Long Knight errant Poems
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AUTUMN IN UDELNAYA WOODS
The smoke from the shashlik fires made us hungry
So that we could have eaten the falling golden manna from the trees
Offered to two wanderers in this sylvan wilderness.
Not forty years, but forty minutes in which life changed for us.
It was only a field trip she said, to study the socio-environmental
Arrangement, the attitudes, of couples in the autumnal picnic grounds.
She needed the truth for her dissertation, she needed my help.
Knight errant in the pursuit of knowledge, that’s me.
In pursuit of her, if the simple truth be known.
She gave me the golden opportunity I had been seeking all summer:
Now the harvest was at hand, and the reaper all too ready.
She needed photos to show the attitudes of the couples
No photos were needed to show our attitudes.
We were clearly a couple with attitude, and my socio-environmental
Score matched hers exactly: that’s scientific for “we fell in love”.
Look up! Such a glorious afternoon of yellows, and a blue sky.
Look down! The lake reflecting our faces filled with smiling delight,
Gold underfoot, and her lustrous flaxen hair draped over my shoulder.
The field trip showed the truth, she knew it and so did I.
It was forty years ago : we still remember it, tell our kids about it,
Especially on fall days like today.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck 2 October 2011, and
Entered in Francine Roberts’s Contest “A Nature Tale”
they're not speaking to me now, the Muses;
they're being stubborn,
witholding information, like beetle-browed accomplices -
their mouths pulled tight as drawstring purses.
they sit on their twin thrones of epiphany and genius,
smiling silently,
mockingly, while my fingers twitch with impotent yearning
and the chambers of my mind are cold,
dark and hollow as a cave.
i have become a contradiction in terms -
the wordless poet strikes again...
writer's block is the yoke around my neck,
the anchor that sends me drifting lachrymose
into the suffocating depths -
i am drowning,
swallowing tendrils of seaweed and tufts of
gossamer melancholy.
a struggling artist shouldn't have to work this hard -
to pay the bills yes, but not to create;
without the birthing process there is no artist...
yet there is still hope, a smidgen, a dark smudge on the horizon.
some knight errant might appear, with golden locks
and a smile that trembles the knees,
to inject love and longing back into my sulky heart.
he might extend his brave hand, down into
these murky depths, and yank me up;
dragging my creativity, bedraggled, choking,
retching, into the bleak light of inspiration's flare...
but then again, who believes in knights these days?
i am just as likely to wither away down here,
among the fishes and the wall-eyed anemones,
until the words have all filtered from my brain
and poetry is just a fond memory
from long-ago halcyon days...
Valor, thy call is a countryman's claim.
Nowhere but not quite alone in the game.
Thunderbolt, twilight is perfect for you!
Hope will accrue before we all turn blue...
Singular, smiling. Sink fast in the sea?
Maybe not, young fellow. Then we'd be free?
Not on your life nor the edge of a knife!
Fain would the demon-sultan blow the fife...
Trickling through ivy among the old graves?
Sunlight, will I see what everyone saves?
Value. What has it? Humanity, when?
Cogs in machines, golem. Hell and Heaven.
Knight errant, instruction. Where does it lead?
O for young lovers lost deep in their greed!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor box, well...
Coven, thy witches are casting fell spell!
Deepest chasm, down the crystal blue pit?
Judges, acquit what the chef may just spit!
Dark backward, through abysm we all creep!
Pule and the pile adds ye, atop the heap...?
Yes, and if care is took, look good in book!
Chimney-sweep, barrel, thy tar and thy nook!
Cold are the coals that glow after a fire?
Remote-controlled are these new guns for hire...
Dinosaur, energy. Where came and why?
Needle, a camel wants in through your eye!
Flowing like lava down hillock and vale.
Slave, bill of sale means dread end to our tale...
Torment, thy world. How the discus has hurled!
Pirate flag unfurled, spread over and pearled!
One last caress before goodbyes are said?
Hold on to the hat on the top of thy head...
I wish I was more of a fool,
Whose only happiness is to make folly my desires;
Nonsense to which I assented my ego,
To err the only decency I fondled.
I wish I was more of a coward,
Whose only dismay is I myself being a hero;
A morsel of gallantry is scattered,
Losing the identity of a knight errant.
I hate it when I become so enthused,
With the thing most of the people hate;
Or perhaps I am just so fond of pretensions,
Candidly spoiling the inceptive of sanity.
I hate it when the heart's debacle is unmasked,
Becoming too mundane to obscure;
Dragging me to the abyss of deception,
Desperately seeking for my lost soul.
What can I be to you? A scoundrel perhaps?
A naught would be much appalling too;
It gives me no option for bliss,
Nor the dire longing for a kiss.
I walk leaving with no trace.
Head held up like a king with no crown;
Wide enough my kingdom it may seem,
My queen I lost, my treasure I wasted.
How can I get up from below,
Deserting the future it may offer;
I can only do a little with what I have,
Constantly waning from what is left inside.
I wish of my own stupidity, bragging it loosely,
Claiming my own ardor in disdain;
The desolation was never in my mind,
Until I lost my fervor, my amity, my love.
Form:
Knights of the nebula pond?
Kingdom Gone, return.
Witch and wizard, wave thy wand!
Tamarind taciturn...
Knight errant by lightning struck?
O for help to call!
