Best Yeoman Poems
I'm just writing my story
Leaving out all the glory
I never tore them; yet the pages and spine are all but broken
Its letters are scattered, yet still the words form a concise omen
Would you read it back to me slowly, please, as you reach the bitter ending?
It hurts my eyes, you see; this heart could use a break from all this bending.....
Being devoured alive inside is such a epic novel unsavory
Moments, however, are kept in order by thoughts of your light upon my gnomon
They just keep coming, though without a care as to whether or not they are heartrending
It's so sour to own a form of pain that is this condescending
A barren land uncultivated and so divided from this yeoman
Painless by comparison to a nose job given by the grindstone of life's knavery
Just as I finished; then, the ink ran dry right before me.....
It's in this here and now that I've broken out
I wanna scream, but they drown out every shout
Then I think of all the things I ought not talk about:
Have they ever not been a couple minutes too late?
Do they ever have their story straight?
Inside me, hope has made its case to abate....
Hung from ropes unknown, can you relate?
Am I the world's least astute gadabout?
What I feel is that my intentions are drawn and quartered; based fully on others' self-doubt
But there is no way I will let this point of pitiful; be an excuse to live life by copping out
Categories:
yeoman, angst, deep, introspection, pain,
Form:
Free verse
...for my yeoman brothers and sisters
Beneath the ancient ewe, my limbs grow
strong. Ever watchful of the bayn-scurry
crow.These fields I wander know my
footfall well, for thee- I sharpen arrow and
wax my bow. With gifts of chert, and
streams to quench, this land I must
protect.
His Will be mine, my only prayer; swoop
like the hawk when set upon, and tangle
wings in fearsome clench. My lads and I
with feathered hearts, brave winds that
blow; but tumble not.
Darkened skies and chains that rattle;
forge iron limbs like ghosts we battle.
When you pass us on the street, a steady
gait and calm pervades. Calamity our lords
invent, may bend our will, but never
break.
Just as the tide implores the moon; stay
the course! God's Will be true.
03/09/14
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
yeoman, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
Footprints on a sandy beach,
will be washed away by morning.
There's a storm out on the open sea,
A thunderclap - a warning!
A lonely ship is tossed about,
and struggles in the hue,
its motley crew begins to shout
at the wicked card they drew...
The ship takes on a starboard list,
the crew jumps in the drink.
Lightning strikes the wooden mast,
the ship is doomed to sink.
Fear fills the hearts of those
from captain down to yeoman,
but yo this rugged life they chose
not heeding sign nor omen.
Are you really safe from shark attack,
while standing on the shore?
A mighty ship in port is safe,
but that's not what ships are for...
Copyright © 2007
Categories:
yeoman, adventure, beach, boat, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
On the deaths of Major John Cairns Bartholomew, of Wadworthshire, and a much loved Devizes tree...
Beneath a grey and monumental sky
In wild confetti clouds that dance in air
The blossom falls; all trees and men will die
However good, or beautiful, or rare
For years, beneath the branches of that tree
Have lovers kissed, have lonely mourners waited
All men and trees shall die; he, thee, and me
By that same force destroyed and yet created
The clattering of horses’ hooves, the sound
Of yeoman passing, ghosts that haunt the ears
All trees and men returneth to the ground
‘Till from the light new word of life appears
In red Victorian brick and petal glow
Are strength and beauty blended ‘fore our eyes
Good men and trees in season come and go
Such knowledge is the glory of the wise
Drink with your eyes each bright delight you see
And savour every moment of creation
For man will pass and wind will fell the tree
And wine will drop on coffins in libation
While blood still flows like sap, best drain your glass
Enjoy the fleeting sunbeam in your ale
For trees and men shall die; for all things pass
All moonlight fade and colours turn to pale
Let hops be gathered; make of sunshine, hay
Add rosebuds and ferment a heady brew
For trees and men shall certain pass away
As dark of midnight shadows summer’s blue
For soon enough last orders will be rung
Sad flags will flutter half way up the mast
Dark laments for men and trees be sung
And rest be found for dear old souls at last
Learn wisdom, child, from ale and wood and bone
Brew love in barrels down in cellars deep
And find it there when you return, alone
To watch the man in blossom rise from sleep
by Gail
Categories:
yeoman, death, farewell, mystery, nature,
Form:
Epitaph
Jesus came as a beloved Son,
Walked on earth as a mortal man,
Just like me, a yeoman.
