There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.
Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It carves deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.
Imagination lends us its safe wings,
So we can soar toward futures we choose,
To fill our life with hopes and precious things;
Though striking gold is never a mere cruise,
Nor are the lily-livered crowned as kings.
Sweat would streak our face and our skin would bruise,
Our legs may throb and swell with insects' stings;
It's for our future that we pay the dues —
We'll patch our hurts with plasters, cloth, and slings,
On great hopes, our imagination clings.
It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when reason reigns supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet sometimes birth false hopes no truth redeems.
And dreams may fade like echoes in a stream.
Categories:
plebeians, dream, future, hope, imagination,
Form: Rhyme
There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.
Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It digs deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.
It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when sane minds reign supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet still give false hopes life may not redeem.
Categories:
plebeians, dream, future, hope, imagination,
Form: Rhyme
Amazing, breathtaking, charismatic damsels
ensnaring fierce, gallant heroes into jaded knights
languishing malingerers, nincompoops,
ostracized plebeians.
Question rises surely then—
Undeniably verily, why?
Xenial yeomanly zeal!
Categories:
plebeians, betrayal,
Form: ABC
The wall of russet brick, which, once resplendent,
ever crumbles leaving gaps; a toothless grin
slicing landscape. No longer the defendant
between the plebeians and the crown within,
the ancestral barrier is at death’s door;
rifled masonry builds shelter for the poor,
bridled meadows slowly overgrow the rest;
a child skips oblivious across, now blessed.
Categories:
plebeians, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rispetto
We long for arms to hug us
when nobody is willing to give up
a minute of their invaluable time;
a consoling embrace, a sympathetic look
can bring much empathy to our tears
and replace what others took
from us having stripped us of all pride,
but not of the unceasing will to rise!
Besides love and its fortitude,
everything else appears small;
we must declare it to all
and it will change hearts,
lifting them to another altitude...
becoming floating balloons!
We learned from mother
those incredible strengths
to confront life's strifes
and they became instincts
protecting our inheritance,
guiding us with prudence;
the older we got, the grayer
we saw the strands of our hair.
Besides love and its fortitude,
glory and power are the aspirations
of plebeians who weren't born to govern others
and feed their ego with conceivable anger:
knocking down everybody standing
in their way, woe to the one rebelling,
not complying with their rules of disdained platitude;
and certainly, death can be a sure thing as his fear.
Categories:
plebeians, abuse, character, conflict, corruption,
Form: Rhyme
The streets fiercely stares
Adding to my misery and fears.
While the police brings the tears
Shooting with the gun and their stares.
In our world, things work in reverse
Drifting slowly and never clears
As office bandits drink to cheers
While documents go damn with smears.
We thank the head of state who cares
To see we rot without heirs
For with no dime and without affairs,
Our lives waste through the years.
Semi clad lasses walk, undaunted by stares
While the synagogue no longer prepares
The soul but steal the wares
Of the plebeians with little shares.
Robbers in broad daylight erect stairs
For they, living in their own spheres
Proudly put on airs
And gag in stupor on various beers
Just like a God forsaken sentry
Who in poverty would for money permit entry
And in lassitude gently await purgatory,
For 25frs, I would gladly sell my country
© Temajung Michael T.
Categories:
plebeians, betrayal,
Form: Rhyme
No china cups, satins, silks or linen.
Nothing extra, no gifts that have been given.
The walls in the same solid blah colors.
Something chosen for a dull head brother.
Give me my couches stacks high and low.
With comfy blankets and neon lights that glow.
Give me paints and stand back in awe.
As I paint my murals with crows that caw.
Peacocks here. Dragons there. Sharp colors everywhere.
Stand back Plebeians as I sandblast the stairs.
I have ideas and I do not mean just a few.
This masterpiece will not be complete ‘til I’m 92.
Categories:
plebeians, art, home,
Form: Rhyme
Children’s names are not common any more,
Parents do not want their children to be plebeians.
I cannot pronounce most of them.
They are unique, like their child - gifted names,
Created by enterprising parents who did not want them to be plain in any way.
I get corrected a lot, by the whole class when I mispronounce Zyrahietta and Jostra’blend.
Their peers, who know how to say it now, yell it out in an exasperated way.
Thinking it funny that I do not know them yet. We have been in school three days.
Teachers learn twenty-five names a year.
The support staff is more successful when we learn all three hundred.
We are sunk if we do not, as even the plebeians respond to their name.
Categories:
plebeians, perspective,
Form: Free verse
Oh Freida who is fingering your shroud?
I can hear you coming, crossing the
old mansion’s tower and can see your
dark braided hair with feathers,
your perfume drifting past and
settling on uncut flowers.
But before I embrace your form,
I want to see with eyes full of flint
the draperies and naked bodies
in perpetual chiaroscuro.
Flirting with your pigments, I want
to dab violet on the face of mist,
gore sorrow with a riot of crimson-scarlet
and fling viridian on the face of earth to
be fresh again. Believe me I do not care
how you handle your brush or
whether unknown empires rise in your canvas
or knights and plebeians cross swords on
deserted beach.
I just want your blushing glow and
whisk the Dark Angel into first light.
Categories:
plebeians, animal, appreciation,
Form: Blank verse