Best Victoria Poems
When it is the long weekend for the fireworks
The fireworks begins when the sky is darken
Some people gather in parks to watch fireworks
Others just watch fireworks from their homes
It last till the early morn
When people try to sleep
Noise on pets
They are scared
Whining
Scared
“A Diary of Occupation”
Vakulenko Volodymyr’s last work
(Banned in Ukraine) eastern part 20%
Diary of Volodymyr Vakulenko — painful and true records that the writer kept from the beginning of the full-scale invasion and during the occupation of Izyum and his native village of Kapitolivka in Kharkiv Oblast.
Dangerous to the Russian occupation force
A bright and cheery children’s book writer’s remorse
He said on the tenth day of occupation FSB
“It’s who you remain during all of this”
Then, buried his manuscript underneath a cherry tree
My heart sinks when I think of Vakulenko and Victoria
A Poet, a journalist in this bloody war
This is about a writer who’d know what was in store
His hand-written manuscript's underground in his backyard
Russian troops surround his village put him on guard
His life stolen they would pillage, his books
found and burned and captured him
O Vakulenko, we’ll carry your script in our bosom
Following his death and the liberation of Kharkiv
Victoria the one his journal of the war would retrieve
Her book of Ukrainians who wrote on the war, her mission
Was killed in an air strike
Her books by Russia deemed sedition
Worried he would be tortured or killed,
in the black Ukrainian soil
Her life was also taken in turmoil
Ukrainian man in a war-torn country
Today I honor thee
Your words shall be read
Around the world spread
America like Russia may do the same
Banning such books unconscionable shame
Limerick: Once the Great Grandson of Queen Victoria
Once the great grandson* of Victoria
Heir to the throne of tsarist Russia
Saved by “Doc” Rasputin
Killed by Lenin-Stalin
Lo! Heir to Queen Vic’s haemophilia!
*Tsarevich Alexei of the Romanov royal house.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
I am the queen of geography
I deserve a trophy
I am the best
better than the rest
this is why I am the queen
In Turkey I swim I skinny dip in the lake
eating some cake
because I am the queen
during my rule ,
I want to grow a forest of baobabs
for Leanne's dads
they call me vanesso
cause I am the besto
and I like pesto
sound
later peace out xoxoxoxoxox
*******Dedicated to JB and Lindaaaaa******
Once there was a beauty by name Victoria alias Vitty
my wife,my Cinderella, my love, my good mate Vitty
"love till we wear"
"All for you dear"
bloody this Cinderella is no Loyola shop to pity!
hanging straps and travel apps.
beeping doors and littered floors.
rocking cars and metal bars.
rattling track and aching back.
ticket fare and lack of air.
bags on lap and 'mind the gap'.
heavy heat now WARREN STREET:
Way Out.
Places.
Platform spaces.
Cell Phones. Faces.
Adverts every too few paces.
Noone cares.
Moving stairs.
Subway guards.
Oyster cards.
Helping hands.
Busking bands.
'mind the gap' and spirit sap.
crowded floors and beeping doors.
metal bars and jolt of cars.
blank outside and rush hour ride.
there and back and rattling track.
subway maps and hanging straps.
lights and dark and now GREEN PARK:
Way Out.
Places.
Platform spaces.
Cell Phones. Faces.
Adverts every too few paces.
Noone cares.
Moving stairs.
Subway guards.
Oyster cards.
Helping hands.
Busking bands.
Concrete steps to other lands.
The sea's mist
spray my face.
The feeling of joy...
never cease to amaze me.
So let's go out
to see the world.
I wanna see you smile...
a sight I haven't seen in a while.
So come on and let's go,
the ocean awaits.
And so does our sweet chariot,
Queen Victoria
Dame Judy Dench
Loves to fish for Tench
When she fixes her motor
She uses a wrench
If she’s feeling tired she sits down on a bench,
DJD is polylingual;
Her favourite language is French,
When she has a pooh in the morning
It causes a stench
DJD is a strong woman,
When Germans talk about her they call her ‘mensch’,
If she gets excited
Her buttocks they clench
When DJD gets dehydrated
Her thirst she will quench,
She is a fine looking woman,
But never call her a wench,
DJD did military service
She learnt to dig a slit trench,
She's into prehistory
And loves to visit Stonehenge,
DJD don't take no -
If she is dissed she'll get her revenge
She is super organised
When she does her filing she uses a big hole punch
If she gets hungry mid morning
She pauses for brunch,
If Helen Mirren calls round they go out for lunch,
DJD is very intuitive
and likes to follow a hunch,
Her off shore investments
Protected her from the credit crunch,
She's a feisty lady -
A reporter asked if 'she had a carer'
Well he got a bunch
Of fives from this diva
But to her friends she is staunch,
Even Harvey Weinstein - DJD protected his paunch,
Said she had a tat of his name on her bum
Cos her career he relaunched
With Victoria and Albert -
She never gives an inch
If Bond is stuck in a ditch
She pulls him out with a winch,
She takes on all the bad guys,
You never see her flinch,
When delivering a soliloquy
She makes it look like a cinch
She should be world president,
Donald J Trump would be the first one she would lynch!
