somehow cast off all gloom.
Such a fiery knight and true!
And what a passion he gave, he gave.
Turned pale skies so to blue,
And he never, never knew a knave.
Categories:
nobleman, feelings, gender, image, integrity,
Form:
Rhyme
there is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
__________________________
March 01, 2023 (Repost)
Poetry/Freed Verse/the painting
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1528-736-01
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, You Pick Again
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/02/2023
Third Place
Categories:
nobleman, art, love,
Form:
Free verse
allow me to introduce to you
a dear friend
may I present The Green Man
we once shared a goblet of mead
inside the head of a nobleman
sometime in the early
thirteenth century
Categories:
nobleman, friendship, inspirational, life, meaningful,
Form:
Narrative
MONA LISA
For ten years his paint brushes danced to the motion
of his hands on a white Lombardy poplar panel,
creating inimitable effects with the image he created –
Yes! Of one Lisa Gherardini, wife of a nobleman,
Francesco del Giocondo.
For ten years he handled his painting like a holy grail,
seeking to perfect his genius in different colored
oils, fused together with the blessings of his muses.
He never painted Mona Lisa even once,
while he’s drunk or angry.
Today, the pristine state of his mind’s reflection in color,
can be seen in the Louvre Museum, in Paris.
Date: 02/05/2017
Categories:
nobleman, art, beautiful, beauty, celebration,
Form:
Narrative
The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Categories:
nobleman, christian, easter, jesus, religious,
Form:
Narrative
There is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
Long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
___________________________
November 11, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/My Heart and Spirit
Copyright Protected, ID 11-435-073-11
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Categories:
nobleman, art, love, me,
Form:
Narrative
Sensationally super, and Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel!
Comments: During my twenty plus years of military service I was always called
Spence, J. That's just the way the government does business. This acrostic is
about Spence, J. It's crafted on a combination of alliteration, assonance and
consonance sounding words. Eggnog at Christmas is my favorite. Having a
Sunday afternoon sundae at the ice cream parlor is oh so tasty. Wow! I just love
it!!! Anyway, here are some comments on writing an acrostic. The basic acrostic
poem is formed by writing a word vertically down the page, which may also be
the topic of the poem. It’s recommended to use one letter per line, and the
beginning letters should be all capital ones. Each line of the poem should begin
with the letter on that line and the line should pertain to the word or title being
used. Some may recommend using one word or a phrase which does not have
to rhyme; however, one may move beyond the basic acrostic form and use a
complete thought with a rhyming sequence. It’s also recommended to use
adjectives and phrases that describe the word or subject of the acrostic. Finally,
one may take the quantum leap and write a double acrostic where the first and
last letters of each line are the same.
Categories:
nobleman, faith, family, father, life,
Form:
Acrostic
I drained life of its fullness...
not pricing its worthiness,
leaving nicks in the prime of youth:
deceitful tricks to ignore every truth.
I imitated parody to conceal identity,
thus making it forgery my priority;
and the masked nobleman acted out his
infamous burlesque play, ridiculing Fay...
knowing that her unrhymed lines
were intently borrowed from clowns,
not from gifted writers with clever minds;
did they bray when they were blamed for the delay?
My intent was not a merited Godsent or lofty thought
perceived by a gladiator who held the wilt
of his sword proportioned to his solid built,
but rather ridden by a guilt which had a powerful force to jilt
me when I was reduced to tears by my peers for my peculiar tilt.
Written on 12/12/2016
Categories:
nobleman, betrayal, emotions, heartbreak, life,
Form:
Alliteration
I could grow roses, and collect their nectar,
For newly wedded pairs’ perfume.
Or lilies, the Persian young lovers would secretly present their bashful beloveds.
Or could process the early-ripening fallen apple,
Foreigners would slowly have
Seeing the fiery sun
Setting into the gloomy sea;
On the sandy strand bask alongside naked
In the blazing summers’ afternoons,
Kissing French, playing with the watery-sand—
Barefoot.
