Best Usurped Poems
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
frosted retreats,
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
1/11/2015
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest
Categories:
usurped, flower, nature, seasons, spring,
Form:
Epic
When Martians landed from outer space
They requested to meet a world leader
So Donald arrived with a smirk on his face
But soon turned green with an alien fever
The Martians decided to probe his brain
to see if they could cure his malaise
Their readings showed that he was insane
so they zapped him with powerful rays
Donald started to twitter deliriously
but the Martians understood every word
They didn’t believe he’s taken seriously
as his tweeting was totally absurd
The Martians communicated with telepathy
Using thoughts no one could understand
An interpreter was called immediately
and declared that as leader he’s banned
A torrent of tears fell from poor Donald’s eyes
His orange skin turned an odd shade of grey
The Martians usurped Donald and to his surprise
Their first earth words were ‘have a nice day’
The Martians decreed immediate world peace
And that we must all live in perfect harmony
We must love one another, all wars have to cease
No current world leader even dared to disagree
Latest news on Donald is he’s now in a better place
He sits in his rocking chair with a grin on his face
Take me to your leader Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
8/6/18
Categories:
usurped, america, humorous, silly, space,
Form:
Rhyme
Why?
Love?
Friends leave!
Where is truth?
Where is love in life?
Truth is but an idle construct!
Friendship nothing but a barren fair weather desert!
The world manifests itself through hollow people, without truth,without love or passion!
Truth but leaves you naked and will expose your soul then to find it pierced by the hypocrisy and cynicism of those with empty hearts.
Truth is a masquerade dressed in fantastic costume by hollow men of no faith, manipulated and moulded to their own rhythmic dance.
The world turns on falsehood and deception,truth and trust sequestered,love forgotten!
Hollow words cascade from the mouths of fair weather friends!
Truth is usurped by hollow men!
Where is trusts sanction?
Where is truth?
Faith dies!
Trust?
Why?
Written by Shane Cooper
12/03/2015
Categories:
usurped, love, trust, truth,
Form:
Fibonacci
"Poetry is just the ash"
voices clearly purged though
boldness of inky ash laden passages,
echoing that which most
words cannot convey,
pen cleanses sins & fortifies the soul
speaks in volumes of verbose spirit
weeping in smudges of tearful metaphors'
bloodied and effervescent on the page,
outpouring pathways to sentiment's reward
& emotional translations' endeavor
amid transcribed tribulations,
piercing the eye for all to seek
reflections smattered upon poetry
within prerogative's freedom
& simply usurped realities
“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” ? Leonard Cohen
Categories:
usurped, allegory, passion, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I run uphill for some way,
mostly on an easy pavement,
and partially on a jarring dirt track,
I resentfully enjoy a route
against which I am free to struggle.
The path gradually starts to flatten out,
I breathe heavily with relief,
strain not regretted.
I think of the houses I run past,
or of the squatter camps
too painful to see.
I think of the towering slum,
once a magnificent tyrant,
now usurped and left for dead
by a tyrant of the restless new world
not twenty miles to the north.
I reach the halfway point and turn.
I run downhill, back the way I came,
my legs work with a lesser rebellion,
the morning becomes brighter
and the evening less spiteful.
I enter the last straight line,
more or less flat
for a couple of hundred yards,
I stretch my legs and open my stride,
my muscles burn, achingly free,
for a moment I cannot be caught.
Still, running into the morning
and away from the night,
my ankles remain idiotically shackled
and for some reason I cannot outrun
Johannesburg's hard earned pain.
13th November 2018
Categories:
usurped, urban,
Form:
Free verse
~ Silly Lines~
My main line muse ran away on this sunny this day –
My confuser got confused - rhythms upside down -
My pen went dry – rhymes on strike -
Thesaurus got away.
Searched for foot lines on the face of a blue lined moon
Then looked around for yards and yards of a water line;
Ran a tag line at the park breaking through the line
While my hash line ran away with a silver spoon.
Drank some tasty lime punch line – my giggles burped -
Found a copper penny lost, sitting on the red A-line -
Crossed a plot line - story screamed - angry zip line
Couldn’t find the frayed drag line – I got usurped!
Went to a bar almost bought all the current date lines
Hollow words of neck lines – what a bunch of air lines;
Took the bus – had to duck – bruising my head line
Tripped then fell - almost drown in the deep stream line.
Gained some weight – oh, oh, no – belt line now a little snug;
A little late –find myself running behind the time line;
Invitation RSVP - dancing in the party line;
Sporting polka-dots - a new inclined spot line - I shrug.
I see police come to arrest some crooked lines
Riding on the bee line with a honey of a ticket;
A standing line almost faints sweating in the sun
Doubts rise up - questions sneer - reservations of fine lines.
My muse returned from her day, fainted on the spot,
Had to duck while choruses of lines ran run-amuck;
Told me all of this was just plain asinine
Not too late to get it straight - back into line tatter tot.
Fragile words shattered when dropping a line!
