Best Retinue Poems
He gave her a Rose what else could he do
her bands so tied a one way avenue
though not Red nor White or hard to find Blue
a token to hide from kin’s retinue.
He gives her a smile to bridge hyper space
he’s let her down his prowess a disgrace
longs for Lilac eyes that match her face
oozing memories of lasting the pace.
Everything was blue in the sky at dawn
pitting his mood being one with the thorn
a stone cold kiss for love he feels sawn
in reality this his life borne.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Categories:
retinue, blue,
Form:
Quatrain
To a woman
(In this traslation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : « A une femme »,
I have retained the rhyme scheme to the letter, I hope. T. Wignesan)
To you these lines in faith must console I address :
A sweet dream laughs and cries in your large eyes through
The purity of your soul which is wholly good, to you
These lines from the depths of my turbulent distress.
Just that, Alas ! the nightmare which haunts me hideous
Allows no respite and furious, mad and jealous continue
Multiplying themselves like wolves in a funeral retinue
Hanging on to my fate which at their mercy they harrass !
Oh ! how I suffer, I suffer hopelessly, so mean
That the initial whimperings of the first man
Banished from Eden a mere eclogue to the cost I wean. !
And the minor discomforts you may endure in comparison
Are like the swallows in the sky on an afternoon
- My Dear – make the beautiful warm September day a boon !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
retinue, lost love,
Form:
Sonnet
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
Categories:
retinue, history, love,
Form:
Romanticism
I:
let me sing the weaver’s songs!
the songs of old nature -
carrying a retinue of willing dancers
from yon vale to thither hills
amidst these boughs of lively nature
o, boughs, long-held in old tales!
where fairies played games in gardens
of lavish feasts & yet-to-be-heard rhythms.
let me sing the weaver’s songs!
the songs of old nature -
drumming for the entire clime
love songs in the dance-steps
of naked dancers & rustic elders
o, love songs that in ancient times
ordained the full & rushing thrills
of queens, pages & their kings!
let me sing the weaver’s songs!
the songs of old nature -
’twas these same drum-songs
that beckoned on sleeping sages
to wake at the hunter’s voice -
’twas these same drum-songs
that held the lions & death’s paws
& gave beasts in feasts to clans!
let me sing the weaver’s songs!
the songs of old nature -
the drum-songs of the paths
that traced into the deepest roots
of clans - o, my clans! whose elders
languish beside the Niger’s banks;
& let my songs begin in newness
of the old – o, let me sing & dance
singing the weaver’s songs;
singing the songs of old nature –
o, let me sing beside Niger’s banks!
Categories:
retinue, nostalgianature, me, old, me,
Form:
Rhyme
I had no plan to fall in love with you,
still you won me without pretense or art
when you walked into my life impromptu.
Just the real you with no retinue
of fakers saying lines and acting parts;
I had no plan to fall in love with you.
There you came with no gain to pursue,
no pretensions. You exposed your heart
when you walked into my life impromptu.
You swept away the ugly residue
others left behind. Oh, this broken heart!
I had no plan to fall in love with you.
Strange as it may seem to those who view,
this crazy love we share had its start
when you walked into my life impromptu.
Tomorrows will keep coming as they do
and you and I will always be sweethearts;
I had no plan to fall in love with you
when you walked into my life impromptu.
Copyright, January 20, 2016
Categories:
retinue, love, valentines day,
Form:
Villanelle
Ocean rising--such silent splendor--
she stains a golden passage on the waves;
blushing not, though borrowed brilliance
is the only light she ever gave.
Lesser celestial lamps, bright retinue,
honor her regal queenly estate;
yielding obeisance to her power,
seasons and tides bow at her gates.
Royally she rides the Milky Way,
stardust blithely trailing in her train;
lonely earth lovers, looking upward,
stabbed in their souls with longing pain.
Copyright, August 12, 2014
Categories:
retinue, beauty, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
The photo album speaks a story,
A life full of esteem and glory.
Put in chronological order
Might have been a psychological disorder.
A frail pale body
You could picture it in your head.
Tall maybe his height
But his hands were red.
From being his parent’s imperfect boy
To being his class’s imperfect student,
Didn’t make much difference to him
Except for messing of the ingredient.
He adsorbed pride
But insecurity found vestibule.
From outside he was a tide
Within he was a dirty pool.
Succeeded in making followers,
Who praised and supported when he fell weak
Would pick on every other innocent
Had the idea that this would hide his streak.
Dying, crying, fighting and lying,
The tails tried their best to suffice
But when the reality dawned on the retinue
They had already stepped on the precipice!
Fell with their master and burst on the floor
Traits evaporated from within the core.
Followers produced devotion
Master was all about commotion.
Categories:
retinue, abuse, angst, bullying, career,
Form:
Verse
Peace in life
Blanketing life with mixing others
Search of freedom and joy of peace
Feels me a golden jail,
Rather, taking fresh breath
In the morning mild race would be fine
In grass crushing by feet
Maximum peace! I ever raised in heart
Was title given by smiles of others
I puzzle sometimes do they bear peace! Actually
So! freely to allocate me and others
Many unwanted kisses
In chick and neck by as if glutton piece
And hinges of boredom and chain of others
A classify of a moral tie only should be
In real life how there is peace!
So to say, grown up in such boundary
A matter of hardship to breathe free
Peace in life is then a matter of distant for me
Without digging, deeply, for nectar within heart
A vastness of purity, filtering through, inside for peace
Needs, grave deep involvement, and sink to find point,
where it is.
A case of research for person to person, differently
If one can find actual peace in life, Believe
Why all are in sorrows and still in confusions!
So,future is certain for them, only
Who digs path, in present, to see bright future
I will buy it investing millions, and will motivate others for it
I like, welcome persons enjoy and invest in benefit
Then peace in life and bliss in life will be search of equipment
All will live long gladly, happily and will rest heavenly
Continue.......
Actual peace and bliss are not free as human remain searching
Points:-
I think so, this is, this is
But to me and to them too
Who researched and identified with clarity
Follow them, that destination who perceived with honesty
Who they are! then a matter of question
To find and follow will be
Please search and research again and again
It is available in market easily
Perceive right shop and owner who could supply you
A piece of peace, a life piece for happiness and bliss.
Future is uncertain to them who says and lies lazily
See them who bought stars from the sky
In the market available everywhere
The beauty of future is only to them
Glitters and flashy fame are not real fame.
Real future is your present time
How you utilize as ants' retinue.
Categories:
retinue, best friend, deep, heaven,
Form:
Blank verse
A stormy, cold scraped winter sight,
quiet song birds forsake flight,
down fluffed on pale limbs lucite,
a fantasy landscape, pearl blue.
In grey tone wrap, mist frozen dew,
her smooth complexion, silver hued,
Luna surveys earth's wild retinue
in closed dens of hibernate sleep.
Snow drifts creep the mountain steeps
and cuddle velvet valleys, deep,
where black streamlets forget to leap,
their summer memories iced still.
Winter plys her voluminous skill,
snow sculpting on each vale and hill;
queen portrait of a glass toned will
mirrored in each hardened lake.
She cherishes a world opaque,
makes the sun his warmth forsake;
the seasonal round's numb heartache,
a stormy, cold scraped winter sight.
December 5, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
retinue, imagery, seasons, snow, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Moments inscribed by thy heart and mine
Slowly dissolving by the passing of time
Ululating false to our tailored truths
Paving way for decaying shoes
You seek for balance and I fancy peace
A contradiction to my restless ease
Un-reflecting love in the midst of your eyes
But nothing defeats the power of denial
I gravitate to morbid fascination
Nothing less than your voluptuous facaad
That convicts me in a mental facility
Which accommodates my gorious rhapsody
We've become a retinue my shadow and I
To your mysterious adventures you'd left behind
I still see thee as my moon and stars
But do free me soon from these prison bars
You are a breeze of the ocean on a Summer's day
If not carols on a Christmas day
Perhaps affection to a heart tormented by dismay
Peter, loving you was not a mistake
...just a gentle kiss to compose my quake
Categories:
retinue, addiction,
Form:
Rhyme Royal
holy retinue
to serve on earth, call him Jew
secrets, known to few
Categories:
retinue, history, inspirational, introspection, people,
Form:
Haiku
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake: Part Thirty-Six
Hardly had the CS drawn tight the net round the mosque and lake
The red phone on his desk at the Préfecture signalled a break
Through at the Orly Airport end: “Guests from the Near East: ARRIVED!”
Protocol required their being transported for Prophet’s sake!
The Foreign Office rushed to proffer red carpet treatment with gloves
But the Princes refused to board the suburban trains in droves
Roads stood blocked choc-a-block so helicopter commutes were proposed:
A landing pad at Carrefour de Pompadour if the Lord approves!
And so it came to pass but the Princes stopped at junction sign-posts:
“What’s this?” Prince addressed his French Agent: “Hôtel des Postes-
Banque de France, Hôtel de Police, Hôtel de Ville, Préfecture Hôtel du Département?
Why haven’t you bought these hotels as well? The billions we pay in costs!”
“Your Highness! If you’ll kindly pardon me, these hôtels aren’t for sale!”
“Well, never mind Hôtel des Postes! Buy me Banque de France sans fail!”
“I’ll see what I can do but it might take a pretty penny or two!”
“That’s no sweat! For fifty years or so we’ll pay in gas and oil!”
“As for the last entertainment consignment my retinue still complains!
They got stitched and patched up fifteen-year-olds for their pains!”
“Your Highness, that’s the age limit down here since laissez-faire!
We’d be hard put to find a virgin over ten in these terrains!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
retinue, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
hers are paradise-measured steps
an escalation of the clan’s delight
in a sitting duck of the stream-lets;
& maidens awaken by the twilight
virgins of niger’s hidden chambers
meeting with ancient praise-singers;
“nduru has arrived! nduru is here!”
the echo of the clan’s piper rings
“o, she’s come! o, she’s here!”
seems with her a new life springs!
she: a clan’s fair-haired & elegant bird
with a retinue of songsters furtive & weird.
Categories:
retinue, mystery
Form:
Rhyme
Gang awa frae tha Glen
Tae a fearsome place;
Where tha darkened souls
Hae na gleemps o’grace.
Where tha work must fit
A new tongue and race.
Gang awa frae tha Glen for a wheel.
“Tis for certs He has ca’d
Ye, and ye must roon;
Tae a land o’ plagues
And o’ blastin’ sun,
Where tha rule o’ richt
Hae just sceerce begun.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, Robbie, chile.
There be muckle tae ken
O’ tha people’s need;
O’ tha crops that thrive,
O’ tha life they lead;
O’ tha daily thirst;
O’ their warfare, greed.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, and be wise.
Tho’ tha ship be worsted,
Tho’ tha trail be long,
Tho’ tha beasts be awful,
Ye’ll arrive anon;
And commence tae cant
Tha sweet Gospel song.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, in His love.
And ye’ll spot tha dee
When it starts tae click.
As they bring their young,
And they bring their sick;
For o’ Jesus’ kind
They ken nae sic lik..
Gang awa frae tha Glen, tae be used.
An’ it’s nae sa muckle
That their needs ye know,
Whuch’ll fan tha flame,
Cause your strenth tae grow;
But tha confeedence
“Tis your Laird says, “Go!”
Gang awa frae tha Glen, ‘til you’re gone.
(Robert Moffat, Pioneer Missionary to South-west Africa)
Note: The story is told of the early day in the mission of Moffat when his camp was confronted by a prominent chieftain. The man demanded to know the purpose of the missionary’s visit and the authority who sent him.
Through an interpreter, Moffat advised that he represented the greatest of all Chiefs and that he was bringing news and help for the best in life. The native said that he would kill Moffat and his chief. The territory was under his absolute control. He brandished a menacing spear. His retinue stood at the ready.
Calmly Moffat loosened the breast of his jacket. Striding to within inches of the man’s face, he pointed to his own heart and said, “My Chief lives here. If you intend murder, do it now, for I will not be held back from my purpose.”
The other’s jaw dropped. His spear hand faltered. His bluff had been called. The two would soon become fast friends.
Categories:
retinue, christian, endurance, inspirational, visionary,
Form:
Rhyme
The king was incandescent,
In the brocades and creped damasks,
His knights and his attendants
All surrounded his gilt throne.
A multitude was gathered,
For the seasonal oration,
Warming sons and fathers
By his sure and sovereign tone.
The king was still at speaking,
When the son entered the palace,
With his retinue and meaning,
So the people turned to see.
The son, he uttered nothing,
But stood waiting for his moment,
The king stuttering his telling,
Told the instability.
Studded gold and diamonds
Graced his chain of office,
He looked from the medallion
To the son who was the heir.
He’d tried to give his scion
The respect for the appointment,
Was everything a cipher,
But a thing to bring despair?
The son banged on a table,
In a growing faster rhythm,
So the king commanded able
Men to step and defend.
The son left in defiance,
Knights and others, too, departed,
And the stones echoed the silence
Of the beginning of the end.
Around a corner of the palace,
Beyond hearing, down a hallway,
The salvers and the chalices
Were clanging for the feast.
A servant and her daughter,
The girl was only seven,
Were among the cooks and slaughterers,
Of fish and fowl and beast.
Nearly overladen platters
Left the kitchen for the gentlemen
Who will argue burghal matters,
But will drink until it's moot.
The girl saw fascinated,
That a single seed bounced at her,
The cook said, "you can eat it",
As he knifed the bloody fruit.
Categories:
retinue, angst,
Form:
Rhyme