Or could have fed the fowl
In high fenced Open-farms;
Fed them corn fed them wheat,
Allowed them take long flights
And watched them with love, dust bath.
Watched them dozing on trees’ branches
In the summers’ tiresome mid days
And, loved the old-cock’s crowing in the dawn
As his prayer to God.
So, bred to tens of thousands
And sold their big brown eggs, at good price.
And Ah! Cried loud, the old ailing hens would die.
Or reared goats and sheep in the nearby forest’s meads
And in the summers’ full-moon nights
Visit my large flock,
The grasslands across the sandy mount, stony crag.
Oh! The old shepherd’s ancient-Arabian tale,
Sitting by the flaming fire near their tent’s door,
His busty wife’s baking breads,
Watched by the lips-licking dog
Sitting on his legs.
I would though not
See the auction of my grown bucks,
My herders rather would, in my absence.
And like that English nobleman,
Formerly was a poor boy
And reared sheep;
In his palace had a hall,
He visited the crooks and robes
Whenever! Felt by mistake proud.
I could have lived like the tradesmen
Live, the real luxurious life,
Poets, painters and teachers
Can, only imagine of!
But the True Lovers Ah! Ah!
Live an adventurous life, heroic!
Work harder,
Wait long gloomy nights, travel sandy sunny miles
And then, earn a fear-fraught, fleeting, strange moment-of-joy!
So, I chose to be a lover…
And gratefully! I live a busier life;
More demanding
Than the businessmen or tradesmen or any statesman
Shall claim.
Categories:
nobleman,
Form:
Free verse
Lay me to rest in marbled halls with angels at my head,
not lying here in the mud of Ypres with khaki turning red.
Let me die a noble death, one that's worth fighting for,
not to avenge a nobleman who I've never heard of before.
Let me die an old man's death, in my bed at the witching hour
and laid to rest in an old churchyard, 'neath a yew trees spreading bower.
Instead of a fox hole in Cairo, choking on blood and sand,
with the smell of cordite on the air and a letter from home in my hand.
Why am I here in North Korea defending a hill to the death?
When I should be with the kids at home and my darling sweetheart, Beth.
Instead of which I lie in this ditch watching my life seep away
and they'll bury me here in an unmarked grave, on this bloody hill far away.
What do I care if Saigon falls? North or South, nothing mattered,
what do I care for the Rouge Khmer when my body lies here, shattered.
My watery grave this killing field, fertiliser for next years crop.
Is this to be my legacy? Please God help to make it all stop!
Another year, yet other wars, in landscapes barren and hostile,
on a crusade in Iraq or Afghan, both situations are volatile.
My life cut short by an IED defending a wadi in Tikrit,
my sun bleached bones, washed by the desert, my ultimate Kismet.
And still the Hawks harry the Doves, favouring might over right,
no matter the religion, the creed or the colour, be they black or white.
The body bags mount, the widows wail and children are orphaned once more,
all in the name of the most profitable business on Earth which we call war.
Categories:
nobleman, anger, humanity, remembrance day,
Form:
Rhyme
I met a man -
one could hardly deem old.
His smile was warm, yet
his hands were quite cold.
I asked the gentleman:
“Do you remember my name?”
I queried the chap:
"Do you know why I came?"
I solemnly wondered
if this tranquil soul heard.
Again, the man beamed;
speaking nary a word.
I harkened his heart
'bout my wares as a child -
the man calmly listened;
he comfortably smiled.
I prattled on
'bout my debonair Dad -
how I truly valued
the cherished moments we shared.
Private passioned spirits
rivaling a deity's gold.
Handel's honored messiahs
chanting secret fables untold.
I asked the quiet nobleman:
"Can a son's tears be reposed?”
My Father simply smiled as
his maple-casket lid -
closed.
Categories:
nobleman, father
Form:
Rhyme