Long Emperor Poems
Long Emperor Poems. Below are the most popular long Emperor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emperor poems by poem length and keyword.
When I Give You My Heart…
The love I give to you dear one,
Is love I know belongs to me,
To think that it is yours alone
Is adolescent fantasy.
For if this love weren’t really mine
How could it then be mine to give?
If heart is always True Love’s home,
Without a heart how could I live?
It may not bring you comfort love
And you may never feel secure,
But dreams my heart is only yours,
Reveal a heart that’s immature.
For you to tell me that’s your gift,
Suggests that you’re naïve at best,
For even if you think it’s true,
The emperor is still undressed!*
At least most men aren’t made that way,
Our futures never are for sure.
And pleasures taken while we can
While praying there might be a cure.
A sick child cause our love to end,
Even our jobs drive us apart,
Though no one plans on stuff like this,
It spells disaster for the heart.
A partner that decides they’re gay,
Somehow an accidental death,
The day your spouse does not come home,
The world can take away your breath.
So when I ‘just’ give you my love
Please check your heart to know it’s true
And realize that lover’s chose,
It’s really all that one can do.
A witches spell, a chain of fire
Cannot restrain decay to dust,
A lifetime all we have to live,
Where good days start with hope and trust.
Brian Johnston
August 29, 2014
Poet's Notes:
* ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ – A tale by Hans Christian Anderson about two weavers who promise an Emperor a new suit of clothes that is invisible to those unfit for their positions, stupid, or incompetent. When the Emperor parades before his subjects in his new clothes, a child cries out, "But he isn't wearing anything at all!" The tale has been translated into over a hundred languages. From ‘Wikipedia.'
Few go into a relationship with the expectation of love not lasting a lifetime, and yet we all know our relationship too will end, sooner or later, hopefully the latter. The time spent may be quality time or more of a learning experience, usually a mixture of both. But nothing can totally prepare us for the future except to be honest with ourselves and to admit, we are not really in control. That understanding can make things easier for those able to embrace it. Failure may always be failure, but being able and willing to forgive, to love yourself too, is the only path to future happiness in my experience.
Nero the god! I had a dream.
There I was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
Mother was with me as usual.
As we reached a cross-roads, Agrippina said:
"Come Nero, here we turn left" But I said:
"No, mama, 'WE' do not. I'm gonna turn right!"
And that's what I did. She shouted after me:
"Become emperor, Nero, though you slay me".
The path led upwards toward the snowy heights,
past the lush vernal pastures of the lower slopes,
past vineyards and groves of olive trees,
through forests of oaks, birches,
willows, elms, yews and poplars and all holy trees,
past the crags where the chamois chewed stunted grass,
and the last brave wind-blasted pine
tossed and raged in defiance of the elements, I ascended,
till there was no other thing under heaven
but burning, blinding snow,
a conflagration no less fierce than that which now I see.
I looked down at the world of men,
and what should I see but -- ants!
The air was thin and pure - then the prize!
The summit appeared from behind a cloud-rift.
Treacherous thoughts welled up from within me:
"High climbers play with death –
death by freezing, death that lurks
in the shadow of a measureless abyss.
Was I not trespassing on holy ground? ‘
“Remember Icarus, remember Prometheus,"
sighed voices in the wind,
but then a louder voice from within me
bade me fear no counsel fit for the craven.
And so to the summit.
And what should I see when reached the Olympian heights,’
other than .....fierce Jupiter? Mighty Zeus?
I'll tell you what I saw!
There seated on an ivory throne, a frail old man,
whose long white beard fluttered in the wind.
His expression was more torpor than aught else.
That was it! He looked rather like...
some doddering old patriarch
that was Consul before Caesar's time.
As I approached, he tried to look grave and austere,
pathetically shaking his hoary senile head.
His trembling hand reached down –
I saw a quiver full of arrows
and a pile of thunderbolts at his side.’[
Now was my chance!
