Long Queen victoria Poems
Long Queen victoria Poems. Below are the most popular long Queen victoria by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Queen victoria poems by poem length and keyword.
Duchess in her finery
Duke in his chair
people wander round
looking without care
Taking airs and graces
talking with a plum
searching night for treason
drinking too much rum
Livery boy falls over
lady screams in fear
was that Queen Victoria
leaving out the rear ?
Abused and mistreated
maid’s hurry about their toil
cooks in the kitchen
covered in grease and oil
Cats lay in the wicker
dogs are in the bins
orphan child gets sicker
rags don’t warm a sin
Waste flows through streets
rarely washed or swept
whores on the corner
working off her debt
Bible was the only book
church ruled the land
sometimes a dangerous place
to play your last hand
Grandmother reigned in glory
Hanover rulers stand
Victoria’s wonder years
played to a brass band
Form:
(An Austrian leader learns of the
death of his rival, 1838)
The footman, in impeccable white hose
and pigtailed wig, halts five yards off, and bows.
An under-secretary, in the throes
of studying the Lombard Ruse, allows
the silent slippered servant to slide near.
A silver salver bears a folded note.
He picks it up. Fine ivory veneer
reflects the silver buttons of his coat.
The older man is quiet as the grave,
and just as still. He contemplates the board.
As if they were the marble architrave,
both footman and official are ignored.
Just then, the boy picks up his knight
and moves it forward, capturing a pawn.
Here in the Gloriette, warm candlelight:
beyond the window, evening-shrouded lawn.
“Your Highness has the art,” the old man says,
and sits back in his chair. The tartan pile
of blanket shrouds his knees. His face betrays
the merest specter of a subtle smile.
Prince Klemens Wenzel Furst Von Metternich
enjoys the eight-year-old’s euphoria.
“You’ll make a mighty monarch, naturlich.”
His blanket slips (a gift from Queen Victoria).
The chance the Under-Secretary sought!
He coughs and tugs politely at his cuff.
“The note, Your Highness, which the footman brought …”
It’s almost imperceptible, the Prince’s huff.
“It seems that Talleyrand – well – he is dead.
Two nights ago. Near Tours. Chezal-Benoit.”
The old man grunts. “We haven’t been misled?
He died? I wonder what he meant by that.”
Across the ocean
Across the sea
I live in Lagos
the city to be
Where business activities has become something of a frenzy
And her economy is a thing of envy
I come from Lagos
The Old slave colony
but now it is a free state because God has destroyed all her enemies
I live in Lagos
Once a real estate of Queen Victoria
But now it is a land of fun and hysteria
With the British Colonial past lingering on
Lagos is the land of coconuts and burning sun
I come from Lagos
with no flowers and trees
and you will be lucky to see a single bumbee bee
But now we have glass houses and many a tower
And hundreds of automobiles that speed of by the hour
And that is the Lagos I see
I live in Lagos
Precious paradise close to the Atlantic
With a view that makes travelers so romantic
But with a teeming population
which seems dramatic
the heat of Lagos is getting traumatic
We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.
Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina on 2/11/2014
The footman, in impeccable white hose
and pigtailed wig, halts five yards off, and bows.
An under-secretary, in the throes
of studying the Lombard Ruse, allows
the silent slippered servant to slide near.
A silver salver bears a folded note.
He picks it up. Fine ivory veneer
reflects the silver buttons of his coat.
The older man is quiet as the grave,
and just as still. He contemplates the board.
As if they were the marble architrave,
both footman and official are ignored.
Just then, the boy picks up his knight
and moves it forward, capturing a pawn.
Here in the Gloriette, warm candlelight:
beyond the window, evening-shrouded lawn.
“Your Highness has the art,” the old man says,
and sits back in his chair. The tartan pile
of blanket shrouds his knees. His face betrays
the merest specter of a subtle smile.
Prince Klemens Wenzel Furst Von Metternich
enjoys the eight-year-old’s euphoria.
“You’ll make a mighty monarch, naturlich.”
His blanket slips (a gift from Queen Victoria).
The chance the Under-Secretary sought!
He coughs and tugs politely at his cuff.
“The note, Your Highness, which the footman brought …”
It’s almost imperceptible, the Prince’s huff.
“It seems that Talleyrand – well – he is dead.
Two nights ago. Near Tours. Chezal-Benoit.”
The old man grunts. “We haven’t been misled?
He died? I wonder what he meant by that.”
coffee
from stale flask
itchy armpits
no shower |||||| soap waits
*****
teeth cleaned with wet - less brush /////beauty buries herself in bones underbellies flip
emotions empty empathy
give gratitude for www.
a
t
E
r
NEVER TOO LATE
fate futile sees a waterfall
the one they named after Queen Victoria in an ancient African land holding GOLD
disappeared
where to where from >
___________pipe’s fixed …..S
A
L
love
empty U
spaces
where water
+ blood trickles
T
E
A. L. L. M. I. G. H. T. Y.
Books
I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair the other day.