1-6-23
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Categories:
usurped, fun, poetry, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
She'd had her round in Life's blighting furnace,
Where stealthy wear and age blurred her face.
Dents shot where dreamy dimples had grown,
Lightning smiles usurped by involuntary frown.
In her livelier turns by Midas' glowing shores,
She galloped and gleamed like grated brass.
Time’s grim cankers fell on the rarefied feast
Of the cutest eye ever cast on envious glass.
If as a reincarnated phoenix's her gone grin
Could twirl and morph into its erstwhile arc,
She’d anon repulse her timing nemesis’ sin,
And give her faded glories an eternal spark.
Bereft of that fairy fowl's sheen-saving magic,
She’d to inevitably brave decay's stoic scythe.
Merry rhyme sung her sweet charms to mimic
Faded to ethers wherein dead beauties writhe.
No looker who her earth-blemished visage espies,
Can know she was the fairest star in kindlier skies.
Categories:
usurped, age, allegory, beautiful,
Form:
Ballad
“Wandering through empty and crowded streets with no destination in sight and sleeping under the sky with the fire burning inside was my life, the life of a vagabond. Survival is a funny game and life is an endless odyssey for survival” ~ By Poet
Homeless, a wanderer all his life.
An orphan, he was raised in the streets.
Mongrel dogs and gypsies were his company.
He had wild days and dolorous times.
At nights, he curled up on street corners,
Had brawls with other street children.
But as he grew up, he began nursing a dream,
To own a home and no more be a vagabond.
He took up odd jobs and worked day in and out.
Over time, against heavy odds
A little hovel, he did build,
In a verdant stretch of fertile land
Off the noisy, frenzied crowd
With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof.
With reed and bamboo, its walls were made.
With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed.
With wooden planks, its entrance he laid.
At dusk, when birds to their nests depart,
And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens,
After the day’s toil, weary and weak,
He curls into the cozy comfort of his home.
Through months and years, it gave him succor.
Sheltered him from storm and rain.
Made him differ from the gypsy tribe.
Lent him a footing in this populous world.
He wove around it many a dream.
With frugal care, his needs he met.
Like a squirrel stocking nuts and grains,
In it's secret granary for the rainy days,
He saved all that he had earned,
For a life to be lived later in bliss.
But alas!
His haven lies so derelict!
Its very foundation raced to the ground.
The once beautiful stretch of land,
Robbed of its greenery and grace!
The eviction squad usurped his land,
Hurling him down to the streets!
Making him once again a vagabond…
Bewildered, failing to budge an inch,
Like a boat, midway stranded in sea, he stood.
But his resilient spirits, to him affirmed,
‘Never defeated, though destroyed'
Soon the mud hovel, to a palatial mansion turned.
Where he envisioned himself as king of the land.
His smiling progeny picking fruits from his orchard,
And his cattle chewing cud in the shade of trees.
Why scoff it as the fancy of a fevered mind?
Oh! But to dream is every man's right.
Categories:
usurped, betrayal, dream, home, moving
Form:
Free verse
Goblet of moonlight overflowed
Spilling glow, dusting ground
Spread over deep winter forest
Creating oasis fey folk found.
Moonbeams hang on denuded trees
Magical warmth spreads its glow
Forest creatures for one short hour
Join fairy folk in happy tableaux.
Enchantment fades it will not last
Winter will not be usurped this way
Silence so cold all creatures depart
Memory savored until spring day.
Pixabay image: BlueHeartGraphics
Categories:
usurped, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
I should embrace the thought of Karma,
that positive aspect that could change me,
instead I rely on my irresistible Charisma
which sparks the friendlessness in me.
I'm more than a kind-hearted man when it
it comes to helping others by lending a hand;
I am the universal believer of honor and respect,
of diversity and equality; I can be anyone's friend.
These traits were instilled in me by kind people,
who had endless faith in God and smiled at life
even when they faced the most challenging struggle;
in the land of brotherhood and continuous strife,
my people preserved their identity and great culture
that the invaders envied them for their ampleness of wisdom,
for the richness of their land, so they usurped their kingdom.
Never being ashamed of what I am and being that light,
I have found my self-worth in loving and compassionate eyes;
and they deserve the right to abundance, and when it's scarce,
they compromise by singing from windows and balconies...
believing that those doing harm are punishing themselves
for envying what they possess: the extraordinary strength to fight.
I lament the decay of institutions, I revel the concept of a rebirth
of the Mezzogiorno* that can put real gold in their empty hands,
but this image is a deterrent to go forward and be productive;
perhaps in my lifetime, I will not see these changes, it's so elusive
to look away and not consider that this society deserves self-worth
and embark on a journey as their forefathers did in these rich lands.
* The Mezzogiorno ( Southern Italy ) is still a colony
of Northern Italy since the Unification of Italy
in 1861. King Vittorio Emanuele II ordered a genocide of all the rebels
who opposed his government and that included their families. They were called Briganti ( lawless ). The Italian President Napolitano refused to honor them
with A Remembrance Day, and yet he honored a king who ordered the massacre of thousands of innocent people including Neapolitan and Bourbon soldiers.
