"emperors" poems
Brave men fighting
Knights crawling
Strong men dying
Kings crying
Emperors imploring
Kingdoms falling
Empires collapsing
Poets writing
Musicians performing
Paintings begging
Statues Kneeling
For a glimpse of your eyes
--Hisham
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
Hey Human! I am your Sibling.
Queen bee wings are Ripped,
bee niblings are Smoked
For Your Honey Sweet.
Hey human! Listen your Sibling’s Buzz.
Tiger lost bones for Medicine,
Fox lost fur for Fashion,
Sharks lost fins for Soup.
Hey human! Do Not Butcher Siblings.
Simba’s life is not your Trophy,
Jumbo’s tusks are not Decors,
Helmets of Hornbills are not jewels.
Hey human! Do Not Reap Siblings.
Emperors of ice continent lost land,
Economics is making Amazon less,
Logging makes Orangutans homeless.
Hey human! Do Not Invade Siblings.
Warm oceans bleach corals,
Water depleted in cities,
We ingest plastic regularly.
Hey human! Do Not Desert the Earth.
Overfishing is holocaust of aquatic life,
Livestock levitates toxic emissions.
Hey human! Do Not Prey on Siblings.
Lichens stunned by pollution,
Symbionts are disintegrating,
Biodiversity is declining.
Hey human! Be Together with Siblings.
Hey Human! We are Offsprings of Mother Nature.
Monera, Animalia, Fungi, Plantae, Protista
all have common roots.
We are branches of the one Phylogenetic Tree
rooting Common Ancestry unto LUCA.
Hey Human! We are Siblings.
Hey Human! Recall your Siblings.
Hey Human! Revive your Siblings.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Power is indeed a corruptive force,
Through all of mankind’s history
This has always been true.
Emperors, Kings, Potentates,
Popes, Presidents and Despots too.
Gathering near the Throne are the
Eager Courtier leeches reaching to
touch the anointed one’s robe.
Declaring their undying loyalty,
In the process selling their souls.
Their rewards, a speck of personal power,
Castles and new riches of gold.
Like their Master, the entitled ones
will lie and cheat, while ignoring
The principals of right and good.
Believing “Decency” is but a
poor man’s word, Never uttered
within the hearing of the Ruler.
Never a considered artifact of
absolute power.
The slaves, serfs, the common people
Matter not, but to serve the Ruler.
The power elite will start needless wars,
or offer up sacrificial lambs, all to distract
the unrest of the common man.
They will suppress human rights,
free speech and defame, banish
or imprison their detractors.
All merely smoke and mirrors to conceal,
Controlling agendas of personal greed.
From ancient times down to today
This cycle repeats. Now we are living
our own Textbooks history of tomorrow.
Kingdoms and Nations have perished
From this kind of poisonous corruption,
Needless to say, it will happen again.
Perhaps it already is.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
The world has always been this way
With Emperors and Kings
Fighting with toy soldiers
And the glory that it brings
Land, beliefs, religion
The basis of the war
fought by young toy soldiers
Who all die by the score
Time has taught us nothing
But, it's changed the way we fight
War is a full day job
Now that it is fought at night
The boards of little armies
Are now shown up on the screen
With all the little soldiers
Lit in different shades of green
They used to be all metal
Painted up in nice bright shades
With a General on horseback
Leading all his smart brigades
Then, the men were plastic
glued to bits of wood
Behaving as a unit
Just like a soldier should
Now, the war is different
They're up there in different hues
You can watch them fight in real time
Just like on the nightly news
The only thing remaining
The thing that's stayed the same
Is that nobody in power
Know the Little Soldiers names
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
That morning i awoke.
I felt the rising sun.
A glimpse of true restoration,
with kings crying, emperors imploring mercy, world living,
earth within.
The light of the rays
throughout magnificent pieces
of hollow stone.
I'm happy.
I'm happy.
The sun it did shine.
The sunrise, it was beautiful,
sitting in between the vast open crests of the mountains.
The sky's color orange.
The mountains a deep pink.
This view was a sensation of the universal language.
And the best part had to be the sun's
fiery,
multicolored,
rays!
