"chancellor" poems
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The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe
Explanatory Note:
I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:
The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation." "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused. It stinks.
Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.
Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site. I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.
May God have mercy on us all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
When ***** chancellor ****** rose,
after the Reichstag fire.
I remember a November night
with a million shards of glass.
I never felt more all alone,
that night my lover passed.
After that, I had no rights,
I was forced to bear this sign:
A pink Triangle swatch of cloth,
by this I was defined.
I remember some with David's star
would look down their nose at me.
We were under the same sentence-
had not our deaths all been decreed?
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
Before mein Fuhrer dug for me
my grave up in the sky.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
A defeat I can't bare witness
I should have known
The king signed a peace treaty with the enemy
Politics behind our backs
Chancellor's participation
His engagement cost us dearly this war
Poison the king's mind for serenity
Our enemies have won
I renounce service to the king
Nobleman I am
A mercenary life I will live
Payments is my services
Death is thy drink
May the spirits keep me away?
From a nation of ignorance
Sep 30, 2009
Sep 30, 2009 at 3:04 AM UTC
I lived among great houses,
Riches drove out rank,
Base drove out the better blood,
And mind and body shrank.
No Oscar ruled the table,
But I'd a troop of friends
That knowing better talk had gone
Talked of odds and ends.
Some knew what ailed the world
But never said a thing,
So I have picked a better trade
And night and morning sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
Am I a great Lord Chancellor
That slept upon the Sack?
Commanding officer that tore
The khaki from his back?
Or am I de Valera,
Or the King of Greece,
Or the man that made the motors?
Ach, call me what you please!
Here's a Montenegrin lute,
And its old sole string
Makes me sweet music
And I delight to sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
With boys and girls about him.
With any sort of clothes,
With a hat out of fashion,
With Old patched shoes,
With a ragged bandit cloak,
With an eye like a hawk,
With a stiff straight back,
With a strutting turkey walk.
With a bag full of pennies,
With a monkey on a chain,
With a great cock's feather,
With an old foul tune.
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
2k
No, heart, no brains and no courage
Friends, Romans, Countrymen lend me your hears
Allow me to introduce the Queen of Truth
Your majesty, you are the fairness of them all
Such an honor to be your Lord Chancellor
Thus, I beckon your call
Your highness and sweet gratefulness
I take great pleasure
In serving you, my lady
Indeed, I am at you services,
Day or night, and
Your wish is by command, and
I wish you longevity
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
I LIVED among great houses,
Riches drove out rank,
Base drove out the better blood,
And mind and body shrank.
No Oscar ruled the table,
But I'd a troop of friends
That knowing better talk had gone
Talked of odds and ends.
Some knew what ailed the world
But never said a thing,
So I have picked a better trade
And night and morning sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
Am I a great Lord Chancellor
That slept upon the Sack?
Commanding officer that tore
The khaki from his back?
Or am I de Valera,
Or the King of Greece,
Or the man that made the motors?
Ach, call me what you please!
Here's a Montenegrin lute,
And its old sole string
Makes me sweet music
And I delight to sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
With boys and girls about him.
With any sort of clothes,
With a hat out of fashion,
With Old patched shoes,
With a ragged bandit cloak,
With an eye like a hawk,
With a stiff straight back,
With a strutting turkey walk.
With a bag full of pennies,
With a monkey on a chain,
With a great cock's feather,
With an old foul tune.
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
1.8k
Today three hundred gather recalling to the World its’ shame.
They’ve come once more to Auschwitz on a more comfortable train.
The youngest, in their Seventies, were children at the time,
when Russians overran the camp and exposed the Nazis’ crimes.
If you were gypsy Gay or Jew incarcerated there
They starved and worked you unto death-
Your grave was in the air.
The walks were paved with bits of bone from those who died before.
These lives and deaths were cataloged for the ***** Chancellor.
All who remain now gather for this last and final time,
to testify to their suffering and rebuke those who deny.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Thou Messiah preaching Change, art thou true to thy words?
Fighting bribery and corruption yet with cheap sentiments,
Judgeth thou not thy biased - honest actions to be corrupt?
Thou that prophesied an economy of sweet change,
How is it that thou considereth not the masses interest?
