Knighthood tale
While we look back at the past
Great memories keep rushing back
As today is the joy of many tomorrow
Many yesterdays have no hiding places
Though i live to love you forever
Love walks away from the reminiscence
As a good name is coated in gold
Streams of joy and happiness
We are going to tell you fables!
From the king tables for nobles
Great Men are the Men of the past
Like a titan fall among the minnows
For a living dog is better than a dead lion
As pages are born for his knighthood
A great knight is a crowned king
Many fables and tales to tell
His world is full of wonder
as sober as pie of honors
Something to remember than flowers
As a friend closes at the same heart.
My thoughts are my weapons,
my pen is my sword
My will is my whetstone,
my knighthood,
—my Lord
(Opening Poem to Novel 'Darkening Sun:' December, 2014)
Don't pretend you
wear armor.
I know that is only
a set of scales.
I know how you
feed along the river's
bottom.
I saw a Band of Royal Knights
upon their mighty Steeds
Coat of Arms, A-gleaming
Herald Heroic Deeds...
One is Valor, One is Truth
Chivalry and Might
Another, Honor, Loyalty
Justice and Light
Charity and Chastity
and Faith, Their Golden Spurs
Those Bold, Polished Lords
Oh! Such Handsome Sirs!
Their Pennants were the Ladies
Once Damsels in Distress
Banners were the Orphans,
Now Kith and Kin to Crest
Their Swords and Shields on Battlefields
Unsheathed for Innocence
in Fealty to a Crown
Obey or be brought Down...
I saw a Band of Royal Knights
They rode upon their Quest,
that the Noble Creed of Men Henceforth...
be their Shining Armor Best
I was climbing up a ladder on a day
with a cool breeze purring through the roof gutters.
The wind would dip and run inside the open metal
canister then shoot up with the unforgiving wall
at roof’s end…
That upthrust would meet my rising hair
with a foosh reminding me of ungifted rewards,
like spinning windmills our air is happy and free
while I climb the satoric rungs for a vision clearer
than the ground below…
Space between the thoughts is what we are trained to see
And as those continents tread away from each other
The mass of men’s woes storm along breathless air
Like a cannonball bringing to smoke and cinder
All my grasping mills, shuddering in the wind—let go!
I put the ladder away and walk back into the garage.
I listen attentively to my breathing as I open the
screen door that leads to my kitchen that leads
to my living room carpet where I will lay down
and count all my blessings…
…until I fall asleep.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.