Where the glory of this moment,
this sunrise,
originated.
What a bountiful moment.
It was filled with glory and strength.
The firefly lighting
inescapable and somewhat inexpressive.
Because of this, all insecurities melted away.
There was something comforting about this rise.
It was as if it was a message from God.
It had the energy of a new day.
No, not a new day.
Not another day to wake up.
Not ANOTHER PLAIN DAY!
No, this was a "new day".
The beginning of a new era.
That's what this sunlight told me.
Situations will now explode and dissolve.
In a benevolent way.
It said,
Feel the warmth of the sun.
Let it's warm welcoming waves of light
surround and caress your being.
Feel its care and courage.
Connect and let its power become yours.
Once i connected i no longer reflected.
The time for reflection ended.
And being pushed aside,
the time or immortality began.
The invincible
irresistible,
sensational,
nature of the sun brought a new wave.
The nine waves of the sun,
They touched me on that sunrise.
They touched my heart.
Just as they mixed and breed with
the unusually blue but now pink mountains.
The loving amalgamation of sunrise and environment.
It was truly a spectacle to behold.
This was a true sunrise.
The first true sunrise of my life.
THE SUNRISE OF THE NEW DAY.
MAY YOU SEE IT AS WELL!
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.
The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.
I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."
Out.
Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.
The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the **** off
your throne.
Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.
My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
The Emperor's new shoes
Painted imitation leather, polished and treated with care
admired and envied, all eyes drawn, especially yours.
Look at me, envy me, look how I dance.
Look at my silhouette marvel at how I make you feel,
Throw yourself to me, l make you feel so true
We are elite .
Walking stronger, dancing so much faster
How fanciful I am you,free unaffected
How do I make you look and feel, the emperor's new shoes,
Legitimizing your nobility
But how I pinch, and how I hurt you, how contorted you’v become,
How you twisted and bent to fit with me,
contrived , like me ,our artificial natural .
Your need for me and performance reflecting my own.
This illusion , only granted by me.
You never really chose, i led you to believe you are some king.
Your allegiance will not be rewarded the crest has to fall,
You can not always dance for me .
Remember i am painted and cannot become worn ,
I will not become comfortable for you,
I will not become misshapen from accommodation and give.
I will not shine if you dull me, my radiance is painted ,
Only you my emperor masked our deceit.
Now i leave you barefoot .
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Nero kicks Vespasian
1
Nero plays the lyre
He’s Emperor
so all must admire
but Vespasian goes to sleep
so Nero exiles Vespasian
and poor Vespasian now minds the bees
*I am the Emperor
and all must admire
when I sing
or play the lyre
for I’m also a god...*
Time kicks Nero
2
But Nero goes to extremes
Rome burns, Nero kills
and soon events turn against him
and the Senate declares him
Enemy of the State
and Nero kills himself;
and the beekeeper Vespasian
through events played staccato by time
becomes Emperor Vespasian
and begins construction of the Colosseum
*And Emperors too die
and I think I’m dying
Hey - help me up
for an Emperor must die on his feet
And hey! you know what?
I think I too am becoming a god!*
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
My conscience is loud
yet my voice never comes,
It's disarming what dependency can do, altering your character,
until you are simply a character,
weaving falsities into strands of fools gold, until you're living in an armor
of the emperors new clothes.
I swore to myself,
that I would never again be this person, the one with my finger
on the self destruct button,
but sliding down the hill
comes much easier than climbing.
And at the bottom,
numbness awaits me,
making me fearless.
I feel the cold wash over me,
goosebumps all throughout my being,
as the waves begin to rise.
She covers me,
salty yet sweet,
and everything makes sense.
The meaning of life in a pretty peach casing.
I am Invincible.
I am Oblivious.
She peaks and soon crashes,
repeatedly against me,
making me feel like the world could end and I wouldn't even think to care.
But what at first seemed exhilarating, wears on me to no end,
the buildup and constant let down.
She's lost her novelty,
and with that,
the numbness fades.
Sobering up for long enough to realize,
I am the definition of insanity.
Inviting you back in so often,
I no longer have defenses against you.