I seized him by the scruff of the neck,
and flung him down the mountain-side.
The last I saw of him was as he reeled
head over heels into a ravine.
Then I shouted in triumph to the four winds.
"THE OLD GOD IS DEAD.
Now I'm Top Dog. I got de thunderbolts".
Only a dream?
Perhaps. Dreams pass,
but not what they portend.
Enea Gets the Red Hat
Finally, he's getting somewhere.
Fifty years of age and almost crippled,
prematurely aged, but at last,
sweet recognition rains down
on the poet. Kneeling before Calixtus,
he accepts the Cardinal's hat.
Fancy that.
With every triumph, we're swept nearer Hell.
Each anthem that we sing's a kind of knell.
No matter what we get, or grab, or gain,
we're human, and our lot is death and pain.
Both Frederick and Ladislas
had to do a lot of lobbying
(Calixtus was a Borgia, after all:
and family is family.) Por fin,
esta elevado. Behold the scene.
Frederick with his back to us
and Ladislas holding on to him
(shouldn't that be the other way round?)
deserve their pride of place.
The seething swell of humans
swirls around the little altar,
but can't budge it.
The clear-cut marble doesn't give.
What is the painter telling us?
Men move, and flow, and live, and go,
but soon or later, their
energy is spent?
The Church is permanent?
Regard the four main players,
the upper crust of Mankind's many layers,
yet each one a loser clone.
Calixtus took the throne
already old, and singing one stale tune
(and that, corrupt!)
He didn't use a long spoon
when he supped.
There's Frederick, the Emperor,
a joke. Bullied by his minions,
unhappy, hapless, broke.
And Ladislas, a king without a kingdom,
a cock without a crest,
he's Frederick's long-term guest
(another kind of jest).
A prisoner -- or let's say, at home,
he and Frederick make a palindrome:
august additions to this Pleasure Dome.
Enea: worn out, homesick, ill.
Surviving now on sheer will.
Is that Nature's tonsure, or Man's?
He's kept alive by feverish plans
to mount a Great Crusade --
but we all know it won't be made.
Two rigid windows and an altarpiece.
The Trinity? (The painting is the Holy Ghost.)
Or are those plain, framed panes
the Empire and the Papacy?
You think we're reading too much in?
We point you to one subtle artist's touch.
The youth, right-centre, in the azure cloak,
who's smirking at some "only-I-know" joke:
head cocked, as if he's watching all, askance:
he finds the dainty, double-dealing dance
amusing. Isn't he Rafael?
Hatted like some crimson Cardinal,
he's watching how they rise up, how they fall.
He's waiting, calmly, to inherit all.
It's a wonder young children still turn out all right
With the stuff that gets crammed in their heads every night.
Things like visions of sugar plum fairies and sprites,
Or a thousand tales of Arabian delights,
A frog who turns prince with a kiss from a lass,
A girl who goes dancing in slippers of glass,
A cow that gets high and jumps over the moon,
A crockery dish that elopes with a spoon,
A boy who can fly but refuses to grow,
A difficult girl who plants maids in a row,
A magician who wants to trade old lamps for new,
A woman so poor she must live in a shoe,
A waif who sells matches out in the cold,
A king who can touch things and turn them to gold,
A dog, an old woman, a cupboard that's bare,
A girl locked in a tower, a ladder of hair,
A magical wheel that spins gold out of straw,
A guy helps a lion with a thorn in its paw,
A girl wearing red visits grandma who's resting,
Finds a wolf in her nightdress and Granny digesting,
Three kids and a wardrobe, three men share a tub,
A brave tailor kills seven mean flies with a club,
An archer makes merry with men in the woods
While relieving the rich of their money and goods,
Kind huntsman, fair princess, a vain evil queen,
Seven dwarves, and a prince who gets caught in between,
Hateful fairy, a baby, a hundred-year snit
'cause her name's accidentally left off a guest list,
A piper who lures out of town rodent varmints,
An emperor with new but invisible garments,
A farmer's wife butchers three handicapped mice,
A house drops on top of a witch who's not nice,
While another with gingerbread children seduces
Then gets baked by some twins in her own savory juices,
A giant and a beanstalk, a cat who wears boots,
A wolf who's outfoxed by three pigs in cahoots,
A bad little boy who sticks fingers in pies,
And another of wood whose nose grows when he lies.
