"gentry" poems
The beloved country Africana can boast of is Ghana. The manana of Africana black star is Ghana A nation rich in culture and natural pasture.
Its nature reflects the creatures’ caricature
We are black reflecting our true beauty.
And we are packed with captivating ability. The typicality of our nationality brings unity. Who knows whether our safety lies in our variety?
This unity amidst our diversity is our reportage. About twenty-four million are surviving in our age. Over sixty ethnic groups and fifty-two major languages. There are hundreds of dialects which are to our advantages.
In W/A, Ghana records the highest percentage of Christianity… Yet the modernity of our sanity portrays minds of malignity. But the fraternity of our humanity builds our community. The variety of our morality and privity builds our society
Who said Ghana cannot be capaciously superfluous? We have the very illustrious and exuberant resources. The elites and the voracity are harnessing the recourses. The destitute remains poor and the gentry linger the forces
Our democratic government is an African paradigm. Our peaceful political regime is of no pantomime. Who of course would help us measure corruption? The whole nation would have tensed up to eruption.
If not the gargantuan wayomelogy of the wayometer. Who knows whether the next tool would be attameter? Who wouldn’t love to be a proud Ghanaian to enjoy our hilarious fila and jargons tongue can employ
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
A ****** of crows, an ostentation of peacocks,
a parliament of owls, a knot of frogs,
a skulk of foxes, a siege of herons,
a paddling of ducks, a charm of finches.
This bevy of birds is a vocabulary find,
But what can it all mean,
In the world of human being?
A troop of toddlers, a slurry of students,
a gaggle of gentry, a bevy of boys.
I am of a mind that in naming of kind
Human being is best defined.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
<>
**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
Housing waning
Where do you expect me to go?
Stop selling me Harrow
(Not even if you talking Road).
Imma Grove gyal…!
I got my vibe spots and chill spots, my food stalls and book haunts.
We - SJC are not just a Safer Neighbours blight
Given half the obstacles - gentle gentry
maybe more of us would be standing free
I’ll take myself outta Grove when I’mmmm ready.
RBKC done turned up that pressure though.
Knocking down to wipe out
The enriching colour and spice that grew out of adversity
Permission to “celebrate” over the August bank holiday,
No amount of stop and searches g’on make me forget.
We belong here too.
So get to know and stop putting up my rent.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Well, what a week, full of revelation
Enough to stir this talk of revolution
Makes your hackles turn on end
Then send you round the bend
The southern gentry have found oil
Right beneath their derriere boil
Now most of us on this golden isle
Need not worry about this pile
Those who wear weekend country tweed,
Built their fortunes from housing greed
Have already decided
That it will be one sided
They’ll say it’s theirs, by rights
And if we argue, will read our last rites
The South will declare independence
In certainty of their full ascendance
Over the outer reaches of this nation
They pounded into servitude, by taxation
And if we have the nerve to debate, I’ll be bound
They’ll leave it horded in the ground,
Then blame the anti frackin’ hound
Now I may need a political re - education
In a 1984 establishment for rehabilitation
But I can see it coming a five-nation island
Southland, Wales, Scotland, N. Ireland,
And the Detritus
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
ABSOLUT 0!
the greedy trees
liked to bleed the green
to spite the leaves.
they seem to be
pretty pleased by
believing in a
definitive middle.
then **** soon
flew off the richter
cause it wasn't so simple,
1 to 3 easy.
when the police
beeped the gentry,
oil already leaked
on the scene
even though
hunting season
was ending.
&seeding; season
pleaded for
beginning
& forgiveness
for bearing false witness
to a new system called
self sufficience.
take one leave one
break one mean one
make one be one
of what.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Come join the British Army;
And take the Queens Shilling;
You won't have any problems;
We'll take care of all your billing;
We'll make a man out of you;
Or a woman as the case may be;
In the Army of the nineties;
With ****** equality
We are a modern army;
With modern management systems;
Such as TQM and H & S;
And lots more bursts of wisdom;
But in this modern world of ours;
Don't forget what an army does,
And training and development;
Is to give us all a buzz.