It was mind-boggling..Books!
There were fat books, thin books,
White books, black books, tawny books,
Paperbacks, hardbacks, beautifully bound books,
Pure books, lax books, learned books, lay books,
Plain books, books of many colours,
Books on every subject under the sun,
Not to mention other books on
Distant galaxies, pulsars, quasars, black holes,
Books on any theme you can think of,
Or on themes you can’t even pronounce, from:
Art to Arthropods,
Bees to Biochemistry,
Cats to Catastrophes
Drugs to Decadence,
Energy to Ergonomics,
French Cooking to Frescos,
Guns to Gout,
History to Hippopotami,
Internal Medicine to Icebergs'
Julius Caesar to Justification,
Kulturkampf to Kinetics,
Lace to Logogriphs,
Man to Manchuria,
Nietzsche to Nonsense Rhymes,
Opera to Ophthalmoscopes,
Poodles to Pollution,
Quantum Mechanics to Queen Victoria,
Russell to Rabbits,
Shaw to Shingles,
Tao to Torts,
Urdu to Ultimatums,
Virgil to Vivisection,
Whales to Witchcraft,
X-rays to Xylographs,
Yoga to Youth Hostels,
Zen to Zola,..
By closing-time my legs were giving out.
A voice, it seemed, was saying:
“Of more than is taught by these, my son, take care.
Of making many books there is no end,
And much study is weariness of the flesh.” 1
I don’t know about making them, I thought,
As I commenced my get-away from the Penguin stand,
But it takes something of an athlete just to glance at them.
On reaching the gates I felt crushed,
First by the crowds, and second,
Under the sheer weight of unfathomable ignorance.
1. Ecclesiastes 12.12
A father calls about the grand hall for his daughters.
His premonitions serve him well, as Ana answers in due time.
He tells her to tell her sisters that they are going to
England, to visit their cousins. King George V found them
to be pompous, a decision he'll later regret.
WWI was spreading talks before they returned home.
King George V of Great Britain and Tsar Nicholas II of
Russia himself were on one hand, and Kaiser Wilhelm II
of Germany on the other – were first cousins? Their
grandmother was Queen Victoria.
All suffered great losses, but the Romanoff's suffered the
most. They lost their crowns and were imprisoned for a
long time. Later, they were led to a basement of chairs,
as they closed the door. Bolsheviks burst in, and after a
small speech, Ana held the older sister Olga as they fired
their pistol into the Romanoff's family and their doctor.
I hear England's strong voice praising its past:
Football's World Cup glory in 1966,
Shakespeare and Marlowe penning plays,
Sir Francis Drake circumnavigating the world,
Queen Elizabeth I, with the stomach and heart of a king,
Queen Victoria, with her ever expanding empire and waistline,
Constable, Turner and Reynolds painting pictures...
and yes, although it can only whisper of its today,
it shall sing once more of new glories,
it shall shout from its rooftops for St George,
and be proud of its past and present.
A little Patriotic free verse for Carolyn's contest, inspired by Whitman's 'I hear America singing'
I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair the other day.
It was mind-boggling..
Books! There were fat books, thin books,
White books, black books, tawny books,
Paperbacks, hardbacks, beautifully bound books,
Pure books, lax books, learned books, lay books,
Plain books, books of many colours,
Books on every subject under the sun,
Not to mention other books on
Distant galaxies, pulsars, quasars, black holes,
Books on any theme you can think of,
Or on themes you can’t even pronounce, from:
Art to Arthropods,
Bees to Biochemistry,
Cats to Catastrophes
Drugs to Decadence,
Energy to Ergonomics,
French Cooking to Frescos,
Guns to Gout,
History to Hippopotami,
Internal Medicine to Icebergs,
Julius Caesar to Justification,
Kulturkampf to Kinetics
Lace to Logogriphs,
Man to Manchuria,
Nietzsche to Nonsense Rhymes,
Opera to Ophthalmoscopes,
Poodles to Pollution,
Quantum Mechanics to Queen Victoria,
Russell to Rabbits,
Shaw to Shingles,
Tao to Torts,
Urdu to Ultimatums,
Virgil to Vivisection,
Whales to Witchcraft,
X-rays to Xylographs,
Yoga to Youth Hostels,
Zen to Zola,..
By closing-time my legs were giving out.
A voice, it seemed, was saying:
“Of more than is taught by these, my son, take care.
Of making many books there is no end,
And much study is weariness of the flesh.”
I don’t know about making them, I thought,
As I commenced my get-away from the Penguin stand,
But it takes something of an athlete just to glance at them.
I felt crushed, not only by the crowds
but also by the weight of my appalling ignorance.