Jesus lived as the Father said.
Father! Son! Working as one!
Where love alone's won.
Jesus died as a beloved Son,
Though odious to the world,
Whose fate Sin has furled.
One with the Father, Jesus won,
And now reigns from above,
Leaving us safe with th' Dove.
Grace abounds in Jesus' bosom,
Keeps us from many harms,
While we nestle in His arms.
I and the Father are one,
Our heart should thus brim—
The secret of life in Him.
(John 10:29)
Categories:
yeoman, spiritual
Form:
Pastoral
Little I ask, my wants are few,
I only wish a roof and home -
a simple one this man will do
that I may call my own.
To within its walls live and age
with a memoir to fill my page.
Plain fare is all I need for me,
a ration a day to hearty fill,
and oft to satisfy a thirsty plea
water my dry lips to spill.
And so granted if I should ask
a cold stubbie or whisky flask.
I care not for gold and land,
nor chattel or title to obey -
just a mortgage and at hand
money enough to pay.
I only this need ask and pose
lest the bank on me foreclose.
My clothes I do proudly wear,
no robes of bejewelled ties,
for king ‘n yeoman are I swear
equal all in God’s eyes!
Nay, I am not of that noble ilk
and need no garments of silk.
I do not seek what I need not
like a rich man’s cars or toys -
my contentment is with my lot
and in life’s simple joys.
A humble man beholden for
if this world favour me more.
Truly not I begrudge no man
his Hope, his Fate, his Love -
I seek truths none more than
the word of God above!
And to behold if it is His will
His grace in life to death until.
Written: May 2018
With special thanks to
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Categories:
yeoman, life, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Down on the pier, the midmorning bright,
Thronged wives, husbands, lovers,
And sons, friends, young daughters,
All eyes perusing the grand and gray ship
In long-simmered hope of glimpsing one face,
One much-beloved grin, among antsy sailors
Arrayed in white jumpers along the tall deck,
‘Til, filing like ants, crew at last disembarked:
A long, gangling line descended the gangway,
Dispersed and filtered, absorbed by the crowd,
One young and trim yeoman elbowing through,
Enfolding his wife—petite, trembling gal—
Into long, lanky arms, her buxom breast pressing,
Squeezing tight to his chest
And stoking, thereby, his half-a-year’s yearning
To hold and be kissed,
To kiss once again this doll from high school—
And the assemblage transformed
By thinning and ebbing away from the pier,
While that sailor still kissed, hugged his wife tight,
Past months dissolving, by love overwhelmed,
‘Til, still holding close, they silently strolled
Relieved he’d returned—
He’d come home to his wife.
Categories:
yeoman, home, marriage, military,
Form:
Free verse
Yeoman throw
On another
******
Fuel the
Fire
Yeoman
Throw on
Another
******
To fuel
The fire
Yoe
Man E
Throw R
On an i
Other F
*** e
Got h
to t
F U E L
Categories:
yeoman, firework,
Form:
Metrical Tale
Curse of the twenty two
Ole Con he was a Yeoman at bloody El Alamein,
And he lifted out the mines where lead fell like bloody rain,
Driven sort of crazy, with death buzzing all around,
And the butcher shop of blood an guts, sort-of made him friggin frown,
Bronco Don had earmarked Bally Watson,
after a fight at the bar,
Put a bullet through his earhole ,
So he left the town hurrah,
And the coppers couldn’t find,
A witless witness, bloody now,
cOs they thought ole Johnson,
might get the word of “top-off” any how?