There are others, of course, far too many to mention,
But I hope these will serve to excite some attention.
With stories like these knocking 'round in their heads,
It's no wonder if kids toss and turn in their beds.
Yet throughout countless ages these stories survive,
Kids listen, and dream them, and still wake up alive,
No worse for having been charmed or affrighted,
Imaginations are stoked, little minds are ignited,
And continue to hold them in dear veneration
As they pass them along to the next generation.
T
A
TAJ J TAJ
MAHAL MAHAL MAHAL
[W] MAUSOLEUM IN [U]
[O] A MARBLE SPLENDOUR [N]
[N] AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL [E]
[D] FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL [S]
[E] T HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED T [C]
[R] A QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE MOGHUL A [O]
J EMPEROR , A MAGNIFICENT MEMORIAL J
[O] MAHAL IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT MAHAL [H]
[F] ******* HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE ******* [E]
BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD [R
[T] IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW [I]
[H] BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT [T]
[E] IVORY WHITE MARBLES LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES [A]
PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
[W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP LOVE FOR DARLING WIFE [E]
[O] STANDS SYMBOL OF ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE
[R] ADORABLE,MAJESTIC REPOSITORY SO ROMANTIC [S]
[L] THE KING AND QUEEN LEFT BEHIND LOVE LEGACY [I]
[D] HISTORY WILL HUM THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER [T]
[E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE.
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!
28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~
Glossary:
Pietra Dura: Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
My Interpretation: Glenn Hughes Lyric:
In the space of a short span Mother can you see
the exactitudes that human I've been tryin' to see you
measure can be achieved if Cuz the line is free
the powers that be partake Now they're tellin' me
within said time of the hour Stop shakin' like a feather
mind control of its recipient On the count of three
purposed by the War Dept.
Be a.k.a., War Machine that Back in '69
take all known from yonder We never learned our lesson
space of a short span, turn Down in Vietnam
to short spin of actual news I refuse to sign
It doesn't really matter
calls and worded letters an They don't give a damn
urgent warning a nation its
new emperor wears a new I don't care what you want
clothes "Hear ye vainglory." And I roll with the fear
What's here is NOT there, You don't hear nothin'
and I am grateful for that A sad waste of life
truth, but to spin it in any When we go to war
fashion as being anything Won't you hear somethin'
but...
NAM undeniably benumb Father you cry
death then permeates all When we go to war
the patty fields of grains What is it for?
of rice guised as desert
grains of sand. Death is Brother is that you?
bears out truly that our So get a little closer
New Emperor at home I can't feel your breath
is as naked as sin can We're the chosen few
ever be... Out there in the desert
There's a smell of death.
Family--Mom, Brother,
Dad, let me be some-
body and not a made
up nobody. I want to
be your Bro. again, I
I want to be your Son
again, I want to be
Glenn Hughes again,
plain Ole American.
Why weren't any of the great emperors, or even those of lesser renown, enticed to acquire such a rich piece of land in the East? There aren’t much of historical archives shedding light on the subject, but it is possible that events could unfold in this way – Plutarch could have expounded this legend far more colourfully than your humble servant. A Roman emperor receives an ambassador from one of the eastern countries, who inclines him to conquer the neighbouring land. The Emperor finds the plan reasonable, so during the conversation he decides to invade the eastern lands of the barbarians, in particular to prevent their possible aggression against Rome. However, the problem is that the climate in these lands requires fur garments; otherwise, the valiant Roman legionaries would think only about how to get warm, hence will be unable to fight. Our country, the ambassador reported, are ready to solve this problem, they can sell the Romans excellent fur coats, for a small sum of money. However, the sum seems exorbitant, and the emperor refuses the ambassador. The next day the emperor is informed about the envoy from the barbarians, and he receives the barbarian in his chambers. I am aware of your intentions, my great emperor, says the barbarian, and I am prepared to arrange a deal on fur coats at half the price offered to you, as you can buy the required amount of fur coats directly from us. Although I myself am a barbarian, I have a Roman mentality, my great emperor, and I sincerely wish you to conquer our lands to establish your Roman law and order over there. When I read your laws, I just cried with happiness, how much justice and wisdom they conceive. There is no need to drink wine, just read a page of your laws and I feel groggy with delight. I'm sure all the powerful barbarians will accept your rule without question and praise your wisdom in their prayers. So, shall we make a bargain, great emperor? ‘No!’ followed the cold reply. 'I refuse to make a deal, and I see no point in wasting energy on conquering your lands. Once we conquer you, we will gradually become as conniving, vile, cynical, and vengeful cunnings as you are. That is not the future I want for Greater Rome. So get out, Mr Barbarian. Thank you so much for your wisdom and time, my great emperor, the barbarian says. You’ve given me exactly the answer I expected to hear.
Come O Muslim, Come Back to Our God,
The Holy Trinity One Lord, Before late it be,
Come O Muslim, Come back before Damnation do thou see
Can you not reason out of heart,
That you have been Misled, O' Torn apart,
Wrapped around the Lie of Lies, did that Bastard Mahomet bring,
A 'Book' so hideous, Hellish Destruction does it sing
We see with our eyes, the Fruits of his Tree,
Bitterness, hatred and bloodshed a-fire ranging sea
No rest at all, this did John speak,
A place of endless misery bloodshed, hatred and tears that fall a'weep.
What O what has this Snake done to you all Ishmaelites?
He has poisoned your minds and hearts,
That thou are blinded by it, thou not see Love
This is your punishment as well as mine,
For Faith in Jesus Christ, God decrease it well,
Now God sends this Curse right from the pits of Hell,
And as all the Saints do Fearlessly Proclaim,
Those who Follow Allah and is False Prophet are Dammed over and over again.
Time will come When Bel will bow,
Time will come When Artemis will die,
Time will come When Lilith will suffer,
Lucifer and his devilish Mohammed will face the Wrath of Yahweh
Then O Muslim, no more shall thou be called so,
Then Son of Ismael, will bow down and reconcile and God will he adore,
My heart till then is torn apart,
To be Roman Catholic and Love a Muslim Girl,
Now I feel Prophet Hosea's pain,
The Pain he felt when God's Cries to his people went in vain.
I hope that one day through her souls will be save,
Now I am the Lamb that God must slaughter to win her heart a-wave,
The day will come when her eyes fills with tears,
Gone will I be then, Done my Work as God's Chosen One.
She'll think back in year, Her torment will be this New Cross She bears,
Her thoughts on God and me alone,
In her age she will die a heart rendered, a-torn.
But this will be a beautiful thing, For she will join me in True Paradise,
And together with the Choirs of the Angels to our Lord and God Jesus Christ Shall we Joyfully sing!
God Have Mercy on the Muslims and Lead them Back to you!
I am your Instrument, Break my heart a'blue!
I am your Chosen Emperor, Sent to Raise the Roman Catholic Faith!
Subdue the House of Hagar, the 'Cross Bearers' shall definitely take!
A gift to the Church a Muslim's Faith,
Sometimes it is necessary on them a War we'd make!
Amen!
Can a man – all alone - foist a god upon his fellows
Even if it’s only himself
And they his subjects
G.. is Akbar!