Inventor of Change, thy prophesied words art without works;
Even thy supporters yearn in regret for voting thee in.
Is this the change that thou for long prophesied?
I yawn tears for the future of Nigeria and her unborn child.
Thou art trusted to be the man after the peoples heart
And loved by all cause of thy prophesies of change,
But how be it that thou art different from thine own self?
Savior of the people, why art thou adamant to the peoples cry?
Thy poisonous deeds have caused much great pain and suffering,
Why not invest thy ears on the sweat of the poor and helpless?
Did ye deceive the ants and termites that voted thee in to save them?
Remember thou thy words and promises made before being elected.
Thou surrounds thyself with chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions,
Woe betide thee for thy conscience have refused to judge thee.
Art thou not guilty of prophesying false prophesies of change?
Thou that killeth the rosy wealth of the nation's pride,
Why doth thou not consider the sufferings of the poor ants?
I mourn for the bitter death of the nation's sweet economy.
Savior of the people, why art thou so heartless a Messiah?
Howbeit in thy regime, hunger and suffering is the income of ants?
The marketplace has become an ocean of expensive - cheap items,
Cost of petrol waxing hot and higher amidst the harsh economy;
Savior was thy coming to destroy or redeem the helpless ants?
Thou promised hope to educated ants and graduated termites,
Yet not an iota of thy prophesied promises or words art come to pass;
Chancellor of Change, judge it if thou art true to thine own self.
Thou that prophesied promises, howbeit thy words art not fulfilled?
Mind thee the poor ants and termites voted thee in to save them,
Messiah did ye deceive the ants with thy deceptive - genuine lies?
Savior thy heresies has become a poisonous venom to the poor,
Wilt thou not resign seeing thou be not true to thine own words?
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
I have no patron saint. But if I should
I doubt that Doubting Thomas would be him.
Though well he worked with what he understood,
I cannot emulate my eponym:
too squeamish still to press your ****** palms,
too cowardly to bear the cross you bore.
too blind to fall and sing believing psalms.
With other saints called Thomas, all the more.
But then there's Thomas Cantilupe's career,
So concrete: he was born in 1218,
was chancellor of Oxford for a year,
gave countless counsellings to king and queen
and years of selfless service to his see;
and lives today recalled by God, and me.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
Recognizing that lovely dress
At the Chancellor's Ball
Perceiving her on the palace floor
Chancing to dance with Tacita
Too many suitors
Crowding the scene
Imagine us
Holding each other
Following the engagement
To the promenade
Gazing for an opportunity
for morning tea
At my cottage
Over looking the glossy pond
Our yearning can ment
A hight of lost hope
Sep 9, 2009
Sep 9, 2009 at 1:22 AM UTC
If you go down to Westminster today you're in for a big surprise
If you can stand the stench, you will not believe your eyes
For all the MPs who have lied and lied have all quit before the people uprise
For this is the week that parliament collapses.
******** it time for the Blairites, who don't know who to back for their best
******** it time for the Tories, as Daves walked away from his mess
The Labour deputy is such a coward and like the chancellor has lost his voice
Because they realise the people no longer want them.
So if you go south to parliament you best beware of knives
Labour have turned into Tories and only Jezza survives.
They think they can push him off a cliff, more chance of Dave being stuck in a pig
The week the war came back to haunt the Blairites!
But if go down to tip you hat and stand against Corbyn
Beware back home they petittion to do you knees like you did his
Your voters whom you have ignored and ignored are looking to throw you out the door
So grab your coat and don't forget your sister!!!!
But one more thing if you think this is cut and drawn
Remember Farage, Boris Gove and the irritable bowel one
None have so far grown a pair, they want to give someone else the blame
Because half the country has changed its mind again!!!
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
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||War Pigs
Gen'rals gathered in their masses,
Just like witches at black masses
Evil minds that plot destruction,
Sorcerer of death's construction
In the fields the bodies burning,
As the war machine keeps turning
Death and hatred to mankind,
Poisoning their brainwashed minds
Oh Lord yeah
Politicians hide themselves away
They only started the war
Why should they go out to fight?
They leave that role for the poor, yeah
Time will tell on their power minds,
Making war just for fun
Treating people just like pawns in chess,
Wait 'till their judgement day comes, yeah
Now in darkness world stops turning,
Ashes where the bodies burning
No more War Pigs have the power,
Hand of God has struck the hour
Day of judgement, God is calling
On their knees the war pigs crawling,
Begging mercies for their sins
Satan, laughing, spreads his wings
Oh Lord yeah!
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
Ilsa's hair blew like silk in the soft Parisian breeze.
Rick looked 10 years younger driving his sportster
down Champs-Elysees. Arc de Triomphe was in the
distance. Young, radiant, Ilsa was the most beautiful
woman in the world. Every man who ever saw her
instantly fell in love with her, myself included. The
German army was only a day from entering Paris,
but that didn't stop Rick from proposing to Ilsa in
La Belle Aurore as Sam played AS TIME GOES BY.
That Ilsa didn't meet Rick in the pounding rain at
the train station as they had planned to take it to
Marseille on their way to Casablanca foreshadowed
the protracted, brutal war the Nazis had already
begun one conquest after another across Europe.
But ****** was not prescient enough to realize
"...a kiss is just a kiss...." and in his Berlin bunker
first swallowed a cyanide capsule then put the muzzle
of his revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger,
his only constructive act since becoming Chancellor
in 1933.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Dec 18, 2022
Dec 18, 2022 at 7:59 PM UTC
my stomach has never hurt
so hard
from laughing because i’ve met
some of the best people
to share it
with.
it’s two in the morning
and we decide
perhaps it is time to start
the work that we should’ve
done ahead of time.
and in the morning,
we promise we’ll finish
but instead
we sit and laugh, again.
this time, inappropriately.
the professor’s watching,
and we aren’t getting our work done.
the mexican restaurant
ironically run by asians
is closed.
again.
i’m craving enchiladas.
so i make do with second tier
ones from gramercy.
they’re not bad.
but i prefer
the ones from the mexican restaurant
run by asians.
i sit bundled up,
half free-writing, half asleep,
and i take the person sitting in front of me
and use them to my advantage.
perhaps if i move my head
just a little to the left,
the professor won’t see me
nodding off to sleep.
(i just wanted a little nap).
but i resist
and we present
half-heartedly.
i don’t think we really cared
about the new chancellor
about bloomberg
and about joe torre.
the library brings a welcome change,
and i see a familiar face.
and we sit together
and we laugh
and before we know it,
it’s time for class.
again.
this time,
i make haste
to allow my eyelids to flutter
until they are cemented shut
as Descartes is explained to us
by our passionate
but flighty
professor.
i wake up in time
to be assigned into a group.
(what are we arguing again?)
something about the senses
and how to use them.
and whether we are certain.
i dislike debates like this.
i feel uncertain already.
and philosophy
makes me even more uncertain.
uncertainer. uncertainest.
the train ride home is a haze.
and i am glad to be home.
even though the living room
is missing
its lively chatter
half
from my parents
and half
from the television.
but they’ll be home soon,
and all will be right.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC
I am the commissioner of sewers,
king of rat's alley,
chancellor of the canine
graveyards.
This life right here is a party
and safari.
In hoc signo vinces:
In this sign you will conquer.
I am impetuous, adamantly
audacious.
Ic heb u liever dan en everswin,
al waert van finen goude ghewracht:
I love you more than a wild bore,
even if it were made of fine gold.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
Academic meanness in the blend of old age crisis
Have over-taken the only professor in my country,
He began with a colonial Maths diploma to his current air
Of Doctorate in history of his ethnic pristine African village,
He served all the universities as the chancellor of chancellors,
Unto now to his octogenarian age dressed in full suits of bitterness,
He is strongly jealousy to full scale of intellectual blindness,
In full plumage of faith that none else went to school after himself,
In the parochial mental realm of his foot steps on the sands of time
Being the features and land-marks of education in the land of Africa,
He hates other scholars with passion, but no iota of reason
He feels them defective as their tribes can not produce a professor,
His fear is that who will teach PhD. students after his death,
He refers to his family as center of everything, none else can do
Other than his glorious sons and daughters from his dear wife,
Mrs. Professor speaks twenty four languages; Greek and Russian,
A mere saucer to her strong linguisticised African mandibles,
Who else on earth can have a wife of this sterling caliber?