Yes we are a modern army;
But we still serve Queen and Country;
And it's getting more and more difficult;
With ideas from the gentry.
We don't ask for much in life;
Just to earn an honest bob.
So cut down on your ideas;
And let us do our job.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:34 AM UTC
Hello there my ******* friends
******* chimpanzee keyboard slamming
Children of The Machine
Mirror effect
I see said the
Poor and the Gentry
But guess what guys the sun inside is still burning for a touch of your
Hellopoetry
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
In the ears of mine intention
and heart of my affection
heavier are thy words
than Mike Tyson's punches:
they struck my feelings
hard, breakimg the chords
and jaws of my passion.
Truck of snobbish display . . .
. . . plight blighted . . .
crestfallen.
Should the sis linger more
in my marooned mind,
who hath belittled my person
and social worth?
Though i'm no Knight--
matter of fact, truly--
neither a nobleman, Miss Beauty,
with riches and a badge
of honour to show forth
my position, eminence and prestige:
wheeling thee about in a Rolls Royce
to diverse paradise of your choice;
yet deserve i no scorn of lips,
high lady,
even if belong nay to the gentry.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Apple taste
Placed atop
Your head--
Shotgun
*Klu
Klux
Klank*
Bang
00 Buck
Shattering
Thine
Crystalline
*****
Optera
Forever
Encased
Behind Glass
Locked and keyed
Plead
Plead
Please
Let me out
To
Use my wings
I'll allow myself
This
Dream
Only for a
While of
Rubbing
Antennae
(With"you")
Caked
In Pollen
(All the other children used
To laugh at my unobtrusive
Thorax)
I forgot
The taste
Of Breeze
Please
Free me from
This prison
Cell
Inside
Your
Nucleus
Warm and inviting
I think
I could learn
To lov-
To lo-
No, I understand
You don't use the L-word
In this
Kingdom
Phylum
Class
Order
Family Genus
Species
You
Use much more subtle
Habitual
Mating Rituals
Practiced by
Boys
And Girls
Alone
Once
Their government
Handbooks are issued
Ashamed and
Full of doubt
They seek out
The silence
Offered on
Forgotten
Moons
Where they can
Meditate to
The infinite hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of the universe
You can hear it
Now
If you listen close
Enough
*Almost
A
Whispering
Deep inside (me?)
I
Think
I could...
love you*
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
The Court Jester
Spinning
twirling
with you by
my side.
Within the elegance of mirrors and
reflections only the graceless could
see. Skirts and suites and smiles and
masks, many, many masks, with finery
of the aristocrats, the lovelessness of
the gentry.
Dancing
laughing
with you as
my guide.
Ballroom floors are marred by
glistening fans and jewels, adorning
elites and children, the adults joking
and the innocent conversing seriously,
with their hands carefully crafting the
facade only dreams
can bring.
Embracing
kissing
your light-hearted sighs
while writing
our simple end.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
King of Kings, I am to man!
Set apart, in stone; a gentry,
With a tomb that sits but nearly empty?
A grave with few artifacts to witness bear,
Inscription of him, who was the great king,
Who was once and future, a beginning to everything,
Whose great father descended into those lands…
Where epitaph graces a lonely stone,
And Ozymandias rests, at peace, alone.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
So unassuming, he enters our world
with shepherds lowly coming to adore
this infant Lord who will freedom herald.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
His star in the east did the magi see.
A star never seen from the days of yore
led them to this great child of low degree.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
His birth this day is marked by angels bright.
Singing with cymbals in a placid night,
they ushered in peace from heaven's great door.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
As foretold by the prophets and the law,
He is born of a ****** chaste and meek.
He will never loudly on the streets speak.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
He is lowly with royal ancestry,
born of David's revered noble gentry.
