Long Crowned Poems
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This quest arose for Jeanne d'Arc,
A peasant girl engrossed in prayer.
When voices deep inside her head,
Spoke of her future, saving France.
During the passing march of time,
Wise words transcended Jeanne's belief.
With eloquence she did proclaim,
The Dauphin Charles would be crowned king.
Jeanne's duty now, to free Orleans,
Which Englands army had besieged.
Her strategy of no retreat,
Caused panic in the English camp.
When cannon fire created haze,
Two arrows pierced Jeanne's armour plate.
Despite her wounds she battled on.
With victory lifting the siege.
The road to Reims to crown Charles king,
Was fraught with danger near Patay.
Jeanne's orders were, to ride with spurs.
The English drums beat out retreat,
French knights on horseback giving chase
Were almost ambushed by their foe.
A startled stag caused disarray.
The French knights spilling English blood.
Jeanne kneeling down, tearfully prayed,
Betwixt those dying and the dead.
With Charles crowned king, and wanting peace
Jeanne's siege of Paris did surcease.
Her power was his great concern,
Consigning her to free Compiegne.
A skirmish by the city walls
Ended with Jeanne's captivity.
The trial of the Orleans maid
A charge of heresy was placed
Which Jeanne as always did deny.
With threats of torture or confess,
Those voices past, she did retract
Only to say, it was Gods will.
So weary now, she knew her fate.
For modesty, she wore mens clothes
Convicting her of heresy.
Within Rouen's old market place
Jeanne's death was burning at the stake.
An English guard made her a cross
He wept then cried, we've burnt a saint.
9/ 15/ 2015.
Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated
to the suburbs.
If you travel to Los Angeles and county
where hobo avians flock to Pepperdine
hoping to matriculate to paradise..
Pasadenans know the raucous calls from palms
festooned in bright feathers and pheromones.
Should you wish to elicit a response
from a Red-crowned Amazon..
just ask any witch cat which hungers
with an acute accessory olfactory
rife in feline grin and purpose
eye'n the skies cheerfully.
And somewhere Marianne Faithfull warbles
'this little bird who lives on the wind,
this little bird that somebody sends.'
they're listening too, with a coo and squawk
o'er the skies of Silverlake
and Eagle Rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Little Bird sung by Marianne Faithfull - Lyrics by J.D. Loudermilk 1965
In seventeen sixty nine a child was born
in Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.
Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,
Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.
At school, his geometrical talent was inborn,
and he was tutored by none other than Laplace.
For his accent, his peers at school laughed him to scorn,
but fortune would elevate him from grass to grace.
With his much older heartthrob he tied the knot;
much to the chagrin of his own dear family.
For the heart of Josephine he relentlessly fought,
and at Chateau de Malmaison they lived happily.
Later he would choose a military career
that would take him beyond the Corsican frontier.
France's revolution saw to his glorious rise,
when at Toulon, he took royalists by surprise.
To Egypt he led a dual expedition
of a military and scientific mission.
To France he returned and sacked the directory,
taking charge of the affairs of state and treasury.
Europe did contend with him in seven coalitions;
at Austerlitz he subjugated two nations,
at Marengo, Austria on her bended knees fell,
at Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to victory bade farewell.
At Borodino, Russia met her nemesis,
as her vanquished forces saw their paralysis.
At Ligny, Blucher like a beaten canine fled
with the terribly smitten forces he once led.
Portugal's sovereign lord to distant Brazil ran,
when like an invincible lord he came to his realm.
The emperor he feared, and made no military plan;
thus he paved the way for him to ascend his helm.
But despite his triumphs, his weakness was exposed.
At Rolica, his troops a major set back saw.
From Leipzig he did to Elba's island withdraw,
from whence in 1815 he returned unopposed.
Russia's wintry plains did his grand armee deplete,
making his troops vulnerable to a future defeat.
After the famous battles in which he gloried,
his great ambition at Waterloo was buried.
Neither Dumb Belle nor dumbell: The Search for Personal Identity.
Made in His image Divine, one and one equals two
The differences plain and simple in design
Does not "Woman" mean "Female Man,"
From First Man her origins taken?
Together strong and flexible
In time they find each in and as the other
Indispensible to humankind's survival
A perfect pair in God's blueprint for life
God's portrait as a dyptich,
Masterful, expressionistic, abstract and figurative
A little lower than angels, yet crowned in his glory
Strength and Kindness gifted to each one...
Yes in deed, God in plain sight of angels
made the two of them become as one-
Holy, wholly separate, inseparable, in mind, heart-
The children of His Love for Life
A vision for all to see-together his image on earth.
Together, one and one equals three
Aqua Marine. Just Musing on a Personal Journey of My Own.
30 March 2025
(First of a series on personal identity. :) )
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
I was once a king in the empire of commerce,
a CEO crowned with gold not by wisdom,
but by the endless flow of numbers on a ledger.
