Long Successor Poems
Long Successor Poems. Below are the most popular long Successor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Successor poems by poem length and keyword.
Who yields the rod
Tweeked
You are ready to speak
Diligence through provenance
Your inner child stood with dominance
My detail perfectionist
You are my novelist
My successor
Through past failiors
Earning your promotion
Through your level of devotion
Love was enough
For you never gave up
No sweeter place than your mind
Skipping rocks across a deserted river
No notion of time
You have reached the Devine
When asked to explain
Do not refrain
Do not fear change
For it is written within your name
A kingdom now found as the king scepter sound
Jesters will kneel to the ground
The knights will line up
No one will dare to talk
Your triple rainbow you shall have
It is now your time to laugh
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
...‘I belonged to a species like your own,
born of a mother of flesh and blood,
our people were guided by our own god,
who had lifted us up out of the mud.
‘We were an impossible old species,
with each generation we would improve,
but our god knew he had a limited time,
so helped make our growth gentle and smooth.
‘After billions of years of such guidance,
we had become much like gods ourselves,
with powers you cannot imagine yet,
but who would rise up? None could tell.
‘I set myself to serious study,
just like everyone else of my kind,
then one day I felt a great clarity,
as if a veil was lifted from my mind.
‘I had transcended into godhood,
in a great surge of pure energy,
my essence transformed to ethereal,
and I drew all bits of matter to me.
‘See, when a being becomes a deity,
he consumes everything that came before,
all life, all matter, even my old god,
until the universe of old was no more.
‘A universe is a god’s very flesh,
I drew it all in, and then with a bang,
expanded outwards as this new universe,
all the cosmos with my essence sang.
‘This happened fourteen billions years ago,
all of creation relies on my will,
and I marveled at this magnificence,
flexing my powers did keep my time filled.
‘I even thought that I was immortal,
that forever I would have time to play,
but like the old god, I've recently found
that even a deity can age.
‘All powerful does not mean all knowing,
and a successor I did not create,
I ignored the lessons of the old god
until now, when it is almost too late…
‘I do not have time to take you by the hand,
use the method that was applied to us,
it would take too long, and I have to hurry,
a billion years just isn’t long enough.
‘I made evolution just for this task,
to speed things up and make godhood arise,
intense competition will weed out the weak,
strength and competence will be realized.
‘It may seem brutal to those who will perish,
but no other solution can now work,
it may seem evil…maybe it is,
but rest assured, it is I that’s the jerk.
‘I was the one who arrogantly assumed
that I didn’t have to learn from the past,
it was my mistake that necessitates this,
I will regret this screw-up to the last...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
The Pope is
the Bishop of Rome
is the Vicar of Father Christ (Jesus) on earth
The visible Head of the Church
Successor of St. Peter
The supreme ruler of all Christians
He is the supreme judge in all matters of faith
Morals
In pronouncing upon which he may exercise unerring
His office is called the pontificate (or papacy)
As possessor of the keys to the kingdom of heaven
Gifted with unerring or certainty
The Pope keeps the doctrine of the faith pure
Acts as the center of unity in the Church
His office is a royal one
As represented by the triple tiara traditionally worn by the popes
Poem Written: 10:12a.m.
Time Written: 10:12a.m.
Poetry Form: Free Verse
I see you each day in that big department store.
You have all the good looks many men would adore.
Your silky blonde hair compliments your bright blue eyes.
Such attractiveness is easy to realize.
Every day, you are standing there in the same place.
It is not hard to notice that beautiful face.
You always seem to be staring out into space
as you are exhibiting such poise, style, and grace.
You wear something different each time I see you.
It may be tights, jeans, jumpsuit, or dress of blue.
Whatever you are wearing looks so good on you.
I hear soon you will be replaced with something new.
The store is undergoing some more transition.
Another will be standing in your position.
Soon, you will be replaced with a new successor,
and destined to the fate of your predecessor.
When they disassemble your head, legs, and arms,
you will no longer possess any of your charms.
Welcome to Santa’s Toy Shop the Head Elf said, greeting them nicely.
Santa and Mrs. Claus will be here in eighteen and a half seconds precisely.
A scientific candidate got out his Apple watch and timed them, for he could.
Mr. and Mrs. Claus appeared at the exact time the Head Elf had said they would
Head Elf made a note on his notepad about what the candidate did, no lessor.
His job was to give his best guess as to which one the best successor would be.
I wonder what he wrote? The other candidates asked but inside their head.
Knew the successor of Santa would have to work hard and always wear red.
In Chicago, Mayor RICHARD J ruled the roost DALEY for 21 years,
Til he breathed his last, giving way to the 'next sir:'
A pol named MICHAEL, who was dull and B'LAND-ICk!
When a snowstorm paved the way for a female successor.
