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Jeremy Betts May 5
This entire empire of dirt and manure is about to expire
I'm not gonna lie, between you and I, I wish I was a lier
My mind though is compulsive when lighting it's pants on fire
Nose long as a telephone wire, front and center like a town crier
And the shiit that I get from myself and the public stacks higher and higher
I know exactly what's about to transpire
Yet I always make it worse, never better
Like a water geyser to a grease fire
I'll forever be a fumblin', bumblin' reality denier
Faced with a situation that can only be described as dire
When you've only ever been able to hire a blind get-a-way driver
There's no chance of escaping this hell, life organically becoming satire

Mark Wanless Sep 2023
the emperor sits
at a small blond table to
eat his fish and sauce
Joseph C Ogbonna Feb 2023
In seventeen sixty nine a child was born
in Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.
Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,
Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.

At school, his geometrical talent was inborn,
and he was tutored by none other than Laplace.
For his accent, his peers at school laughed him to scorn,
but fortune would elevate him from grass to grace.

With his much older heartthrob he tied the knot;
much to the chagrin of his own dear family.
For the heart of Josephine he relentlessly fought,
and at Chateau de Malmaison they lived happily.

Later he would choose a military career
that would take him beyond the Corsican frontier.
France's revolution saw to his glorious rise,
when at Toulon, he took royalists by surprise.

To Egypt he led a dual expedition
of a military and scientific mission.
To France he returned and sacked the directory,
taking charge of the affairs of state and treasury.

Europe did contend with him in seven coalitions;
at Austerlitz he subjugated two nations,
at Marengo, Austria on her bended knees fell,
at Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to victory bade farewell.

At Borodino, Russia met her nemesis,
as her vanquished forces saw their paralysis.
At Ligny, Blucher like a beaten canine fled
with the terribly smitten forces he once led.

Portugal's sovereign lord to distant Brazil ran,
when like an invincible lord he came to his realm.
The emperor he feared, and made no military plan;
thus he paved the way for him to ascend his helm.

But despite his triumphs, his weakness was exposed.
At Rolica, his troops a major set back saw.
From Leipzig he did to Elba's island withdraw,
from whence in 1815 he returned unopposed.

Russia's wintry plains did his grand armee deplete,
making his troops vulnerable to a future defeat.
After the famous battles in which he gloried,
his great ambition at Waterloo was buried.
A poem about the life and times of the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte 1769-1821.
old willow Oct 2020
Once a little swain, Time has passed.
Chaos and Order, like petal drifting lake;
An Emperor of the east.
A thought to move millions,
A finger to predestine the people.
At the end, The peak resemble my hometown,
People have move, merchant comes and goes;
A place carved from ancient painting.
Serving the people is my duty,
Earth Beneath, Heaven encompassing;
Jaded life is now willow in winter.
Eleanor Apr 2020
The emperor’s dinner was served.
Finally cooked fresh fish tonight.
And when the emperor had finished,
He felt perfectly alright.

Later the emperor felt queasy.
The pain in his chest was dull.
As he fell in a faint,
His stomach was unbearably full.

The emperor lay on the ground.
Trying to breathe with all his might.
In the end all he could do
Was accept he could see the light.

As the emperor lay dying
And contemplating his fate.
Servants raced to find the poisoned food.
But alas, they wouldn’t. It was the plate.
I was given the prompt 'plate' by a friend and this was the first thing my mind came up with :)
Ayn Apr 2020
A fire rages atop crumbling walls.
there is none left to stop
the smoke that fills these halls.

Shackles burn off of those
thrown through unjust pain
this inferno shall burn
the last of some God's bane

flaming strings
searing skin
lashes wrought
to their cold sin.

The icen emperor has fallen gravely ill,
so the smiling flame still burns on,
the final reminder of his will.
icen, like icy but en. I find it odd to have an adjective ending in "Y" to be in the middle of a line. It does not sound right or proper to me. I feel it belongs more at the end of lines.

If you want to figure out what it's about, don't read this. It's about a sickly king dealing with a "god" whether it was an actual God, Devil, or coincidence, and a fire burns through the city, freeing slaves and righting all of his other misdeeds as emperor.
Mark Toney Oct 2019
An emperor spoke in poetic verse
Which led to fame for him at first
But after some time became a curse
For the emperor had no prose.

Poetic measure determined his fate
The body politic could not relate
Leaving people in a befuddled state
Yes the Emperor had no prose.

Seeking solutions from all his wise men
Beseeching them each again and again
"When will poetic proclivity end?
For I'm the Emperor and have no prose!"

Long and hard the wise men thought
With no answers to the solutions sought
So they hemmed and hawed, yelled, argued and fought,
Still the Emperor had no prose.

The Emperor ended his quest in time
No cure for his affliction could he find
Relinquished the throne and became a mime
At least he was able to pose!
4/26/2019 - Poetry form:  Light Verse - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Tuan Do Mar 2019
Night wind scales,
Frosty Palace,
Must I ****,
For law,
For order.
Explaination-The Emperor kills his mistress.
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