Categories:
usurped, anger, character, courage, cry,
Form:
Rhyme
"A Mother's Crossroad"
staring at the tiny white casket
tears cascading as raindrops fell
sorrow surrounds my heart holding blue basket
with his favorite toys crying with toll of funeral bell.
though grief usurped my saddened soul
mourning a loss precious and dear
one memorable moment in time made whole
for a Mother's crossroad was drawin g near.
emotions swallowed my life that fateful day
no purpose seemed clear to live or exist
searching for answers; uttered words to pray
breathing had vanished inside Death's Mist.
should I fade into the Past?
should I retrieve from pain?
should I deny my family, at last,
to cease to be? what would I gain?
to bury a child hurts so very deep
yet change always makes Life turn
as the human heart avows to weep
for forging forward was my concern.
a Mother's crossroad healed within
while memories lingered of a sweet son
who gave me strength to seek to win
choosing a path toward a golden Sun.
*For Gail Angel Doyle's Standing At A Crossroads Contest.
*Written by: Linda-Marie The "Sweetheart" of P.S.
*Oct. 31, 2012.
Categories:
usurped, death, heart, heart, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Incertitude
Who am I...?
Am I the first born son, emanating from a fire of passion?
Am I the long lost hope, rekindled, ravenous in the eyes of my forebears?
Am I the caressed cocoon, spun out of love and compassion?
Whose silken threads, entice and embellish the vain vanity of its wanton wearers?
Am I a prodding prodigy,
Aimed at excelling in every sphere ?
Am I, a porous sponge, meant to absorb every single human emotion, a mortal can bear?
Am I a doted upon enduring exemplar or a doomed ephemeral effigy?
Am I the mellow and musky mist, exuding from a bare bosom?
Am I the naive, reticent lover, imperfect, yet dearest to my beloved?
Am I the longing in her eyes, a hypnotic hum?
Am I mere an object of desire- usurped, used, seduced, shoved?
Would I be another mere mortal among the countless thriving throng?
Lashed by grief, aged by time, thwarted by fear and smitten by love?
Would I be a forgotten fable or a perennial song?
Would I be remembered as -
A peacock- proud of its plumage,
An Owl- sombre yet subtle , of a lettered lineage,
A nightingale-serenading a song touching the core ,
A mystic bird from an ancient lore,
or , a dove – cygnet soft , gentle sitting on an alcove?
Oh Time! Tarry! A little,
Before I transcend from this world to the other,
Hark ! I plead, solve this riddle.
Oh Wind! Carry away my doubts to the omniscient;
Rush against all odds, be it a mighty mountain or a rampant ridge.
Time is running, I dread to lose myself in this mystic maze,
Oh Almighty! Accept my venerations to you my liege,
Enlighten me , before my mortal remains is set ablaze.
-Saptarshi Mukherjee
Categories:
usurped, introspection, prayer,
Form:
Rhyme
Regrets
True love usurped
Snuffed out like a candle
Deathbed meeting, rekindled flame
Unrested spirits’ midnight rendezvous
Searching for love once thrown away
Foolish mistakes and pride
Lives spent apart
Regrets
Jack Horne, 6th September for Nette’s Just Nine Lines contest (picture 1)
Categories:
usurped, relationship,
Form:
Rictameter
" Long be his journey to death! ", someone hollered
as he dragged his feet into the rising dust hotter than sand;
only a defeated and tormented soul would have admitted
looking ahead," Much innocent blood I have shed! "
Gazing sterner than a warrior or merciless king,
he was fearless of what was prophesied by twilight
to him in a temple veiled in crimson and white...
although he claimed his usurped power with a ring.
His palace adorned with ionic, glittering columns
of pure gold stripped off Troy's temples...they were carved by the hands
of slaves, but their phantoms pitifully stared at him begging for their return
to the sun-gilded murals so that they would breath once again.
" Alexander the Great is coming from the North
with a mighty army, even the stones make away
for his conquest as he holds up up his victorious sword...
let him in your city, open the gate and obey! "
A few days passed, then the young conqueror appeared
wearing a shining, silver armor as he gloriously towered
over fortified Athens, the city that later will be conquered by mighty Rome,
and resuming his gallop, he hailed," Long be his journey to death, let him roam! "
Categories:
usurped, death, journey, war,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Sun, relentless
Son, I can see the glossy haze
radiating from your fingertips.
A warmth unimaginable.
Delicate.
Childlike.
Pure.
I watched you count the number of
time(s) the waves
thundered against the rocks.
Usurped by the number One, you cried
“Ouch!”
On the second you begged me,
Stop their pain,
stop my pain.
What could I do
but turn you away.
“Do you want ( a distraction)
to try rollerblading? “
He fain did accept,
…with feigned interest.
Trust’s Last.
S.M. Alexis
Categories:
usurped,
Form:
Alliteration