That made the Kalahari and Sahara deserts to have thunder.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Here lies mash of mutilated corpses.
Spilled Bavarian bloodline boiling under the sun.
Glistening dew, maelstrom fog.
Resting on some foreign land to conquer.
For Chancellor, for Kaiser, for God.
Blood is the same to the soil.
We bleed different for our adversaries.
For their Man, for their King, for their God.
Clash of cogs, industry, machinery and competition.
Banging rocks to rockets burying.
Our brothers without banners to the same fate.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
A chancellor of effectual visualization,
Tantalizing, vigorous, scrutiny,
Betwixt a certain thought?
The depravated child bends his Eternal,
Nostril of elite passions inward,
Queuing and choking indiscriminatly,
On the possible detention of self,
Ring, ring, ring
The fish calls,
"Salutations"
A man is worth every penny,
Spent in a way he cannot control,
Or conform with,
In a sense that he notices
Anything at all
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Sara and Stephen were of a marked race,
living at the wrong time, and in the wrong place.
When ****** took power, they eased each other’s fears.
“Germany is civilized, It can’t happen here.”
When the Chancellor railed against gypsies and Jews
“ He’s just playing politics” was their commonsense view.
Yet hatred took root; the brown shirts had free run
And the voters had cause to rue what they had done.
****** came for their guns and they meekly complied.
Few then thought to resist the strong onrushing tide.
“The Police will protect us, Sara, my dear.”
“This is Beethoven’s birthplace; it can’t happen here.”
Those were very hard times, the worst we ever saw.
Rich Jews were resented for the furs that they wore.
“They cost us the war, they are traitors, it’s clear.”
“Sara, don’t worry, it can’t happen here.”
The foes of this Chancellor disappeared in the night
And he started to speak of a thousand year *****
He censored the newspapers; both Left and Right.
And glass littered the streets one November night.
With Hindenburg dead, who was there left to stand?
Who had will to resist that warped little man?
Perves wore Triangles, Juden wore stars
Both lost their rights under Germany’s laws.
Sara and Stephen were loaded, like freight,
on a train bound for Dachau by command of the State.”
I’m sure we’ll be freed, Sara, my dear.”
We’re a civilized race, this can’t happen here.”
Stephen worked as a slave but at least stayed alive.
He was freed by the Russians in May, Forty five.
Sara, his wife, had a far crueler fate;
She was sent to the showers by the Nazi’s mandate.
Back in Berlin, Stephen saw with his own eyes
that the “Thousand year ***** was a tissue of lies
First pillaged by brown shirts, then bombed in the war
Stephen thought” This isn’t home anymore.”
Now Stephen is old, living here in the States.
He looks with dismay at these two candidates.
It seems like a nightmare he lived through before.
A crisis is coming and there will be war.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
the tiredness in my bones
at times is almost overwhelming
it feels existential
lodged deeply somewhere at my core
that center of my life
wherever it is
seems to gain distance
step by step
from the world’s busy-ness
makes me consider things
like from above
and at the same time
narrows down my vision
to my basic needs
what do I care about
the hungry dead in Africa
the Asian victims of typhoons and floods and mudslides
or who becomes chancellor or president etc.
I focus on myself
mulling the question
whether I have a mission in my life
whether there is a destiny
that needs to be fulfilled
or fate to be resigned to
or if it’s better to catch each day
as if it were my last
experience life to the brim
as long as possible
and die in the midst of it
at times
I wonder & ponder
yet shy back
from any definite conclusion
hesitant to fall into a groove
that lead me
to a too predictable
end
* * *
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
I was the chancellor of time
We ask the breadth of why?
Inside my mind.
And she gives me an
Always ten pence piece
In answerings.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Dedicated to Angela Merkel
Mother Germany in word and deed!
The Eurounion’s motor of motors,
As a physicist, she put deeds right, indeed
Laying special stress on economics.
The Lady Wonder: she’s existing again,
In Marvel there was no tale personage.
The foe’s calling her Valkyrja in vain,
She is well- known but not for epatage.