{Aussie, Police spy or dobber}
Con he did borrow the same rifle,
That earmarked Bally’s ear,
And his son was using it the rifle,
To shoot Rabbit, eat him here,
Rolled up in his swag ole twenty two went off,
As the swag it hit the ground,
Shot the boy dead .22 lead,
Bloody sadness all around,
Ole Con came racing up the stairs,
Plane crash very near,
Four Dirran. Men, were burning when,
The word old Don did hear,
At a hundred miles an hour he drove,
to save the lives of none,
The police said they are bloody dead,
Though he battled the flames yes some,
Four funerals we all went ,
Our friends were surely dead
Four young men to heaven sent,
Our hearts had the weight of lead,
So I swapped it away, the bad luck gun,
Ole Nodder Smith he got it,
He built a special case for that one,
The curse of the twenty two, on-nit…
Don Johnson
Categories:
yeoman, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
SUNLESS IN NORTH SHIELDS
It’s painful when the sea wind
Drives rain into the eyes
At the end of Yeoman Street,
Where I waited so long for that girl in the yellow raincoat,
Who never came.
Seagulls mocking down distant streets
Of Utrillo roofs and closed doors.
At her absence I became an empty sack of strength.
Instead of a warmth of yellow and an inspiration of kisses,
There was only a solitude of tears.
I squinted against the rain, and the whiff of fish,
And the sunless world -
Rough tussocks sloping down to the murky Tyne,
Row of houses huddled against wind and spray,
Sprouting mushroom chimney pots
With jagged edges like jester’s hats.
...............................................................
Note...North Shields is a small coastal port in North East England, always cold even in summer.
Other poems of mine, similar to this, are available at
https://www.fictionmagazines.com/magazines/five/
Categories:
yeoman, rain, teenage, wind,
Form:
Imagism
Science fiction writers formulate countless stories of trips to the stars.
Telling us about adventures to planets like Venus and Mars.
All their tales take us into a future time and place.
In each of them, courageous pioneers venture into space.
Riding inside their contraptions, they send us to places that are new.
Wandering into the far reaches beyond our sky of blue.
Advancing into worlds very much different from our own.
Yeoman tasks from raw unmitigated courage are grown.
Tomorrow’s space travel is quite enlightening.
Often at times, it can also be frightening.
They may encounter alien beings with greater intelligence.
However, our pioneers may meet those with hideous appearance.
Either way, we advance our knowledge of the universe with experience.
Striving constantly to push the knowledge of our universe.
Taking on challenges of great proportions for better or worse.
All rise to deal with the hardships that may arise.
Roving into strange territories of infinite size.
Seeing for the first time with their very own eyes.
Robert Pettit for Linda-Marie’s “Stairway to the Stars” acrostic challenge
Categories:
yeoman, science fiction, may, time,
Form:
Acrostic
Yeoman throw
On another
Cigarette to
Fuel the
Fire
Yeoman
Throw on
Another
Cigarette
To fuel
The fire
Yoe
Man E
Throw R
On an i
Other F
Cig e
Arette h
to t
F U E L
Categories:
yeoman, literature,
Form:
Elegy
They
cut up
the common,
enclosed the heath
and
made
the land
all their own-
putting to the
plough-
once
freemen,
then wage slaves-
as a pauper
lie.
For more on the English enclosure please read
Oliver Golssmith's 'The Deserted Village' or John Clare/William Barnes poetry
Categories:
yeoman, business, history, people, places,
Form:
Lanterne
I only tell of sunny hours...
I,Gnomon,
Sundial yeoman;
Suntanned sentinel
Stand watch,
Shedding tears for unrequited love.
My cooling shadow stalks sun;
Caresses with timely sunscreen
Sweet sundial’s gilt Egyptian face.
Ask me time of day;
“Shadow knows,” I’ll say.
Shadow will not rest
‘Til sun does nest.
Categories:
yeoman, love, sun, time,
Form:
Personification
Faces seen
Sometimes in a different light,
I see another face not very nice,
Who really isn’t really surely me,
A nasty Irishman, hate filled I see,
Who would free our Northern Ireland,
Other remembered face does dwell,
The face so different, Scotch as well,
Swung the Claymore, delivered hell,
Amongst the English yeoman,
Another face fought in the war,
Me 109 shot down for sure,
But died a fighting, blood an gore,
No parachute would save him.
Sponsor Matt Caliri
Contest Name Mirror
Categories:
yeoman, adventure,
Form:
Ballad