You snuck into my priorities without me ever noticing.
Like that song you hate so much but can't help to sing.
Will I ever get rid of your tune in my head?
Will I ever be able to say no when you call?
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Crane sees Phoenix
and in Plum Tree Garden of Scents
Plum Tree Arms
Encircle Double Mountains;
Pine Reaches for the Skies
Drunken Monkey Jumps
and Pheasant Sings
and White Pearl Slips;
Dogs Unite and Clouds Merge
Tiger Bites and Lion Roars
Grand Dragon Withholds
Jade Gate Opens
Jade Stem enters
Wild Boars stampede
and Cherry Blossoms Fall
Drunken Monkey Sleeps
White Pearl Smiles
Drunken Monkey Awakes
and Blue Pearl Awaits -
and again Serpent on Rock hisses;
Wheels of Legs Rotate
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
I am descended of Lilith,
I am a child of eve,
I am cast out, i am trod on.
I am likeness of Kali,
re-incarnation of Aphrodite.
In my arms nations
have been built
and destroyed.
My kiss has charmed
and killed.
My hips have
cradled kings and emperors,
borne beggars and lepers.
I am all this WOMAN.
Woman
not of hips and *******
and womb.
Woman
not of servitude, meekness
and petty deceit.
I am Woman.
Woman
of pain and love
and hate.
Woman
of blood rivers and
barren deserts.
I am Woman.
So heed me
Heed my pain,
watch my deeds,
for my meekness,
my servitude,
Are mere cloaks worn
to shield, to imprison
to impede...
And as the soul sheds the body
So do I now shed
this lie, this deceit
You create for all to believe
And become just
WOMAN
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
616
I rose—because He sank—
I thought it would be opposite—
But when his power dropped—
My Soul grew straight.
I cheered my fainting Prince—
I sang firm—even—Chants—
I helped his Film—with Hymn—
And when the Dews drew off
That held his Forehead stiff—
I met him—
Balm to Balm—
I told him Best—must pass
Through this low Arch of Flesh—
No Casque so brave
It spurn the Grave—
I told him Worlds I knew
Where Emperors grew—
Who recollected us
If we were true—
And so with Thews of Hymn—
And Sinew from within—
And ways I knew not that I knew—till then—
I lifted Him—
2.5k
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Lights! Evergreen! Action! Have you ever heard of the feast of fools? Plunging into pleasures takes the stage!Welcome to the Saturnalia! The setting takes place in ancient Rome, Emperors rule and slaves usually bow but not on this solstice festival. Backwards is the trend and nothing is forbidden it is a drunken wild revel! No rules no laws! Children become the authority taking part in drunken brawls! Yule logs burn and mistletoe hangs from the tops of each doorway. Streams of evergreen decorate the home as a lit up tree stands alone all are home as business is closed for the five day party. Slaves gamble and cheat and rule their masters! Unrule is the slogan and *** the master in public displays of unholy affection! No recognition of marriage for sin is the law, the anticipation of the Saturnalia! A two faced pagan mythical god is to whom they give their allegiance.
Sadly today, not much has changed, only the name of the public acceptance. It now lasts far longer than five days so as to add to the excitement of the masses. Traditions remain alot the same; more suicides occur on the winter solstice. More drunken bouts, more placed in prison for truly unruly behavior. Yet Christian is the title as it masks the scene, with a portrait of a nativity, desperately trying to mask the desires of the popularity at such a sinful occasion. It's all an attempt to make what is obscene okay in the eyes of their Maker.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
No, no, no,
that's not how it happened at all.
Precocious children
have never been afforded that much influence
and Emperors, then as now
are largely unafflicted by shame.
And it's a good thing too
- why, if the story had gone
the way Anderson had it,
neither I nor any of the men of the town
would have our jobs
at the Magic Cloth factory
You do realise
that the trade in Magic Cloth
supports all the world's major economies now,
don't you?
