Embroidery whose titan never gets credit
An empire whose founder is long forgotten
And exists only as an adage, whose tale relives
Long forgotten history
History that ministered hope to those dimming out
Shone paths to those whose itinerary was threatened by
Dark dusks and cloudy daytimes
A magnate whose reputation was the
Long run cup of poison, brewed enough to take his life
An army general whose subordinates conspired and unseated
Him, uncrowned him from glory with thorns
A trusted cognate who is declared illegitimate at the reading
Of a will
We all are victims of our previous milestones misunderstood
Fruitful efforts unappreciated and rightful places robbed
Once we were at the pinnacle but we only stare up at it
From the footstool we found ourselves suddenly
The peak of one mountain seemingly the bottom of the other
The tempting decision to drop off the pinnacle and grow wings
To land on the top of Everest or the slopes of Aberdares
Whichever the outcome let it be loud,
You were once at the top, and you are back there!
Drawn with anger,
Drawn with bitterness,
To attack, hurt and possibly kill,
He doesn't want to play the second fiddle,
He wants to be at the helm of affairs,
To be unseated is to be irrelevant,
To have a rival is to be partly significant,
All eyes must look up to him,
All obeisance must be accrued to him,
He is ready to hew
any tree that stands beside,
He is ready to fight and restrain,
Forgetting that his end lies in wait,
His fall, like a crashing cymbal.
June 3, 2022.
Political Anxiety and Notoriety
result unseated
politics is repeated
had been defeated
Jim Horn
Number 7,996.
Seems like I have been
writing poems all of my
life.
Secret Ballot Impeachment
By Franklin Price
1/28/2020
Trump impeachment now in process
Is on the Senate floor.
The Democrats have said their piece,
Rehashed the House, and not much more.
Republicans now have their turn,
Of course, they will defend.
There may be more to testify,
But projected at the end,
Will be a vote of yea or nay,
To dump Trump from his seat.
Republicans voting all for nay
Are impossible to beat.
The balloting is public.
There for all of us to view.
When votes are cast and counted,
The president will not be new.
Rumors now are being tossed,
Some nays would change to yea,
If the vote was made in secret,
When it comes to voting day.
Trump would then be ousted.
The tables would be turned.
The president unseated.
We the People would be burned.
The Republicans who would vote yea
Are not the ones we need.
They are the liars either way,
Who make this country bleed.
No matter how the ballots cast
In secret or in view
Should be the same, it's not a game
Should not be one, much less, a few.
Love, why do you keep treating me so badly?
You steal my heart and make me act madly.
I feel you in every music playing in my head,
You echo in every wise words I have never said.
Will you keep quiet and let me reason
or you will keep me stuck in this prison?
Love please listen, my silence is loud and clear,
stop giving me bad friends and good foes to fear,
If you are really very strong, please set me free,
and if you think I’m wrong, please let me be.
I want to live and learn to never love again,
My heart is sick and tired of this pleasurable pain.
This is the last time my heart will ever get broken,
I wonder if you heard the words I have spoken…
Do I have to put this single track on repeat
or you will accept this impossible defeat?
I know you are too strong to be wrong
and your throne is where my spirit and soul belong.
Since you are too powerful to be unseated,
I declare my doubts and fears defeated.
Come and capture this special space,
make my memories a pleasant place.
© Adeleke Adeite 2019
Brexit Sonnet No.20
‘No More Hell-Broth’
Our Brexit bringers are cross with their leader ‘tis said,
Confidence lost with their gabardine dream of last year.
The model’s moved on, but distress on how they are led
Is causing them angst, with some pain; even fear.
Kindness is due to the man in the eye of the storm,
Well served his country with arms; OBE from our Queen.
Unseated by hurdle in midst of one’s life is the norm,
For a man who selects, or elects, a questionable team.
Now confidence escapes our Brexit bearers,
As wobbly Brexit cauldron boils and bakes,
It’s toxic mix of economic errors.
We suffer, whilst fools of all, it makes.
So eye of newt and toe of frog be gone!
We’ll drink no more hell-broth to Brexit’s song.
©Keith Murphy
A righteous pillage, your justified prize.
Indignation, winning, all you can see.
If freedom melts away before your eyes
Then you assume it was not meant to be.
A system designed to thwart corruption.
A sacred tree bearing freedom’s flower.
Yet we fall for the tawdry seduction.
A nation of whores, we sell our power.
The love of country has been unseated,
Replaced by three hundred million factions.
People divided, people defeated.
Windmill tilting, appearance of action.
The stag leaps in front of the train to die;
Blind, jaundiced eagle falls from the sky.
3/1/16
Wooden guardians part reluctantly,
Their threats feeble against my entry.
The gloom adjusts itself in the warm light from outside.
Cold steam billows
Where incense rose and inspired.
Wooden benches,
Unseated,
Apprehend the emptiness.
Old blessings echo off the walls and fall on to cracked tiles.
All around the cracked altar swirl spirits
Invoked in need.
The long empty table,
Unconsecrated,
Uncelebrated,
Unblessed,
Stands mostly
Unused.
Idealism gone. Work ethic deleted
No concept of service. Patriotism defeated
Continual bulls**t. Same mistakes repeated
Undermine the people. Honesty unseated
More concerned with his wallet than the poor
Believes he’s owed a king’s lifestyle and more
Allowing terrorists inside our shore
Never attempting to do what he is paid for
Taking from the people. Watching liberty crack
Smiling at the Camera while breaking the nation’s back.
NO MORE INCUMBANTS!!
TWO TERM LIMIT- ONE IN OFFICE AND ONE IN PRISON.
An envoy sent to foreign land
pride dismissed cup in hand
to cross the sea at pessidons mercy
before a queen he must curtsey
Help us please defend our honor
without you help we are a goner
the dogs of war are at our gate
we do not know our final fate
our faiths depleted
our king unseated
steadfast we stand
defend our land
till the last man standing
were still demanding
self preservation
self determination
for this once proud nation
She was there for me when I came of age,
but when, for a girl of unlocked doors and
a missing father. in flight down the stairs,
an intruder pursuing, no dagger in the chamber
of non-connubial rights. "Bad dream," she said,
when summoned home from a tavern tryst
to calm her child in torn pajamas, unsafe ever after
in any man's arms. Yet, she was there for me
with the sanitary belt, its necessary napkin,
my gentle guide into the world of women,
when the blood-flower broke its bright red stain
on virginal sheets, auguring deflowering.
Her pretty clothes?--borrowed, as if
a mock stepmother in the mirror on the wall
restored my fall from the favor of our king.
Lucia, (not "di Lammermoor"), she did not stab
the bridegroom, or go mad. Blonde to my darkling
Carmen, queen to an unseated princess,
whose sleep went forty years, the prince blind-
sided, the slipper shattered, the horses
harnessed, the child become a woman,
asleep, asleep, in her glass coffin.
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