this family was a throwback to the 1890’s I think
they appeared out of nowhere, a wormhole clink?
they were dressed like Victorians in feathers and fur
their child had a ****, and their horse gave a purr
fluffy in velvet gown and fancy boots was the wife
Husband wore a brocade vest and a top hat as sharp as a knife
the children were dressed to the maximum which we do not do
this Victorian family was a throwback to 1891 or 92.
I love the gentle snowflakes falling
floating down from the sky like feathers
drifting, twirling, dancing, whirling and prancing
blanketing my city magical white
I was born into snow
the wind howling through the trees like banshees
city drifts and cars slipping
I arrived a snow child
I like to stroll the city streets
as magical snow changes downtown
pigeons hover on the ledges
folding their wings together
Ottawa steeped in history
the buildings are old and beautiful
gray bricked, elegant and sturdy
many homes Victorians
My city boasts of many winding trails
but nothing is more amazing than in winter
a crisp, walk among sleeping trees
oh, love hiking past a frozen stream that still ripples
I have creaking rooms in an old city building
outside my window trees in all seasons are my view
but winter snow falling on my city stirs my soul
I can hear my beloved snow calling me
come, come, come outside my love
Do we all hear the rumour? A funeral draws near.' A spectacle is intended I think that much
Is real clear.' There will be black gloves and the
Muffled drums, that measured tread..Somber
Theater spun.' Staged to draw compassion from those (who might come?) The cornet may sound? Majestic..But I think we all know
What's the come..'
That vic-pols funeral is marching in the shadows here thrown long.'
Under the sun, As many narratives un-ravel.. That they still try to grow.' So will the
Blinds be drawn upon them? Will the windows
Stare out blank.? And also will True Blue Victorians 'about-face?' And here I shall be quite frank! Leave
Them to realise.? What a mess they have banked.! Heaped up like those mountains.'
When (they turned on their own?) Yet I think its not Victoria.? Nuh..Thats not where their
Love; and loyaltys are sown.' May they well listen.. And deeply' to that winds lone lament and moan.'
In a broken-hearted city.' Where they once did strut.! Its recorded and shown
To posture and enact such wicked anger, to vent, Yes I see, And saw
For me it has stuck deep in my heart, and in my gut.To remain reminder forevermore.'
The great leaders of history
give their name to the period
The Victorians have a story
carved out to their merit.
Survival isn’t a given,
success is of living,
processes stay driven
progress beyond vision
There’s always an enemy
wishing to impose the unknown
that future a separate destiny
severed free of our own
When the system works
the evolution goes on
for the system that serves
we all feel we belong
Greatness comes from a motion
the fuel comes from our emotions
that Queen Elizabeth was provoking
our strength so far from broken
She was the greatest of them all
because Britannia was set to fall
shrinking in size yet still standing tall
No to a Republic offering us bugger all!
Long Live The Kingdom
adapt with subtlety
survive through continuity
and the best will be!
The Victorians knew how to keep the odd keepsake,
locks of hair, dried blooms, death masks.
Flowers and Jewels, all had symbolic meaning.
Butterflies and all manner of dead bugs were curated,
pinned to the afterlife forever.
Few now have the patience to collect, label and display.
We are the display now.
The selfie, the vacation, and the dinner we ordered
are now the collected keepsakes of existence.
When we go the way of all dead things
these pictures will be pinned to clouds.
They will not gather dust nor fade,
for they were never that real anyway.
Emily Bronte makes her mark
speaking of the sweet bluebell
in its power shows its blossom
one can't help but go and tell
Springtime in the UK brings them out
the bluebell has a lovely scent
which hangs in the air so heavily
from bell-shaped flowers heavenly sent
The bluebell symbolises something great
humility, gratitude, constancy and everlasting love
this was loved by the Victorians so much
to them it was a language never enough
Folklore showed about bluebell woods
fairies there we're told would ring
so the fairies would be gathered
whether believing this what would it bring
In the UK there's over half that's in the world
recently the bluebell voted UK's favourite wildflower
so colourful with a lovely shade of blue
feeding on the moisture receives in the morning hour
( have written this piece about the lovely Bluebell that blooms in spring here in the UK.)
I’ll never forget what’s her name;
That teacher who bored us to tears
Whose voice seemed to drone on and on
And lessons appeared to last years.
Her minuscule lacklustre eyes
Peered over a spectacled nose
No glimmer of passion in sight
No colourful facts to expose.
She reeled off the kings and the queens
The plight of Marie Antoinette,
Victorians, Tudors and wars
And all with a face firmly set.
I’ll never forget what’s her name
Oh how I was left uninspired.
It’s rumoured her smile first appeared
The day when at last she retired.
16.09.19
'I'll never forget what's her name contest' : sponsored by John Lawless
The greatest loves and stories are soon lost
without a brilliant pen to write the plays
and trace romantic tears and evil thoughts
that carry through the years until today.
When first the Bard quilled page and manuscript
on comedies and legends of his time,
and then to tragedies where daggers dripped,
dramatic sonnets filled with metered rhyme.
But most of all he left us with a gift -
a treasure trove of witches kings and knaves;
ideas and dreams through which a mind can sift,
when stagnancy would otherwise pervade.
Now to the Bard I bow on bended knee
with what Victorians called bardolatry.
Two victorians chairs who belonged to a mature couple
Stand prominently in an auction, waiting to be bought
By a new owner who appreciates their exquisite history
That started more than five decades ago with a love promise
Den and Eldra were married for fifty years until their death
A pair of chairs were received as a gift in their engagement day
The fetch price is one thousand, since they are handmade
But the bidding price is two thousands, since the chairs are a
Symbol of the love that stills living and existing for a lifetim
3-10-2016
I walk these streets
I have come to know
Eerily silent
Covered in snow.
The stars are hidden
The moon shines bright
I could not sleep
On this cold night.
I stride past the tavern
That serves up good cheer
Still full of revelers
It’s that time of year.
I stroll past Victorians
Festive Christmas trees in sight
Candles in every window
Every single luminary burning bright.
I travel slowly past
All the homes
Of those I think I know
Every home decorated gaily
People putting on their holiday shows.
And then I turn a corner
And my own house grows ever near
Its darkness hides the emptiness
That I feel this time of year.
Copyright Christine A Kysely November 30, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
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