Nor would the aristocracy
look half so stylish,
sashaying hither and thon
in the glorious altogether,
applauded by the taste-makers
and notably contemptuous
of child-like observation.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
ah yes,
the crush
that festering,
infected,
growth
on your heart
that,
right now,
seems small
and
innocent
and
peaceful
but give it time
it will grow
increasing in size
and power until
you can’t deny it;
like genghis khan
knocking on the door
of those pompous,
Abbasid emperors
of a thousand years
ago
then you’ve lost
you can’t fight it
you don’t even want too
you just want to love,
to hug,
to caress,
to kiss,
her.
and then it all comes crashing down with a simple
no
but you know
what they
say:
“it’s only a crush”
and boy
how right they
are
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 5:54 PM UTC
King tree of life hello
I'm full of dew
dripping willow me for you
Two virtual
emperors, like you
write deep sensual ink.
Striking similarities to yours;
one is owned by his wife
I ignite a phantom fate spark.
Another is one way street.
Yes I am born a self existing
yellow star, a curse a blessing.
Portal to heaven by birth chart.
But you were bridge, something
in the way you brew my wine.
Fiery red gold key my six-nine.
Then silence, gap, abyss.
Into your own ginny you are!
No longer into mine!
Your ginny of
yesterday.
~~~~~~~~~~
Me and Mrs Andrews-k
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 4:28 PM UTC
as you hear the orifices of space calling out to you
the ropes of time tenderly start embracing you
as you march out of all infinity
you see more than the trace of you
The universe sings to you
and a question begins with tune
beyond the multiverse see you the original Creation Family?
And what's to say that that was the only Family?
As there is more than verse in song
where are the other chords of sing along?
The verse cries out in song a sing and sing but what of the bells of ring and ring
Would we be astounded to learn that the One True Source, the FATHER, that even He has a home
It was not all revealed when ruled in Rome
so how are we to dare to think that we aren't swimming in folly's foam?
1+1=3 in Binary, but Binary is not the only numerical scene
What if the FATHER has a brother or two?
What if The Source has more than one wife,
what if is what if
but “if” is enough for imagination
if wills that it is
for: "How Can I Think I Know if I do Not See What I Say"
who is the director rolling the film on display?
How do we make it out of time and space?
This tube that has us trapped in planes
not to say the Fairies haven't decorated
however the Grey and Lizards have doctored
beyond the Universal Emperors, we're told of one True King
and this is the True Light
the source of light and sound
but did you know of wind and smoke?
Do you that there's a place where this does not choke
Would you think that the multiverse or omniverse is just one country in a massive continent,
do you know of the potential creation in places that have no energy?
See you then the carpet and curtain
the ceiling that reveals this tapestry
if in fact we're an expanding atom, where has the scientist gone to?
Should we know the purpose of our creation impromptu?
Standing on the balcony of space, you learn that time and space are one but balance is none
Until we return home to the Source and with the Light we are One...
We'll then soon learn of the other numbers...
For if planets are dots then imagine the multiverse to be a ball
and what's more the clown is juggling more than one ball, and what's beyond is that it's a whole circuis
Geniuses or Comedians?
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
(To Ellen Terry)
As one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty’s sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet—methinks I’d rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken,—come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Anthony!
2.1k
smoke the stars
put them into a laurel leaf
as you would tuck your precious child into bed
wrap them up tightly and protect them from the hostile darkness surrounding us
pluck an aeroplane from the sky
dismantle it's metal exterior to leave only the body
use it as a filter, keeping the stars safe
as you hold them between your delicate fingers
set your golden cigar on fire
using erupting volcanoes to light it
and as you breathe in the galaxies and the history of the world
you breath out the clouds, overwhelmed by relief
gently tapping the cold areoplane body
whilst you watch the ashes fall as shooting stars
which cut through the darkness
and scatter onto the Earth like glitter
and as you smoke the stars
your lungs are lined with golden dust
dust of the kings and emperors
dust of the stars
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
it is tempting to lose yourself
in the pleasure of wordly possessions
money, cars, yachts, beautiful things
the Dagobert Duck syndrome
as we know
even the pharaos of ancient times
together with assorted kings and emperors
chiefs, dukes, presidents, popes, & cetera,
could only take their toys
into their graves
and not beyond
we do not know for sure
although we may believe
if immaterial possessions
have a better fate
yet even though we do not know
what our final moment brings
a thoughtful wrinkle on your brow
looks always better than
a bleak array of orphaned things
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Would that life was like the Twilight Zone
Twists and turns of fate
Where paupers become princes
And Emperors lie in state
Where neglected little children
Receive their every need
And appropriate masks are given
For vanity and greed
Where old folks Kick the Can
And become boys and girls
Is there such poetic irony
In the real world?