There are no more any Roman Empires,
And Karl the Great’s partially forgotten.
But as before (we know from popular beliefs):
Over Europe a black eagle is soaring.
{02.12.2019}
КАНЦЛЕР ЕВРОПЫ
Ангеле Меркель
Мать-Германия: слово и дело!
Евросоюза железный мотор
Меркель, как физик, наладила смело,
На экономику сделав упор!
Женщина-Чудо: она существует –
В Marvel не сказочный был персонаж!
Враг называет Валькирией всуе:
Меркель известна не за эпатаж!
Нет уже римских великих империй,
Карл Великий частично забыт.
Но, как и раньше (как знаем с поверий),
Чёрный орёл над Европой парит!
{02.12.2019}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
The rains seem to have finally subsided
At least it seems so for now
Mopping up the sodden devastation
Amid many an insurance row.
Some now say that dredging will not work
But surely history proves that it’s right
Though never a complete solution
At least it reduces the plight.
But politics now comes into play
It’s crucial to be seen in the right
So decisions that were taken only yesterday
Can so easily be changed overnight.
Climate change is with us for good now
It’s become part of our way of life
And solid steps will need to be taken
To end frequent bad weather strife.
But Chancellor’s have always cut budgets
And none have done more so than this
In fact in all of the service programmes
People see themselves staring into the abyss.
It’s all about how they look to the voters
For we carry their careers in our cross
For otherwise I think most politicians
About the plebiscite just wouldn’t give a toss.
We have wards now closing down in our hospitals
There are schools that are never repaired
A benefit system, though flawed, is besieged
Yet the rich tax avoiders still get spared.
So the land, like these other things will lose out
The efforts will cease as will the rain
Till the next time that the heavens all open
And ordinary folk again feel the pain.
There are houses that are ruined forever
Some insurers refusing the bill
Flood defenses that seem barely adequate
Properties from before empty still.
On sodden fields where houses keep rising
And new concrete covers over flood plains
Where tenants often get such poor insurance
And the country just never sees the gain.
But it’s the ‘I’m alright Jack’ way of the politicos
Who mostly live in their ivory towers
They’re the ones who aren’t making decisions
Yet the ones wielding all of the powers.
So the’cross’ is our one powerful weapon
It’s the most powerful thing in the land
We should all make so sure that we use it
And make all of these fools understand.
©JRW2014
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
Justin Chancellor is blowing my mind,
His timing as he hammers on his bass,
Setting the tone in the picture Maynard James Keenan paints as he rips through the events,
A great separation between sects of the faith,
The horrid fate of a monolith,
To crumble and burn,
Alone and lost,
Adrift a raft of ashes,
Floating out to sea.
The taste of tobacco, tar, and ash is too much at that moment,
I stub out the smoke,
Taking a swig of cheap beer,
To wash down the rancid taste.
The song changes again,
Keenan belting out about his dark passenger,
Making all his victories taste of ash,
A most dreaded specter indeed.
My mouth is no longer bone dry,
I really need to quit,
Trust me.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
I don't give a ****
About the pressure
Life's a joke so I'll probably
End up on the stretcher
Eat bad die fast
No matter my opposition
Enemies seem to find they
Way in my jurisdiction
**** I know I about cancer
But I got a lot of answers
Fools say I'm crazy cuz I move my feet
But not a dancer
Dash like a prancer I'm a spiritual chancellor
Got an invisible force they'll shield ya
My guns stay bustin bustin
Guts all open open hopin
To make it but it's going be a *******
Ducking and dodging
Hell on a daily sit back kick my feet
Up and sip on the Bailey's
Irish creme I'm stuck inside s dream of a dream
Life ain't what it seems
I see people fighting
Over who's wrong and right and
Dumb muthaphukkaz ain't uniting
Take your problem put to the white house
Get about ten thousand gallons
Of diesel and let it douse
Get a flame thrower burn that ***** to ground
This is for my ancestry burial ground.
Along with the Indians blacks and Mexicans this is a tradition
So go on with that raiding
Pipelines can't be built
We setting up fort so **** yo European courts
Never short I stay long hits of the ****
Relaxes my state of mind
But they say I'm gone fool
So What?????????????????
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC