Chieftain Poems | Examples

the last viking

The Last Viking
There had been a storm, that uprooted 
an old oak that exposed a gave
the grave of the last Viking, a rusty 
sword beside him its grip was made 
fallen stars, he had been a chieftain  
When everybody had gone home for tea
the Viking checked his body
he was a skeleton and nude about it
In a workman's hut, he found
an overall and boots
The last one to say him was outside
a lingerie shop was an elderly lady
she thought he was trying to masturbate
who can blame him after being dead
for 500 years, he probably lacked 
this fleshy part.
At a museum in the Island-Man, I saw 
the thumb of a Viking in a glass cage
surrounded by jewelry that ladies wore
at the time
A terrible destiny, fighting and dying 
for a cause long forgotten
only to end up with his thumb on display

SNOTINGHAM

From the unravelled and now exposed mystery 
Tales of leafy Nottinghamshire
And the dusty tatty books of  it's long history
Comes a tale 
You'd think it was just a jest
However, it is a fact and true
With hand upon heart and chest
I am telling you

Way back in time long before Robin Hood
And the Major oak
Was a mere sapling about to bud

A small settlement in a sunny green forest glade
Once lived a tribe
And built their huts
Working the land to survive
Their name
The Snot People.
Named after their chieftain Snotter
And the famous Nottingham was born

The Surrounding encampments
And Hamlets found it so funny
They laughed made fun and teased
''The Snotters''
It was just too hard, to believe

The Snotters 
We're op so embarrassed
And how poor Cheuften Snotter must have cried
For his name and his people
Were ridiculed for their true name
Had sadly been denied

So they had no option
But to change their name
From Sottinghamt to Nottingham
And no longer ridiculed
Or had to had to  bow their heads In shame


Peter Dome©2024.

Shamrock Reflections

Roads rising up from Irish mists in merry jigs
To the flowing tenor song
Sung by the River Boyne born from Tara's Keep
As Patrick's paschal fire
Weaves truth from stones of blarney
And lucky charms of Erin's spring
Cloth hills in kilts of green clovers with four leaves
To the Kerry pipers wail of jigs and tiompan reels
When soft sunbeams kiss fields - the wind petals
Of Killarney's rose in Londonderry Airs
Born in fifes and fiddles in soft brogues
Delighting in tea and scones - the clairsel harp -
When clear cut crystal rays
Embrace green fields clothed in sheep -
Faire mischief  - the wind dance of the Kells -
In bohdran thunder to banish banshee cries
As pirate queens and lost chieftain kings
Sail from emerald shores
Until they meet again beneath the blessings
Of the Celtic cross
In the north winds of the fair aran island.

South Africa

South Africa

 The rainbow paled in South Africa
the end of apartheid has ended, freedom for all.
Not quite, the poor in Soweto are getting poorer.
The difference it now consists of white poor as well.
The new leadership behave like the old one corruption
and shade dealings.
South Africa is practically a democratic one-party state.
Or was democracy and equality brought on too early?
It takes time.
What is there to say when people riot and burn down
the places where they buy their daily bread and have to walk for miles
to buy milk for their children, other than an act of despair.
 Big business is doing well, thank you.
But nothing has been done to alleviate the suffering of the poor.
The rainbow state has lost its lustre.
If you wonder why the poor ran amok was the jailing of Jacob Zuma
Despite his failings, he has an African heart, which the new elite, dipped in white culture, 
failed to see.
He is the chieftain dethroned and Africa bleeds.

Oriental Host

Waqar Zaka
What is your introduction?
Are you a snake in the eagle's shadow or a youthia?
Have you oppressed your rivals?
Have you invaded the circle?
You are an intercontinental guy
Your instincts made you grow
You have dared to talk and walk
Are you good enough to stalk?
Note.Every chief has a chieftain.
Q.Do you agree with me? 
2nd hand cheez k 2 faiday hain 
Aik to ye kam qemat pay milti hai,
Aur dosra ye ravan ho chuki hoti hai.