Men's grievous sins His blue blood atoned for.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
He came to earth with men to empathize.
With us for each state he does sympathize.
Our peace with God He came down to restore.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
A unifying force who will world peace make.
Men of different races sing to adore
this Christ child who will their cleavages break.
Christ was numbered with the poor at birth,
and with the transgressors at death.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 7:24 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It’s a **** shame
No it’s absurd
How the gentry
Are changing Williamsburg
And if you need
The concrete proof
They’ve raised the rents
Right through the roof
I dream of Williamsburg of old
The one only my memory holds
And it’s for this I shed a tear
The Williamsburg of yesteryear
The indigenous people of course
Were first
In time it became
More ethnically diverse
And then an enclave
For artists and the arts
With dirt cheap rents
In certain parts
I dream of Williamsburg of old
The one only my memory holds
And it’s for this I shed a tear
The Williamsburg of yesteryear
Everything changes with time
Except the memories in the mind
The Williamsburg I knew and loved
Is the Williamsburg I always think of
Artists held a funeral
I here tell
And sounded off
The last death knell
They gave Williamsburg
Their sad goodbyes
And wiped the tears
Away from their eyes
Everything changes with time
Except the memories in the mind
The Williamsburg I knew and loved
Is the Williamsburg I always think of
I dream of Williamsburg of old
The one only my memory holds
And it’s for this I shed a tear
The Williamsburg of yesteryear
I dream of Williamsburg of old
The one only my memory holds
And it’s for this I shed a tear
The Williamsburg of yesteryear
I dream of Williamsburg of old
The one only my memory holds
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
Been there enough times
to remember it.
That couple ran it.
Her with the bust
and him
with the moustache.
Had some good times there,
you came with us once
didn’t you?
Some years ago now.
Nice place,
Ramsgate.
We took the girls
when they were young.
Freda, Elsie, Sally
and young Enid here.
They thought I
was a poor soul
surrounded by females.
Nag, nag,
and nag it was.
Back in those days,
it was a different couple
had it first.
That Mr and Mrs Gentry.
Him with the one eye
and her with the figure
of a hippo.
Good old days.
Before the last war that was.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
I lean my cycle against the shed
And make for the door lowering my head
Driving sleet and rain and wind.
Bites my face as I let myself in.
0utside the trees like ghostly shapes.
Are tossing and heaving right across space.
I see the master approaching now.
Ducking and weaving to avoid a tree bough.
It,s pretty hopeless today he says.
Follow me without delay.
We walk to the big house, I cannot win.
He pushes open the big door and takes me in.
I,ve got you a painting job, he says.
These gentry folk they have strange ways.
Well I,m a gardener rain or shine
I pray each night for the weather to be kind.
Keith Wilson. Windermere UK 2016.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
It's all conspiracy
Idle hands are the Devil's playthings
I told you so
Remove the feeding tube
But not during the gestation period
By after the gastric bypass
And right before the insemination
Put the fault on the horse voiced gentry
And the perpendicular denominations
What's it to you?
You estranged neo-native
Counterfeit piety and disobedient estranged friends unnerve you
You act so factious
Deliberately making everything a joke
Ponder the trajectory of my fist to your glass jaw
And the brass knuckles to your abdomen
You'll want to get an iron lung when we're through
Maybe a respirator and a catheter
Now, go count your toenail clippings as the idle minds cast their votes for this referendum
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Plebians
Gentry
Plebians
Slaves
And gentry?
Kapital.
A story
For the ages
Of enlightenment
At bedtime
It can’t be heard in darkness
It can’t be seen in peace
Enclosure farmers
Your ancestors, my fair, European scavengers
We’re victim to this system
Hundreds and hundreds of years
You all drink lattes
I smell the fat burn
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 1:36 AM UTC
Closed minds seem to hold governance
A long proud country, where rights now denied
Poor deprived of basics, while gentry lavish in fare
Not a merry England or empire to envy
A union falling apart as if asset stripped
Old choose between heat or food
They are many and surplus to the millionaires
Those who coalition yet not majority
Seized power only to profit
Punish the weak and working man
Revolution may be their folly
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
The bitter pills and the ruins of cotton mills where dreams where played out on looms and woven in the semi gloom of a half lit room by children so old,who were told to do as was told or don't do at all.
