Long Nobleman Poems
Long Nobleman Poems. Below are the most popular long Nobleman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nobleman poems by poem length and keyword.
A Shadorma
Arthur’s lot
memory of myth
it’s never
been proven
legend, myth, reality
will we ever know?
The truth lay
buried but not at
Tintagel
perhaps it’s
elsewhere or perhaps he was
not really a king...
Maybe a
farmer or trader?
Tin miner,
a genius,
great mind within his own time?
it may be...
A king can
be numerous things
even a
scientist;
king of industry or a
prognosticator?
Perhaps he
was really Merlin?
A nickname
of Arthur...
nobility's not always
simply a ruler...
Sometimes we
must look carefully
to define
many words
what if Arthur was just a
common nobleman?
We look for
those whom are wiser
than ourselves.
What if king,
was a reference to his
bright, bold character?
And to all those I have wronged
I am remorseful
For my life is an enigma
And at times I lose my way
Like a mad dog that goes astray
Enslaved by tribulations
That fails to go away
And reason becomes an absurdity
As my sanity fades away
Like a stallion
In the misty wilderness
Who comes back at dawn?
My mind awakes
Replenish with life with the warmth of the sun
And rejuvenates like a new born
To drink from the lake of life
And to start another sojourn on earth
To get what is left to take
And remember those I shall never forget
And those I shall not forsake
Dreams unfilled
Living a life that is less thrilled
Ruled by plutocrats and kleptocrats
Who served the god of money
He takes your soul in return for a drop of honey
Friends come and friends go like the autumn wind
It s cold
So is life
For all that glitters is not gold
Standing on principle is worthless in the land of lunatics
Where religion is used as a weapon
By the raging fanatics
And freedom is used to enslave you more
For the oppressors we see
Are worse than the oppressors we saw
It is worthless for a bleeding pauper
The world sees not those who suffer
Except those who bask in the euphoria of wealth and stupidity
And who disgust those who live a life of humility
For the puppet master still pulls my strings
He is the god we see
Who controls all that life brings
And those artificial things
But time will vindicate the righteous
If you are true indeed so
When it blows
The wind of change
Everybody knows
Sound of chance
Fills the air
And ends your despair
Time servers and sycophants will perish
So will all that they cherish!
And relish
Hidden secrets locked away in the chest of the truth
Now unlocked
And I regain exuberance
Like I have bathed in the Fountain of Youth
For I have vowed to speak the truth
Parasites and worms that feed on the dead and the living
But never care for others because
They are never giving
Kings and nobleman were born of slaves
They are blind when they hold the mantle of authority
They fall because they know not the meaning of prosperity
A divide house can never stand
So let us unite
Form:
12/2/2020
Seeds starting to germinate
The scent always permeates
The effect begins to percolate
Having an impact on the murder rate
As life begins or terminates
Thought I heard a hiss
But was too caught up in bliss
After a poisonous kiss
Everything going amiss
Because I was too caught up in getting my fix
She was able to nix
Falling and sinking amidst the fish
Can't resist, is this it?
Not while I exist
Had to find a grip
The tables turned and flipped
Took a lot of risks
In order to get out of the abyss
Couldn't keep falling for the same old tricks
Do what I want with this heart of mine
Don't care if it's dark outside
Experienced comfort and the hardest times
I'd be darned to lie
That sober s***
Been struggling to get over it
Often a Doberman
And other times a Nobleman
Here's an honest statement
At times I overcompensated
Made things far too complicated
And always got intoxicated
Making myself an abomination
When I concentrated
I often dominated
Always felt obligated
And that this world was far too populated
I just thank God I made it
Nothing else needed to be contemplated
Enea, Embarking at Piombino
An impecunious nobleman he was,
with all the grace and arrogance of youth:
he signed with Capranica, just because
the latter (who was longer in the tooth,
with deeper pockets) offered him, in truth,
a chance to show his intellectual wares –
and fortune loves a comely youth who dares.
This Capranica bore Colonna blood,
the Pope, new-voted, was Orsini clan –
a situation classed as less than good.
The urgent need was, get to Switzerland,
consult the Pope, and do what eloquence can.
(Poor Capranica’s farms were being despoiled
by elements who were Orsini-loyal).
And Enea? Good-looking, limber, neat,
whose fragrant learning smelled not of the lamp:
he’d charm those cardinals right off their feet,
with each Quintilian quip or Catiline cramp.
Across the seas and through the Alps he’d tramp,
with brain and tongue to serve his master’s cause,
like “To Lucasta, Going to the Wars.”
To Piombino Capranica’s band
now headed. Quite aware they must avoid
Orsini cities, and all hostile land,
took ship for Genoa. A storm “annoyed”
their boat (the very word Enea employed):
as Ulysses encountered Nausicaa,
he almost lost his life off Corsica.
But here we see him as the journey starts
(he’s riding on the chestnut). True to form
(before the fiefdom of the Bonapartes)
his universe is colourful and warm,
oblivious of that black approaching storm.
If only we could know our destiny,
and shape to meet our cyclones, out at sea!
Sensationally super, and Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel!
Comments: During my twenty plus years of military service I was always called
Spence, J. That's just the way the government does business. This acrostic is
about Spence, J. It's crafted on a combination of alliteration, assonance and
consonance sounding words. Eggnog at Christmas is my favorite. Having a
Sunday afternoon sundae at the ice cream parlor is oh so tasty. Wow! I just love
it!!! Anyway, here are some comments on writing an acrostic. The basic acrostic
poem is formed by writing a word vertically down the page, which may also be
the topic of the poem. It’s recommended to use one letter per line, and the
beginning letters should be all capital ones. Each line of the poem should begin
with the letter on that line and the line should pertain to the word or title being
used. Some may recommend using one word or a phrase which does not have
to rhyme; however, one may move beyond the basic acrostic form and use a
complete thought with a rhyming sequence. It’s also recommended to use
adjectives and phrases that describe the word or subject of the acrostic. Finally,
one may take the quantum leap and write a double acrostic where the first and
last letters of each line are the same.
The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
There is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
Long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
___________________________
November 11, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/My Heart and Spirit
Copyright Protected, ID 11-435-073-11
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
I drained life of its fullness...
not pricing its worthiness,
leaving nicks in the prime of youth:
deceitful tricks to ignore every truth.
I imitated parody to conceal identity,
thus making it forgery my priority;
and the masked nobleman acted out his
infamous burlesque play, ridiculing Fay...
knowing that her unrhymed lines
were intently borrowed from clowns,
not from gifted writers with clever minds;
did they bray when they were blamed for the delay?
My intent was not a merited Godsent or lofty thought
perceived by a gladiator who held the wilt
of his sword proportioned to his solid built,
but rather ridden by a guilt which had a powerful force to jilt
me when I was reduced to tears by my peers for my peculiar tilt.
Written on 12/12/2016
In the Highlands of Scotland
A Kingdom exists
Two Kings rule
In the mountains and mist
A nobleman knight
With his bird of prey
A Golden Eagle so rare
Regal display
On moonlit nights
A turret he stands
Golden Eagle on hand
Two powers of grand
One word he speaks
The Eagle lifts
In powerful swoop
Gracefully swift
He flies to the heavens
Turns into the moon
To silhouette himself
In winged tune
The lunar light
On the knight shines
As he views his Eagle
In flight divine
A whistling call
Wind of change
The Eagle returns
To his masters domain
Hand outstretched
In silent land
The call of the wild
In respectful command
Come to my Kingdom
For all this you'll see
In the Highlands of Scotland
The real land of the free
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy4.php
there is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
__________________________
March 01, 2023 (Repost)
Poetry/Freed Verse/the painting
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1528-736-01
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, You Pick Again
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/02/2023
Third Place