Cult black magic, I've got truck!
Luck, best drop that ball.
Stuck with indecision?
O plight of prisoner.
Seeress, here is worst vision!
Reality, blur!
Chained atop the atoll wild?
Mother, stillborn child.
Young lovers unreconciled.
Slaughterhouses tiled.
Mild, art thou, O fickle Fate?
Helpful is such hate!
Intellect, be not ingrate!
Gold, go to the gate...
Wait a second, Fortune.
In what hole ought I fill?
Tomb of pharaoh? Trick or tune?
Boon, how to pay bill?
Where then to dig? Why split my wig?
Swine, bequeath to pig!
O dark matter, space is big?
I don't give a fig!
Garden lost from ancient times?
Wind, rattle those chimes.
O for boxes about mimes.
Drop upon, my dimes...
Mariners immemorial?
Land ho? Not just yet.
Ergo, editorial?
Poisonous thy pet.
Forget? O river Lethe, thy sheath!
Belladonna, bequeath?
Mistletoe, art best in wreath?
Hollyhock, thy heath...
True Knight
Could you support the Underdog ,
Could you take the poor mans' part,
Knight Errant could you fight Magog,
Rip out his Demons heart,
and when the wrong of Evil done,
You see the Devils' part,
to give your life to overcome,
be Valiant cleave the path...Don
We the persecuted poor want equality with the Evil rich.
We can have equality without Communism or any other ism.
The Evil Demon Greed is overpowering and the Lying Propaganda pre-veils:the Truth:}
We have a media like Facebook to reach everyone, and give each person the vote of how it
“will be” Furthering THE Political Correctness foisted upon us we should insist on Equality of Pesos' for all on the Planet. Not Dollars but world bank credits.
This obtainable Utopia needs funding “without the need for greed to be rich ethics.”
Advertising is needed to get Utopia, rolling,
remove the Evil greed,
stamp out the evil seed,
remove the shoddy lust,
Give power to the Just,
the rich will be Non-plused,
A better day, God-Speed,
In the One God yes we trust....
I woke trembling on the eve of dawn
dappled sunlight through window shone
upon my canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image, chiseled cheekbones
What fantasy had I taken in flight
Had my hand charcoaled this face
And in the darkness of my night
what knight-errant did I embrace
His eyes bore through my very own
No angle shielded their penetration
I reached for palette and brushes
he guided my hand for his creation
Colors gave life to detailed features
Blue eyes were flecked with gold
Bright with desire, grinning at me
I'd never painted something so bold
My palette awash in shades of oil
Streaks of cobalt covered my gown
When his eyes stared back at me
I knew that soon I would drown
I could not bear to tear myself away
On and on I painted where he led
My hand had wearied from its task
I lay back down on my rumpled bed
With eyes closed in hope of dreaming
of this man who now lives in my heart
Come, my handsome knight, once more
I can no longer bear living in worlds apart
i am reminded of my mother's advice
find a woman with God dearest in her heart
be grateful if she comes to love you
sit at His feet therein and blessings be yours
i am again lost in photos of you
when life held you in precious moments
those perennials you so loved
each as knight errant before your roses
lost in hues from rose, lavender, and blue
butterflies appearing
as they eagerly searched for their drams
wings of white, yellow, and orange
your marrow fills me
now a longing held within
times when i hunger to approach that Throne
upon supplicant knees
offer every blessing life has given
for simply one more moment
in your arms
OKC 5/22
“Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken." William Shakespeare
ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION
In a tv show I remember well
Called “Have Gun, Will Travel”
Richard Boone was the good guy hero,
Like Carradine’s Kung fu with Master Po.
In English tv’s “The Equalizer”, we
Had same thing, but with cups of tea.
Dunno if it’s just me or what,
But today kids don’t get to see a plot
Where a thinking non-violent
Guy can fix problems as a knight-errant,
And obey all reasonable laws,
And ask little reward or applause.
Now it’s bling and cash and save your hide:
Our tv shows kids that life’s a free ride.
Gotta be a better way for young minds
To learn to be selfless and kind.
We need a Paladin in each kid’s life
To show how to cope with strife.
Soft-spoken, big-stick kinda guy. . . .
Or did they all lay down and die?
. . . . . . . . . . .. . .
Entered in Shani Fassbender's Contest
Favorite Television Show/Episode Remembered
CROWN THE KING
Kendrick, king of kinetic kinesis,
Kaleidoscopic knowledge knits keenest.
Kindled by Compton's kinetic flame,
Keen verses vie for victory, acclaim.4
Knightly in kendo of kindred beats,
Keeps a killing calmness under knit sheets.
Kicks, knuckles, knockouts off his notes,
His knavish knacks, knight-errant floats.8
King of the craft, crowned in creative conquest,
Kendrick the keystone, like Kinta Kunte's quest.
The keeper of keys to kingdoms is K.Dot,
Kindhearted kinfolk, Kenny is kinetically hot.¹²
Kendrick's alter ego kits Kung-Fu Kenny,
Kdot's "6:16 in LA" & "Not Like Us" impressed many.
Kendrick's career-spanning series of the same name
Keeps Kung-Fu Kenny kitted-up in the rap game.¹6
Kaleidoscope king, keep kindling the art.
Crown King Kendrick, he who's carved apart.¹8
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Alliteration
Copyright ©?11th May, 2024.