Victorian art is quite clean
Though Roman and Greek are obscene
The Queen did not care
That David was bare
But he was quite shy of the mean!
(An Addingham Poem)
With the strength of
gentleness, sparrows make love
upon the windowsill,
frigid glass pane pulsates
within the pageant of nature,
numerous battle scared plumage
float wanting, towards earthly cracks
that conceals another world, where
rain and sleet beat down a
forest of subversive weeds,
if only to perjure
hope and fortitude.
The wind! Screams imperfections,
orchestrates the misery of the
telegraph wire, summons
the hardy, those across the
sawmill dam, there where the
village sons live on, as faceless
images upon the park epitaph.
The moon abandons the paperboy
hides behind a turbulent haze,
the greyness segregating
the dawn from the night,
as a hundred kettles sing
behind dimly lit backyard windows,
and a hundred harmonies
perfume, the bowel of the tippler.
Row upon row of decrepit
doorsteps host resident jugs, those
that waits in anticipation of the ladle,
whose wholesome contents still
encompass the warmth of the beast.
Through the mist, a stony siren
executes the industrial anthem,
a musical excursion into pain
and manipulation, a weaving shed
that creates a spinneret
of dreams, a threshold to one’s hopes.
“Yet! Given nothing more, than a
wry sense of insecurity.”
© Harry J Horsman 1999
When I was a boy
I didn't do much just played with toys
and when I got older
I started to grow a little bolder
but now that I'm here
sitting' on top without those fears
I have what I have got
something I wouldn't think I'd a get a shot at
My victoria
the only one for me
My victoria
it's way to plan to see
and when I dream of seeing it
I just still can't believe
My victoria
my victoria
In my chair I can be
have my servants comfort me
yet I m still to wonder
what i'd be like living under
a way of life without
my victoria and doubt
that anytime soon
i'd get the chance to tune
my victoria
the only one for me
my victoria
it's way to plain to see
and when I dream of seeing it
I just still can't believe
my victoria
my victoria
(Victory is mine to hold)
(Everything is mine- behold!)
My victory
The only one for me
My victory
it's way to plain to see
and when I dream of being it
I just still can't believe
My victory
My victoria
of the Amazon no fairy prince caught that fly frail white pond castle
Parody of Joyce Kilmers ‘Trees’
for Victoria Beckham
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovelier than me
A muse whose hungry mouth is best
Pouting pretty as my breasts
A verse that looks so good all day
And lifts my hands that all might pray
A model that may in summer wear
Parts of animals on my hair
Upon my bosom a sportsman lies
intimate not very wise
poems are made for fools you see
but only God could have made me
~The beauty of the flesh, the exotic Moluccas dream
the source of excellence, in the clash
the lust of the eyes, the flesh, and pride of life
peace of angel wings be in love’s reflection
the glory of vanity in strands of auburn hair.
~Grace of femininity in Victoria’s form
light rays reveal, her mind gazes with pulsating intent
as waters of life’s reflections teem vibrant
the silence of eloquence stored in the center of stillness.
~Multi colors pulsating with energetic heavenly bliss
as time immemorial immersed as liquid form instills
sweet smells of fragrant blooms mix with soft white light
births nature’s finest reflection, it's illusions in water
of the reality of the forms of love dimensions above.
~For what of the beauty of this female’s dream
but powered directions of godly cosmic thought
thus channeled potential into forms of beauty
as dimensions appeared for young maiden’s inspection.
~Intelligent life inspects and enjoys the beauty fashioned
for beauty’s enjoyment in Victoria’s dream contemplate
the graceful beauty of feminine flesh blends into nature of love’s kiss.
By john Moses Freeman
For and in honor of Constance La France ~ Ramblin Poet~
And contest: Reflections
Victoria is my muse, I can't get her off of my mind
Refreshed by a vivid elegance with sun glowing golden hair
She is like no other, enchanting my mortal mind
A wonder if she is softer than the finest veil
Love and lust winging in my heart
Purloining the sweetest breath within me
She has the aptitude to be one's manna and leaven
Unknowingly having a desirous presence
As I become the passionate one
Formulating a scripture of my romantic heart
She can be the luminescence of a drab morning
Refining a brighter dawning
She is like a aubade
Victoria is my muse
Like an astronomer gazing upon astral stardust and divine dark matter
Like a portraitist illustrating a blissful scenery
Constantly dreaming of a mere taste of her kiss
To be in a state where I can immerse in her light
Feeling her compassion flowing through me
Embracing the heavenly anatomy that I fantasize
To be in harmony with the gift of a precious love
Dreams like these cradle me in my sleep
But once awake a feeling of dissatisfaction unravels
Desires of burning can not deliver me from yearning
Whilst time can't stop the curiosity that has been built inside
Wanting her love, compassion, devotion, time, and ardor
Victoria is my muse