Some escaped to the drudgery of the great hall where Lord Diddlywhat would squat and pass praises like water to some lacklustre daughter of a man in the town,
half a crown a month and eighteen hours a day,threepence in the offertory on a Sunday to pray for deliverance.
Though none would come for the sun didn't shine on me and mine,only on them,
lardy arsed gentlemen,willowy ladies with squawking fat babies and nannies,grannies in every nook and cranny who fed on the fat of the land,
took the bread from our hands
took the love out of life and the life of our loves,
iron fists in silken gloves.
Now finished,
the thoughts of those times diminish with age but the rage still holds true against the blue stockinged brigade
who would raid on us,put the shade on us,despise and degrade us,use and then beat us,contused and confused we would still go and labour,
wrap ourselves in the looms and in half lit bits of the day,we thought it was the only way,
'til the war came
changed the rules of the game
it was never the same after that little spat
and we spat at the gentry
who stayed behind to do sentry duty as their duty demanded.
We branded them
the landed men
wouldn't work for them no more.
Let them go hang and sing for their supper
we'll scupper them yet,
but I forget
the fat don't get wet
they float.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
here come the warm jests
here they come droogie
gently smiling
level headed
laughing loudly
heaven scented
being warm they are gentry
being strung-landed
they are like a bad drug
like a bed bug
they don't even like jests
still, bring 'em on
young and all
like infant children
draining *******
too hard to reach each
too hard to touch much
some of them are us
some of them are
just in the way
leave them then
more for us
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
I'm your knight in shining armour
I'm your bane, your adipose
I'm the reason you're not happy
I'm your **** your tuberose.
You're my shock, my half cooked omelette
You're my biscuit never picked
You're my very painful fracture
You're the fur ball cats have sicked.
He's the one you should be courting
He's the one that hides distaste
He's the martyr, self inflicted
He's the life that's gone to waste.
She's the one that smiles at no-one
She's the girl that lives alone
She's the happy, carefree songbird
She's the chocolate scoffing crone.
Count your blessings maid of plenty
Lucky that you've never cared
Comatose to squires, to gentry
That beating lump you've never shared.
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
In a faraway place and faraway time
stood square a cabin rotted pine and bramble flue.
Once haven for old crones craven - their skins thin-skinned slivers of brine;
now nary a soot line marked a witches' brew.
In the dark, swirling silver stark and creatures would quiver
held over pot-stew thither, along hymns of damning chanted.
Waggled tongues with an evil glaze would slither,
cursing in eye, toe, and liver the bubbling broth decanted.
Oh a malkin giggled and a paddock piggled;
sniggled in a mirth-marked cauldron's rubble double bubble.
With a whoosh and a swish a bony finger had wiggled,
as papery skin withered the drubble swuddle brubble.
On those blackest of nights, when wolves would fear the moon,
howls held loomed, choked on down the throat of dusk.
Hatred uttered its sleepy breath, pitch-entombed
and justice marooned under a tar most brusque.
Shadows danced incantation
for an occultish creation, oh the devil's bidding be done!
Flamed carnation, neither here nor there god-fearing,
cackling a primrose coronation; the stirring spoon spun!
Death-catcher chimes hung close upon the entry;
a dust since turn of century marred bone;
witches’ wart-encrusted noses crinkled at gentry;
chenille voices sung with celerity a hellish praise: Divinum Occultum.
A little duende ran down the cauldron,
gloom chanting a chant come out with a hurl.
Burnt feet chasing away all ghosts ‘n goblins,
unfurling like whisper from the concoction:
Doom upon all the world.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 6:26 AM UTC