Justice

JUSTICE  

Who has seen the abode of Justice? Where does she thrive and rest in solemnity, 
Reigning as chieftain, defying wickedness? 
Who knows the domain of Justice;
Where does she hold sway? 
Is she satisfied after a day in the Courts, Does her grey hairs inspire equity? 
Does Justice prowl the streets in authority, 
Does she find uprightness in the church? 

Have you heard them hail her, 
“Salute! To Justice, salute?” 
Have you seen her bronzed marks - 
On the limbs of the young, 
Or her wise-gray streaks 
On the hair of the old? 

Who has seen Justice gambolling? 
Is she jubilant on the dirt paths of the poor;
Those helpless ones called dispensable? 
Who has seen Justice crush the wicked, That conceited oppressor and tyrant? 

Show me Justice. 


- By Kirsten OKENWA. From Mss: POEMS ON VARIED SUBJECTS.

The Fourth Kingdom

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie, face
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!”
“Address To A Haggis”, Robert Burns, 1786.
(Keeper o’er the Fourth Kingdom)

Robert, Robert, Fourth Kingdom
Gate Keeper.
No Telestial glory
Befits the poet deeper!

Wherefore is thy legacy
Robert Burns, regretfully
Wherefore is thy Haggis?
Thy Puddin’ flees before thee.

Thy Hippopotami give birth
Purple, purple, such deliver
The royal eggplant hatchling
That multiplies the giver!

Celestial porridge is thy claim
As such befits thy story
But no resplendent poet name
Perpetuates thy glory

Terrestial kingdoms blissfully
Reject that higher leaven
But thou hast won, delectably
That Kingdom Fourth of Heaven!

Freedom's Color

Freedom’s Color

America knows the truth. 
Their flag echoes their heart. 
Red, white and royal, chieftain-blue.
It fills some with hope, 
others feel fear. 
 
Red, for hardened valor, 
bought with the blood of both men and women. 
Purchased with their sons and daughters, 
sacrificing their own self, their own way, 
for a higher coarse of action. 
Freedom!

White, the defending of innocence. 
standing up for others that can not stand at all. 
Protecting what will be lost, for the preservation…
of “Our” future, and that of “Our” planet, 
and all who walk in the light of God’s Son. 

Blue…
The color of the ocean and the sky. 
Vigilance and perseverance to keep all things right. 
To move not recklessly or erratically, 
but with the purpose of the very air needed to breath. 
“In God We Trust”

Justice. 
A word that needs to be heralded…loudly, strongly.
“All” by itself across “All” lands. 
The rights of “All” citizens to live free and happy. 
Those that would take from others, control and keep counsel with the black, 
the true evil…no longer hiding in the shadows.
Best understand…time is short…and running out.

Black Panther

Wakandan African Chieftain King
Married to X-Man Storm
A scientists, prince King hero Avenger
Civil rights activists here and in Africa
Some in New York's Hells Kitchen calls him The Black Daredevil
His greatest foe name is Klaw a hand held sonic killer
In his land, in the caves and mines
Is found the metal mineral called vibranium
This true African American hero
Also a friend of the Fantastic 4
Birth name T'Challa
In USA he's known as Luke Charles
But before sings our national anthem
All hail, give thanks to this African hero 
The Black Panther

10/29/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.

Whispers of Transformation

Silence grows within, expanding coveting the inner soul. Masking, cultivating, manipulating the inner mold. The deafening sound of ignorance around you fade from the silent Grove. But the vine yard of the virgin daughter of Bliss consumes the already broken heart and shatters it with a kiss. Poisoned from the lake of sorrow he continuously drinks. An uncontrollable urge to continuously overthink. It comes and it goes like throbbing pain. Like the wind when it blows in the pouring rain. But it Whispers chieftain in the Wind when I hear him say transform. Be not afraid of your courage to go beyond man's norm

Villanelle: the Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 58

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 58

No way must such protective force serve politics
Nor ally dictator army criminal police
None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics

No exceptions tolerate no geopolitics
No super power excuse to fiddle with peace
No way must such protective force serve politics

No edifice stands aloft loose in building bricks
No Zapata fights for latifundio prize fees
None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics

Dare not wanton call Nature’s course fiddlesticks
Even if life you lay down for cause in sacrifice
No way must such protective force serve politics

Can one forfeit life placate people’s economics
Mahatma Gandhi saw life’s work torn piece by piece
None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics

Only the chieftain who bears with peoples’ conflicts
Can lead them along the road to Nature’s hospice
No way must such protective force serve politics
None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Address To a Puck

Fair Eh your honest, hockey place,
Great Chieftain of the scarring face!
Between the boards with skates to lace,
 Your rubber froze,
And darting dangerous quick of pace,
 In slap shots rose.

The crackling ice on which you slide,
Chased by padded boys well applied,
In loss or victory you decide,
 Yours not to let;
Where shots be accurate or wide
 Streak toward the net.

This disc hits corners left and right
Can cut you up with ready slight,
From in behind burns the goal light,
 Whoa, bulging twine!
This, the lonely goal tender’s plight,
 Guards the thin red line.

Quick hands and fast of foot to flop,
Who are said to be o’er the top,
On grenades hurled they’re known to drop,
 And fallen beneath;
With bodies bruised, brave lads will stop,
 And trade precious teeth!

Your powers make cold winter fair,
In boyhood dreams young and old share;
With pride our true colours to wear,
 On Habs or Leafs stuck;
This, O Canada’s common prayer,
 Blessed be a puck!

An Ego To Brag About

He razzed Iran’s chieftain emir
Cotton's had his writing premiere 
The paparazzi
Might call him a Nazi
But he's just a smart profiteer


Author's note:  This young senator reminds me of someone who might have attended a Hitler youth camp.  Fear is his opportunity.  While he is strangely self-assured, he is on the same side of the nuclear negotiations as the Iranian hardliners.  He doesn't go back and talk about the time the USA overthrew the democratically elected government of Iran and installed the brutal Shah.  (Even if that information is critical to the relationship we now have with the Iranians.)  If talks fail we know there will be a short term benefit to certain groups.  Are you affiliated with them, Senator?  Follow the $$$.

The Chieftains Wrath

Once i lived with an uncle in a sleepy coastal town
who had a very beautiful house help from upcountry
now my male cousin Kiki desired to have a relationship
with our beautiful house help who was very lovely

One day Kiki arrives home alone he tries his advances 
she flatly rejects him he then tries harder than its allowed
with no success.. later that night he is summoned by my uncle
Kiki tries best to defend himself....but is severely reprimanded

Now my Chieftain uncle is given to punishment and for Kiki
our Kiki is ordered to spend the night in the Chicken house..
not the European pet chickens these are real African chicken
complete with a rooster who scratches Kiki mercilessly

Come morning Kiki is full of scratches but he has learnt his lesson
he apologizes like his life depends on it  and high tails out of the house
Safari my chieftains uncle we all love him but is know to be really hard
when it comes to meting out punishment and our Kiki had it coming




Lewis Nyaga
mambo ya pwani

Wheat Cronicles

The first person who grew wheat
would have been called “wheat”
and hence the local chieftain and village folks
would have given a nomenclature
to his discovery,
honoring it with his name
it would have been his name
or something rhyming with it
like “cheat”, “heat” or “eat”
or perhaps “treat”
there was probably someone called “gehu”
in India, who grew this grain
and there is a resembling treatise of words
“gay hun” (I am gay) proclaiming sexual choice
giving it a contemporary feel
of an alternative orientation 
were they different people who grew it
at the same time, in the different parts of the world?
was it really Mr. Wheat
Or el trigo, blé or weizen
Spanish, French or German
was the wandering original Mr. Wheat
or cheat or heat or the Russian pshenitsy
who propagated this and we missed his chronicles?
and we missed his chronicle of travels
and basic grassroots experiences
of the genesis of rotis and cakes
of flavor stimulants, of bakes
and of the grass of wheat
for a figure conscious succulent lass
wheat and all its ontology
and the first one’s ecstasy
whosoever it was
had a higher calling
than the current day diminution

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