'Hurricane JANE'S' reign BYRNEd hot and cold alternatively,
Til along came a black-vs.-white race that EPTON made BERN (I)Even hotter;
In neighborhoods from Sauganash to Lawndale to Beverly,
HAROLD's whiteWASHING of his opposiT'ON caused the Machine to totter.
But then he died, and neithORR DAVID nor another pol SAW YER discomfort
At EU(r) Mayor GENE's toppling of storied Chicago traditions,
Til came the inevitable, a RICHAR(d) DALEY, JUNIOR landslide election:
Which 22 years later left the "City that Works' in near-bankrupt condition..
..Setting the stage foR RAHM, E-MAN-U'EL love to hate,
The man whom some call "Tiny Dancer."
Who's next after him it's a bit early to tell,
But I say it's PAUL VALLAS, unless he gets cancer.
Chicago's Mayors:
1955-1976 - Richard J. Daley
1976-1979 - Michael Bilandic
1979-1983 - Jane Byre
1983-1987 - Harold Washington**
1987 (8 days) - David Orr (Interim Mayor)
1987-1989 - Eugene Sawyer
1989-2011 - Richard M. Daley, Junior
2011-Now - Rahm Emmanuel
2019 - ? - Paul Vallas ?
**Harold Washington defeated Republican mayoral candidate, Bernie Epton, in a bitterly contested, divisive campaign, one which focused largely on race. Epton's campaign slogan, for example, was: "Vote for Bernie, before it's too late." The racism was pretty blatant.
In a world decayed by tyrants and greed,
Serving the human for the human mans creed.
Separation and conflict, the terms we now know
Where once The Last Bastion “Hope” used to grow
Defensible positions push further the lines
Where once the Hearth kept us warm through the times
The surety of plenty now fallowed with salt
Our Promised Land lays dormant, brought to a halt
Successor and Succor were once the lands governed
Brought low by obsession, greed is now covered
By laws and amendments they do what they will
Never giving care to the blood that they spill
A spearheaded tactic, to punch through the lies
Conviction and reason, the common ones cries
To once again see a world of solace and care
To take away hatred, and an end to despair
So with this, The Last Bastion “Hope” you can see
The salt lifted from a land that was once diseased
And never more daunted by an endless abyss
With “Hope” Comes “Love” and in the end … is “Bliss”
Wealth you seek, hmm let me decide,
Ok let’s trade, work out a fair price,
Sometimes I can be quite extortionate,
This special case, perhaps very nice.
Depends weather, you please me,
Better be good, for our exchange,
Though take great heed, in advance,
Never am I duped, or shortchanged.
Cannot bargain, once the deal’s struck,
I make the rules, there’s no way back,
Billion dollars, my one and only offer,
Yes! you chose wisely, a sweet contract,
Sit back relax, we’re almost complete,
Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping in touch,
Just need to seal, our little covenant,
Few moments, you’ll possess so much.
My mark, I stamp with my rear left hoof,
From you just need, two vials of blood,
Be off now, enjoy these new found riches,
Can’t promise though will bring much luck.
Decade passed, guess who’s here to collect,
Enjoyed watching, you squander and spend,
That’s all behind! it’s time to settle our pact,
Liked your style, frittering every last cent,
Be silent beast! for I’m ready to pay,
Nothing left to offer, I give you my soul
Millions of them, in hell’s vault anyway,
Mine must be special, cost a heavy toll.
Show contempt, incur the wrath of Satan,
Will impale you infernally, upon my horns,
Sounds like bliss, fine music to the ears,
While at it, swathe me, in sharpest thorns.
What sort of person, would endure such pain,
Sadomasochist! Know damn well what I mean,
So the harder you punish, the more I enjoy,
Done homework, you clearly would’ve seen.
Not so fast kid, I always run a rigorous screen,
Why the samples of your blood, was in need,
Turned out we’re family! welcome back home son,
A supernatural demon, from my very own seed,
Looked on in pleasure, at your filthy whore orgies,
Champagne, crack cocaine, whilst eating raw meat,
Have to say, what a complete loser, and disgrace,
Most unworthiest successor, now inherits my seat.
By
David Kavanagh
The Dalai Lama, who has earned
great respect and admiration,
has said that, after his death,
he will achieve reincarnation.
The school of Mahayana,
a Buddhist doctrine,
teaches social concern
and universal salvation,
a revered belief system
in his Tibetan nation.
The government of China,
with its history of prevarication,
insists that only it can decide
on the Dalai Lama's next manifestation,
showing complete disrespect
for Buddhist faith and tradition.
This atheistic tendency
shows no understanding
of trancendency,
and I hope his successor
will continue the struggle
against the oppressor.
Whatever you do or do not believe,
religion is a powerful force,
and the true Dalai Lama's credibility
will always be a matter of course.