Short Xvi Poems

Louis XVI

head strong

head gone...

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evening flight -
from highlands to lowlands
the sun sets twice...

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.
.
.
.
.
.
.s i t u a t i o n s*
.
.
.
.
....

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patio deck sun
our focused small dog mimics
push ups and head bobs--
counters a brazen lizard
and wins my admiration...

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a young man reaches for green tea
	with lemon
but the shelf is empty and he sighs

it’s the tiny deaths in life
	that prepare you for the big one...

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The beat that composes
Summer’s zealous speech
Employed my bones with jubilees
A quaint taste laced
with pornographic oaths
Of which I abstain from forsaking
As in her caress I descend...

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Leonardo di ser Piero painted with such flair
especially 'The Lady with Dishevelled Hair'
This head of a woman(la scapigliata )to be sure
 with captivating beauty& a mysterious demeanor


...

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**Pope Benedict XVI**

Bishop of Rome, 
Head of the Roman Catholic throne. 
Many rise to the dignity of his succession.
Mr. Pope, would you like to hear my confession.

show me the funny part 2 contest...

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poofy and pretty 
dresses of the royal court
all her pretty things
untouched; the affable king
an ineffectual spouse

2/16/2021

*Teens when they married,
it took Louis XVI seven years
to have sex with his wife....

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Look at you
You are such an angel
Not a worry in the world
We all have a prayer for you
May you always be happy
Hopefully you'll never lose your laugh
Everyone you ever meet will love you
No one will ever cause you harm
And you will always just be you
The same angel we see now

© Poem – XII/XVI/MMXXI...

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French King Louis XVI placed his love bet
On teenage queen Marie Antoinette
Sadly, it is said, though she deserted his bed 
For frivolous Marie, Louis lost his head.

Of Louis’ sweet Marie, it is our take
She was a desserter who truly loved cake
For proposing cake for peasants who lacked bread
Queen Marie left a guillotine minus her head...

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He's messed up the whole earth's morale
Donald's not a traveler's pal
Because he's a thug
We must yank out his plug
As Kubrick directed for HAL

Author's note: Last line is a reference to "2001 A Space Odyssey." Quite like what happened to the HAL 9000 computer in the film, we certainly think there is something wrong with the brain of our master....

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The morning eye do I love
it see a new day untouched
a breath of sight so grand
a peace-inner speak-eye

tussle the bed sheet, a flag
that Nation for the sleeper
my Anthem made of murmur
whisper-speak my tender love

and each morning i awaken
do i see my Nation next to me
that Anthem her name and lips
and her voice angelic bliss.

:: - ::...

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XVI. 

They spoke kindly those.

They reveled fondly of theirs

Of tender times reminisced.

Journeys made in fellowship.

Deeds for the sake of deeds.

Forgiven solely to forgive.

They broke bread partook of salt and imbibed wine.

None can speak ill of such charity.

Of this a query arose.

Thine was not of those. 

© veritatem voluntatem 2015?...

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Golden water glittering through
delicate weeping willow leaves
Swans swimming on  the lake
Grand  house on top of the hill
neatly framed with many trees
Shingled roof  peaked gables
Large arched windowed eyes
Carpeted  flowers staircases
Marble floor,  chequered hall
Dining room living room den
Settee Louis XVI parlor chair
Deep  yellow blue pink letter
Clatter of  six sets  of  hoofs...

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Innocent weavers
Sat still mourning –
The siren heralded
At midnight
The emergency swords in the rafter
Like a lone early morning cock.

The forest was a terror spot 
Helter-skelter in blood-discolouration
Marking a nest of the free?
Terror & anger clashed
Again & again
In man rearing the seeds of the night:
Shrewd pebbles of inviolable intents
And mutilated feathers in a battered nest!...

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In those sweet voices, 
Traces of euphoria and poisons,
Pour out in waves, 
Entering canals 

Sound becomes delicacy,
The body Enraptured
—Horripilation—
Titillating the flesh

Instruments smite the still air—
Smokes and oxygen
Are not the only source of breath—
My tears form in perspired release

Those bumps spreading,
In the strangest of places,
Through the doors. . .
Through the windows. . .


2.16.20...

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Sir – dearest Vicar,
Tho’ you failed to tell
Those that faces in that dark night,
The gods had called the birds 
Fresh from the forced excursions!

Sir – dearest V.C.,
Now, this is another false re-approach: 
Demanding cowries from the birds
For the corns they ate not!
Why are the initial clouds being moved again?

Sir – dearest Vicar,
Free all the caged representors
– We need peace in the communal nest! –
Thanks: yours freed representor....

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(I)
I am the very tip of
Byzantium’s jagged lance,
the bridge between
our forefather's fall
and the luminosity of the
our sons' golden age

(II)
I am the
Antiochian knight
burdened by
Mehmet’s yoke,
my torch
blazes with a
Varangian ire
that turns pagans and
satyrs, robed in
postmodern depravity,
into stone

(III)
My tale unravels
on cobbled pathways
mirroring Hagia Sophia’s spires,
beckoning before the
celestial halo –
apotheosis veiled by
dawn’s icy veneer...

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