My pockets were full, yet my heart —
a barren desert thirsting for rain.
The more I drank from the chalice of wealth,
the more parched my soul became;
money was seawater,
it promised relief,
yet deepened the ache of my thirst.
I believed riches would buy freedom,
but they purchased only fear,
a thousand sleepless nights,
and admiration that bent like reeds in the wind,
admiration bought — never earned.
I labored not for love of the craft,
but to keep the machine turning,
to feed the illusion,
to maintain a throne carved of fragile glass.
Even as I traveled the globe,
I saw the same masquerade:
value weighed not by virtue,
but by the weight of one’s vault.
Wealth had become theater,
its stage set with golden curtains.
The rich paraded as actors,
clothed in applause that was never real,
while the poor — seated in silence —
remained the unwilling audience.
And with all my riches, I was hollow.
Gold echoed louder than my own voice;
diamonds sparkled, yet darkened my soul.
I learned at last:
money cannot buy happiness,
it can only counterfeit its glow.
If respect may be purchased,
then respect itself is debased;
if honor bends to currency,
then honor is lost.
And so I saw the truth:
society has become a game,
its rules written by the rich,
its players trapped,
its meaning vanished.
The hunger for money —
a hunger that devours the man himself,
until nothing remains
but a shadow in a gilded cage.
Spring’s leading light has challenged Winter’s rule.
The ancient king, befouled, erupted from his early morning slumbering
And marched about his fortress
Enraged and raging.
His fury exploded against the walls,
And threats of retribution echoed throughout the halls
Against the upstart who tested the king’s supremacy.
The bitter monarch,
With eyes of steel and flashing light,
Like Saul, sulking and plotting against young David,
Smacked his hands-
His arctic breath thundered his commands
With authority and showy bluster
In defense of his domain, the
Crowned Head his troops did muster.
The elements converged.
“To Arms!” did he demand.
Sleet, those skilled archers of the hardened world,
Cast frozen arrow across the battleground.
Wave upon wave, the icy weapons hurled, until
The king’s nemesis turned ‘round.
This day’s battle went to Winter
The hoary head in fierce-like frame
His dominion did defend-
The scepter in his hand remained.
The old man’s reign, now prolonged,
The young Spearhead’s confidence disrupted
And denied,
For a time,
The pre-ordained.
But Winter will decline,
His rule and season come to an end.
Then Spring, the anointed heir,
To nature’s throne ascend- and all
The kingdom will rejoice!
© Michelle Waters 2021
Seven colors of the rainbow
Each crowned with a gift
A lifetime gift in each line of the rainbow
The World was once in total darkness without a gift
Beauty of nature the World has never felt or seen
Earth as one world asked for a gift
God of heavens said that beauty can be seen
Until all creatures thought of praying
Praying by kneeling no one has ever seen
Humans are but one product of belief in praying
That all creations must be ruled by superiors of giving
Superiors in human form, striving and praying
All creations harmonized in sharing and giving
Making everything simple, in thinking and surviving
Rainbow as one creation and gift, in seven days of bright light and whole-hearted art of giving.
"The high elves revel," seer would say
in forests dark till dawns golden array
Weaving a spell through nature's lush green
anointing her yew is their nightly routine
Blessing blue ash within its roots they ground
a plethora of currency, for the king, has been crowned
Endowing hazel with a brown bounty of fruit
then carving from her branches magical flutes
Resting awhile in the strong arms of an oak
clipping some acorns to feed their four-legged folk
Returning to the hawthorn on white horses they prance
withdrawing into the shadows until moon casts her glance
COSMIC QUEEN
In the vast ballet of cosmic grace,
A lady stands, her tranquil space,
Clad in clouds, woven tight,
A deity crowned in celestial light.4
Ethereal robes drift in cosmic winds,
Swirling nebulae where time begins,
Galaxies string pearls 'round her form,
In this universe, her presence is norm.8
She gazes upon the astral sea,
Eyes reflecting the void's mystery,
Stars sprout forth at her gentle nod,
A painter divine, a living god.¹²
Her feet, unseen, dance on blackened skies,
Where silence speaks, and darkness piles,
A portrait framed in void's embrace,
Sovereign ruler of this empty space.¹6
A whisper 'mongst the heavens high,
A wish released, a quiet sigh,
In her sight, the comets arc,
Her canvas - infinite, stark.²°
No mortal bound by earthly tethers,
She's a vision of light, out of dark fitters.
In the cold vacuum where she resides,
Love and beauty she still provides.²4
She's a firmament that softly glows,
Generosity within her flows,
Every star alight with her mind,
In orbit sweet, their courses designed.²8
So there she stands, a cosmic queen,
In her realm of serene unseen,
Not bound by myth, nor time, nor emptiness
She's the lady in space, the gentle goddess.³²
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?19th December, 2023.