Yes! "The Donald" lives and breathes!
Hate surely his mission
He gives me the dry heaves
He's touted by "The Christian"!
Does faith espouse malevolence?
If so, tell me when?
And would such a hater
*Be truly Born Again?*
Of the people he attacks
There's surely no great lack
But his pointed finger
Has three more pointed back!
No, I am not for Hillary
I'm not lured by siren call
I really hate to say this
But I may not vote at all!
The poetic irony
Was right there from the start
"Trump" is a "Brittishism"
It is defined as ****
SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/14/2016
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
the sun burns red in the west
The lovers meet in secret
Following their hearts
in the cropping darkness
It is big and brave
For the passionate lover
He would hand it to her love tonight
Hoping that she would cherish it
Even when he will be away
She gives him hers
Tells him "be strong and intact
Return safe my love
I will be waiting for you"
The heart,
That little body part
habouring all issues
Makes all decisions
The heart,
it strengthens the soldier
in the battle front
Singing to him songs of courage
Reminding him of his sweet love at home
Love from the heart is true and passionate
Its different from lust
and is bound to last
The battle is love
Even though the war is different
He kills for love
she is the only thing in mind
She gets broken a few times
taunted by sociopaths
Telling her 'they will never come back"
She has waited for times and times
But the heart stands all the tests
Most of the times
The heart that
lordship of mind and body
Guides everyody
Decisions of the heart
You can trust
He thinks with the mind for tact
but nomatter what
He follows his heart;
even though he is bruised and hurt
The mind fills him with doubt
but the heart tells him to fight
Reminds him of heroes
and sweet **********
Turns him to a matador
the eyes give him sight
but the heart fills him with insight
Hugging him tight
it neutralises his fright
He marches right
Into enemy territory
She is barely making through
They think she should remarry
News of fallen soldiers devastates her heart
Man's strength is from within the heart
Courage is not from spears
Not arrows and swords...
That small body part!
Emperors and conquerors
Lovers and soldiers listen
Fathers and Mothers
They listen to the heart
He creates devastation
Wrecking the enemy camp
As his battalion joins in
His heart moulding him
Into a hero
That small body part
Endures all in patience
As she waits
Saying its never late
...a time of jubilation
Victory cries are heard
Those back are few
But they removed the enemy
By conviction of their hearts
He is a legend
The man after everyone's hearts
She is joyous
As she runs into his embrace
The heart
That small body part
Endured it all
A soldier's heart...
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
A general and statesman,
reformer and conquerer,
summoned to the senate,
and hastily issued a petition
of which to bring back a senators
banished brother.
The Dictator Waves him off,
and Cimber grasps his shoulder,
“Ista quidem vis est!”*1
Cascas dagger is drawn,
swiftly toward the neck it darts,
yet caesar nimbly catches such
attack,
“Casca you villain! What is this you do!?”
Casca fearing, cries “Adelphe, Boethei!”*2
Then like the wolves descending on
a lonely foe, they lunge and leap,
Brutus too…
Caesar at the sight of him,
averts his eyes and makes for the door,
unable to escape he falls upon the floor,
“Kai su, Teknon?”*3
The man who was harried,
crawled to the steps, and
saying nothing,
Caesar dies…
The Lower steps submerged in the
Emperors crimson blood,
the body cold, limp,
lifeless,
had at by the vultures,
armed with knives, and
stabbed times twenty-three.
The conspirators proud,
marched through the streets,
and announced to fear-struck
citizens,
“People of Rome! We are once again free!”
Yet, no one came out…
for now.
until, Three hours passed,
and only then,
was the fallen mans lifeless,
corpse drenched in blood,
collected and cremated.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others
I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC