Best Serfs Poems
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
At The Footbridge
Two Armies
One shoots off another salvo
The other fires back with gusto
Each offended
At the aggression of the other
At the footbridge
Foot soldiers die
In agony you hear them all bloodied, cry
War is a must and you wonder why?
Kings collect gold
Queens their ladies in waiting
Castles must be filled
With linens and fine silver laden
All with justifications
For the death of serfs and those of the invasion
Woman of rationality
not known to all men.
Countess of Mercia,
scent of a woman.
Lover of masses,
dream of sashes.
In anticipation
no other man tried,
Wooing the coveted one
fear of life taunts
nobody ever haunts.
A modest woman she was,
a clean woman that was.
Up in the hills
travels without fear,
down the hills she fills
with her voice people hear.
In many trails
she hops and drills.
In open seas
she crave for krills.
Strong woman thinks all,
grown woman walks tall.
In each flight she makes
no man's plight is at stake.
Never wondered how hard life is
In an instant, life heals.
For the strong woman without fierce
no hurting arrows can pierce.
Savagery is not bravery
for any lass of Coventry.
Thinking of good deeds that last
no heroism will rust.
Aigrettes pose as nobility,
not for lass of simplicity.
Half of Leofric,
Piece of heroic.
Levy for serfs,
burden of turfs.
Then one day casted
a lean woman's body...
body of beauty,
honor of beauty.
How the heroine perished
nobody cherished.
A living legend she was,
a myth that never was!
Slowly and silently she moves
Waiting for the right moment before she swoops
Her fangs built to shorten the lives of fools
Who in a moment their lives they lose
The glance from her will make you go pale
For few are alive to tell the tale
Just a swipe and to eternity will your soul sail
Her strikes has never and will never fail
The naive prey unsuspecting is feasting
Unaware that not far from him death lurks...nesting
The prey breathes its last never suspecting
Its carcass in a barren land...forever resting
Who are these helpless preys?...
Who suffering fill all their days
Who are those who lose their lives in these God forsaken place?
Who are those who find themselves caught up in life's maze?
They are the poverty stricken serfs!
Who die daily in mass
While the rich populate like stubborn grass
For them...Hope is far away as the stars!
But we must breathe in the air of freedom even if it's our last
We must build a utopia for our generation very fast
We must raise the flag of freedom on the ship's mast
And build a future that would forever last!!!
King 'Enry of The 'Ouse of Tudor ruled merrie olde England, the mighty and the meek.
'E was quite obese in 'is elder years and threw 'is weight around - so to speak!
'E governed from 1509 'til 1549 when 'e expired and began 'is eternal bourne.
Though 'e slept around a lot, nary a male heir for 'is regal throne was born!
With virgin maidens and other guy's wives, 'twas a promiscuous life 'e led,
Though 'e eventually wooed a strange assortment of royal wives to 'is bed!
'E 'ad six of 'em, which would've left even the most virile of men in a daze!
'E soon tired of each and 'e dispensed with them in various and sundry ways!
Both Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were destined to lose their 'eads!
Catherine of Aragon and Catherine Parr died of mysterious causes in their beds.
Jane Seymour and Anne of Cleves died from natural causes it is said as well.
'Twas rumored that 'Enry played golf as bells tolled each of their deathly knell!
'Enry got in a spat with the Pope of Rome which resulted in 'is excommunication.
This involved among other things 'is cavalier attitude in matters of domestication!
'E got in a towering snit and formed the Church of England as it is known today.
This 'ad all of not so merrie olde England in an uproar but 'Enry 'ad 'is way!
'Enry ruled with a fist of iron - serfs and gentry as well learned to toe the line!
'E died due to an old jousting wound and 'is fondness for food and wine!
'E was only fifty-five when in Windsor Castle 'e was laid out in repose.
'E was sent on 'is way with great pomp and ceremony as the olde saying goes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 15 in Deborah Guzzi's "Sista's Bloody Sista's" Contest - October 2010
Sleepeth thou darkling,
fade....
How privy thy existence made,
to shade the feathered extremity
thy plumage gave;
a kiss unto pools sleeping
white at noon....
neath bowers in waking rain,
through arbors, dripping and brawn
The black swan returns again,
('tis no shame to love him so)
Seeker of the serfs;
with slow power he fends her,
such flight to beating wing,
to dawn never ending
(seizing watery throne)
Thou art royal among the waters
and scarlet skies make pink
thy billowed white hues;
Little boats of lovers sigh
your white-spirit near
How good omen fosters good cheer ----
How blessed they feel your presence
here,
grace upon the gentle waves
There is black among the pond,
sable Lord from Melbourne;
his speech unruly and red,
Likened his beak with surly scarlet
throngs,
how honest his nature bequeathed
(how darkling his arbors met)
floating in the nestles, watching
with spring-fed breeze
And she to him, a Queen of fair hope:
" Shall I call thee white love? "
said he
Keith O.J. Hunt (C) 2014
In this weird game of Kings and Pawns,
Battles are won, battles are lost.
It’s the rich and wealthy who ultimately rule;
While the rest are mere serfs and thralls.
It does not really matter who you are –
Whether lofty or lowly, mighty or czar
Black or white, pauper or star,
Or which side you are on; in this game of life.
You have to leave the stage, you have to die.
And while you rest in the wooden box, you see
the same kings and pawns, now in par
Feeling the same bruises, having the same scars.
Sea Czar Caesar sees her seated on a cedar two-seater beside the East Sea Seder. He grieves since he sees his sister, Esther Dexter, with her red festered blister, next her.
Guinevere is pleased her eager leader, Caesar’s seen her. In degrees, she breezes, “Sir, see our sea surf? These sea treasures are pleasures to sea czars and we serfs.”
Caesar desires, if it please her, to seize her and squeeze her.
But Esther Dexter who’s next her interjects the elder perspective protector with an inflective reflector.
“Easy, wheezy geezer Caesar. It may please her if you squeeze her at your leisure, but if you seize her in a fever, she’s sure to seizure; so leave her at ease, sir!”
Peeved Caesar, seethes, sneezes, wheezes, breathes and proceeds. He’s pissed his less best pest of a sister, Esther Dexter, with her red festered blister, persists amidst this tryst.
He flees to cleave Guinevere’s knees. “See here, dear Guinevere. I’m neither teaser nor misfeasor geezer and will not proceed to cede to my tongue twisted sister, Esther Dexter. Please heed to receive my believable plead so I may leave relieved.”
Guinevere is pleased with her Caesar and suggests to Esther Dexter to leave her and Caesar forever.
This is a verse, not a song,
Let's gaze on the face of Agamemnon,
For ten years, he had stayed away,
Finally, he arrived home one day,
Yes, away to Troy he'd roamed,
The warrior king made it home,
But, he had been playing away,
His Queenie had a bad hair day,
Her axe did have a double blade,
As in her spa, she made him lay,
She drugged his wine, a loving cup,
Then proceeded to chop him up!
Off with his feet, for roaming so far,
Queenie really messed up her spa,
Off with his cheating hands,
He brought home his ho's from foreign lands,
Off with his attachments, you can guess what that meant,
Shoved them in his mouth,
as his head went south,
"Feed him to the swine!
It's pig feeding time!"
She yelled at the serfs,
"That cheating dud got his desserts!"
Queenie was having a bad hair day,
Warrior king had been playing away,
But, Queenie had a toyboy anyway,
She always kept smiling,
Looked for the silver lining,
Queenie's wealth was a'piling,
She was a keeper,
Old king now a sleeper,
Queen kept the kids, gold and slaves,
She did get hers one day,
Yes, Queenie kept the lot,
Or was it all a plot?
Queenie's bad hair day,
Warrior king had been playing away,
This is verse, not a song,
Let's gaze at the face of Agamemnon!
Alexander a Tsar of ideals
A man of heart and noble thought
His mentor, Swiss, Monsieur La Harpe
From childhood, molded to play histories part
He built his armies, to defend his land
His imperial crown and noble lands
Serfs and soldiers, all as one
Napoleons fodder, yet they won
A kind soul, with Christian heart
Ideals inspired by youthful dreams
La Harpes moral guidance did play
Mystical as a musical harp
Onwards in life did this Tsar March
Napoleon was exiled, to an island of defeat
As Cossacks marched along Paris streets
They danced both sides, in freedoms hard won
Josephine and Alex, in the night, dined alone…
The Tsar became Frances golden light
Bringing reforms and Senate into the light
Who would have thought, so long ago
The Tsar of Russia, in Paris did go?
He defended the lands, borders and rights
Giving the Nobility and England a terrible fright
What he feared at home, he endeavored abroad
He was the beginning of visions to be…
Vive la France
La liberté
Peace and Fraternity
Our Holy Alliance
Notes:
The Tsar who defeated Napoleon, written by Marie-Pierre Rey
Where to begin? She did a wonderful job on his biography as well as uncovering original documents in archives, shedding new light on his life.
Yes he marched to Paris
Yes he befriended Josephine the wife of Napoleon, much to the dismay of all.
Yes he endeavored to create a constitutional monarchy
Yes he fought to protect much of Frances borders, feeling that France was a counter weight to the other European powers at the time.
Frédéric-César de La Harpe (born April 6, 1754, Rolle, Vaud, Switzerland — died March 30, 1838, Lausanne, Switzerland) was a Swiss political leader and Vaudois patriot, who played a leading role in the creation of the Helvetic Republic. Was the tutor of Alexander the 1st, and played many would say a key role on the future Tsars actions during his lifetime
Why why why revile ya,
why why why revile ya,
the stinking rich want you for their *****,
at $4 dollars an hour,
and no more!
Aussie ships on the ocean are clueless,
the Aussies crew is gone, nothing new huh?
Replaced by twerps $4 an hour serfs,
the sour smell of the scab, is so screw loose,
Government cleaners got a pay cut,
$200 a week less in their kick,
Liberal bludgers persecuting but,
the greed could make you quite sick? Huh,
Police shootings now are so common,
with one million scabs on our shores,
one million now out of work,
desperation does kick down these doors,
cheap labour fifo scabs,
@ $4 an hour an no more,
McDonald kids soon to be out of work,
Child labour $8 the score?
Third world Australia is coming,
the poor exploited for sure,
the happy rich are a humming,
and the poor are the bloody paw paw.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKzt4PPT5LQ&feature=youtu.be
Villanelle: French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Dedicated to the great French actor, Off Course!
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Must you invite high breeds to the Hebrides
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
Starved Loch Ness Monster kept well out of view
For this Gourmet eats even monster breeds
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Medieval monarchs gulped innerns – rest threw
To the serfs lords ladies dogs and hybrids
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
French Gourmand let Scots talk their tartans through
Venison loins he carved out for his needs
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Goths Visigoths Vikings Normans or Dieu*
Falstaff nose and paunch hide much actor’s deeds
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
Eiffel Tower Louvre Versailles nothing new
Mountain Man kept apart Scylla Charibdis
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
• Dieu: God, but French pronunciation, please!
He might take exception.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent – 2
Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent – 2
The formal war according to ancient rules
The pitted hosts convened on common ground
Till the last man drops or takes to his heels
Pandavas* Kauravas* on Kurukshetra fields
Victim serfs spiral eddy underground
The formal war according to ancient rules
Ceasar’s murder avenged on Philippi hills
Who but Anthony would wear Brutus’ crown
Till the last man drops or takes to his heels
Would Krishna’s advice suit glorious fools
Where would todays’s Police victims lone stand
The formal war according to ancient rules
Raison d’Etat sprouts spikes on Police bulls
Would Matador face dead toro rule-bound
Till the last man drops or takes to his heels
When cowards anonymous cloak their jowls
Under Ku Klux Klan racist Police command
The formal war according to ancient rules
Till the last man drops or takes to his heels
°Pandavas and Kauravas: opposing forces in the Hindu epic Mahabharatha (Great War), related by blood
and fighting for the anomaly of succession to the same throne. The Bhagavad Gita (Song of God) is part of this epic poem, the longest to date.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Surfing on West Coast Is Best
He was such a shrimp
Known by others as a wimp
On things liked to skimp.
He had saved so much
With reality lost touch
Started dating Dutch.
Nothing was his treat
Money never did deplete
Saving seemed so sweet.
This want to suggest
West is where surfing's the best
First with toe should test.
It probably will be colder than
hell which really should be hot
So go ahead and give it a shot
Before in bed you just may rot.
Jim Horn
Dad of a West Coast Surfer.
PS. Need a subject for surfing
and even about serfs if they
want to. There once were serfs
serving time for surfing in the
wrong place. Wow. Wrote a poem
about that.