Does the muezzin from the minaret of Qoutoub-Minar
look up or
down to the illiterate savant emperor
whose newly-ordered cosmos
much as Tamerlane and Genghis Khan's blood
mixed gods
invented the Gysin-Burroughs cut-up and fold-in method
a cornucopian chimera
shi'ite-sunnite-kharidjites
hindu/buddhist-jain
confucian-taoist/zoroastrian
orthodox-christian/judaic
saivite-vaisnavite
mahayanist-theravadite
shintoist-zen-chan
agnostic-atheist
A…. is Great!
In the begining there was no VERB for him
In the end
from
"brahmana" Himalayas to the "asurya" Deccan
from
Ghazna and Kabul to the spent chugged mouth of the Ganges
where bloomed the Allah-Upanishad
One common language
One uncommon religion
One classless society
One mutually nourishing art
One scientific quest
and the sweet music of friendly disputation
within then the world’s vastest book and art collection
though knowingly
took to wife an Hindu princess
chose his prime counsellor from among the Brahmin élite
where within hearing distance lithesome nymphs bathed in scented milk
his victoriously wearied warrior limbs back from punitive expeditions
through Panipat Delhi Agra Punjab Gwalior Ajmer
Gujarat Bengal Sind Orissa Baluchistan Ahmadnagar Kashmir
Khandesh
to circumscribe the sub-continent
a Ceasar at the court of Fatehpur-Sikri
Akbar is ___!
Who would parse and complete or conclude the syllogism
For « One » who dared abolish the jiziyah
Note: Jalal ud-Din Muhammad Akbar (1542-1605), the third Mughal Emperor, edicted that muezzins should herald the rising of the sun by the call: Allah-u-Akbar!
The « jiziyah » , a word of Arabic origin, meaning a tax levied on non-Muslims who wished to conserve their own property, and imposed by the Moghul sovereigns – on and off - in India, was abolished by Akbar in his seventh year of accession to the throne.
©: T. Wignesan, March 13, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
King of Lies
It's all about you,
Isn't it?
Always, no matter what the disaster
You've most recently caused.
It always comes back to you,
How badly you're treated
By the Fake News
(By which we mean the real truth,
As reported by those Enemies of the People).
You, Oh naked would-be king,
Are the Enemy of the People.
And more, and more, and more of them
Are coming to understand that.
In a way I suppose you may be right;
After all, were it not for you,
We wouldn't be mocked by the rest of the world.
We wouldn't be force-fed 'Alternative Facts".
We wouldn't have our honor and our very lives
Held hostage to your need to be the center of all attention.
Your citizens are dying, by the way,
As you keep us floundering like a Third World country.
You haven't even the grace
Not to insult and belittle
The many, many everyday heroes among us
Who risk their lives incessantly
That others may live.
So go on, our unclothed wanna-be Emperor;
Make your pronouncements
To your emptying, echoing audience hall.
You are king of one thing,
That is true:
You are the king of lies.
You have lied so much you have no idea
What truth actually is.
You are delusional;
The reality you inhabit
Is not our true reality.
There is a real world out here;
Believe it or not.
And one day the nightmare you've created
Will fade into the grateful past,
You will be vilified
Down through the centuries,
And no one, not even your enablers
Will mourn your passing,
Not even your family,
Because you have no virtues.
Know this; you will die - soon;
No doubt this will be a great surprise to you.
But come it will,
And when it does,
Will you be able to put forth any account for yourself?
Will a single human life
Have been improved
As a result of your existence?
No.
You will go down to Eternity
Unmourned.
Not your wife, not your children,
Not your spineless lickspittles
Will mourn your passing.
For this I pity you.
It must be nice
To be so isolated
From reality;
To just accept
That your version of reality is correct;
That everything works the way
You want it to.
But this is not the case;
In the end it will be acknowledged
That you were the worst of all our Presidents,
And somehow, we survived you.
Thank God you will fade into our pasts;
Thank God we are stronger than you.