"knighthood" poems
Alexander K OPICHO
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
from north in Kaduna of Okigbo to south in the Rhoben Island
of Mazizi Kunene and D M Zwelonke who sang the song of Shaka;
in Zulu Heroism that beautified our face in the armpit of Ezkia Mphalele,
the sons of Africa in the knighthood of poetry,chantery and incantations
you are hailed with with glory and dignity for your service to humanity
your service to literature and gods of poetry in the spirit of the song
that we chant in the spirit of love and peace the glory of hour heritage
is an eyesore to the lazy ; who though ill will can stop the flow of African river,
Sing our songs and chant our spirituals as you write our poems
open your poetic ***** for the world is a ******
in which the seed of African poetry will plummet and flower
to glory of man the essence of Godliness,
Let Soyinka and Achebe sing our songs without fear of home
As Okot P' Btek revamps from the ashes like a phoenix
to re-plant the bumpkin in the old homestead of Taban Lo Liyong
Who sang the cacotpic song in the dystopia of black diaspora
when he saw another ****** dead in the guest for Nocturnes of Senghor
who feared Marxist poetry and African songs which Aime Cesaire chanted
in the mayoralty of Paris.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Do I love you?
Must I say?
My heart's true song,
Gives me away.
With your predilections,
Just task of me Sonay,
And as in knighthood fictions,
Your dragons I will slay.
You are my sweet maiden,
Yet you are so strong.
You have your own blade in;
Your dragon now is gone.
Would you choose a worthless knight?
With you not for, Sonay love, I fight.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
We tremble when our favorite team loses,
Or cheer when we see them win.
But its our lucky charms and their uses,
That keep the goosebumps possible on our skin.
Warriors with their totems, chants, and prayers,
Found hope in small possessions.
It pushes them forwards because its theirs,
The luck gives them joyful expressions.
Now for me, I don't find comfort in the moon,
Nor do the stars in the sky grant me glorious power.
Only now have I found my favorite tune,
And it turns out to be a small, little flower.
"Luck isn't real, and never will be",
I'd tell myself, when others had success.
But now, I know the truth and would have to agree,
My lucky charm is you, and I wouldn't have ever guessed.
You turn me around when I go the wrong direction,
Treat me more honestly than anyone would.
I'm overwhelmed when I wake up to hear your affection,
Making me feel honored, as if a man in knighthood.
Four paragraphs doesn't do you justice, but it's better to stop,
And save more for later, since we're both horrid at goodbyes.
Hope you had a good sleep, and don't need one more cough drop.
I love illustrations and imagery, so here's one for the sunrise.
You're the prize at the bottom of a cereal box,
As rare as an alien from outer space.
Independent, beautiful, and as graceful as a fox,
And to my deck of cards, you' are the ace.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 3:06 AM UTC
You know what's harder than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the others
The seemingly nice ones
The good guys
The signs are all there afterall,
Everyone can't stop raving about how wonderful he is
The ideal nice guy
And for a moment
Just one moment of blindsidedness
You believe it
You let it consume you
Revelling in the positives
Lacing together each moment spent together
Into a beautiful story
The perfect beginning, middle and end
Designed intricately by yours truly
A potential work of art
Destined for greatness perhaps
Isn't it?
The pride of your masterpiece
destroys you
Engulfing your sense of reality
Blinding you from the truth
The falsehood of it
A piece that depicts nothing
Nothing but an illusion
Another dimensional reality
One you don't live in
And probably never will
And sometimes
In those rare moments of silence
It comes back
The crushing harsh reality
Your foolhardy choices laid bare
And you admit
Quietly to yourself
For who else can your true self be revealed to?
Maybe
Just maybe you were wrong
Those masterful strokes of perfection
The gleaming knighthood of it all
Just a lie?
A veil drawn over your sense of truth
So strong it blinded you
Completely
Drowning you in its falsehoods
The shores of reality no more than a distant memory
You know what's worse than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the right one.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
You have a poem;
Spring brings you poem.
I think Anthony must be your court's poet;
a serf turned grateful for his god-gave muse.
Genuflect he's to this Fürstin,
trip he does, too, over himself
getting you water
both up and down the stairs;
when presenting his poetry,
rebuts extended portension,
yes, pausing liking um-ing, tsk;
and all so when reaching for his dagger
to cut our darkness away,
does seem dance with shadows
like fire was a pomethean bane.
Still he gets it from his sheath,
brings it to her bloodless yet
dulled from the escaped swings
of misaimed blows into shrubs.
Wants me to call him Reichsritter.
I’d indulge him but he’d still
have to synthesize faith from
some avian metabolism,
(it’s known that poets’ health’s all
flat feet, weak livers, shallow lungs,
and consumptive coughs);
or, better yet, find knighthood
in the books read for your sake;
nay, I too must keep honest to you.
So does he, you know? thinks
sincerely that there’s the stuff of art
passed to him when he entertains you;
doesn’t think himself the lordship you insist,
thinks he’s groped and somehow scalded
himself upon the empyrean fire,
and bows recedes away feeling just
a bit impious.
*That’s it though! :
You’re a young seraphim took earthly shape,
faring the angelic order’s routine errand
to forget absolute, embrace listless hate,
then forget it again.*
Well, isn’t this where Anthony missteps?
cries wolf, burns midnight oil,
clutches his stomach in pain.
The ‘seraphim’ draft is just a wish
for your eternal life, please believe.
Every comet and season makes him
just as mouthful and excited.
A heart of love and head of art, tsk.
We can’t judge the heart
and the head
together can we?
Regardless,
a court poet essentially a jester,
pinned his poem
to my chest.
So, meine Fürstin,
you have a poem,
Spring has brought you a poem.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
Pockets emptying
Night time knighthood pay.
We glitter as long as we can.
Reminiscent of ****** stage gags
The scar you left on my hand.
Oh, and you aren’t here any longer
We killed you in a dream.
Your sports utility vehicle
Your visage unseen.
I beg for no further bother,
I’m lost and plumb green.
Movement like ghost shifting
Forever unclean.
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 3:30 AM UTC
My mother gathered me on her knee
and oh the stories i would hear
“The prince slay’d the beast his eyes white
and strained, his inevitable end was near”
“The fair damsel had long golden hair
her face as pale as snow.
The prince took home the beautiful maid”
of course knighthood would be bestowed.
They would wander the soft green hills together
wanting soon to be wed,
They softly reached the large wooden door
And drank from the pool of red.
Oh how merry they’d seem as man and wife
with his dark hair and her light skin.
Mother closed the book, the light turned off
and my slumber enclosed within.
I wandered the soft green hills alone
recalling a story once told
Of princes and dragons with golden flare
my mind once easy to mould.
Dead sheep from a wolf’s mouth i pass
the preacher stood in my midst
i walked right by, not a word to spare
his white strained eyes i did resist.
As i passed the church where grass once grew
dark graves, and candle lit light
but not a glance i threw to its golden prince
not awed in it’s holy sight.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Bad boys don't always come wrapped in leather jackets and cigarette smoke
But the scent of your Newport 100s stayed in my hair for weeks and weeks
And I scrubbed and scrubbed
And it didn't come out
It wouldn't come out
I remember your breath but not like yesterday
I wish your vodka-stained lips had been on mine yesterday
I wish I didn't strain to remember
I wish I didn't beg to forget.
Last night I found myself smiling at the thought of your touch
I pinched myself
SNAP OUT OF IT WAKE UP NO NO NO
Reminding myself of the marks you left is worse than when you actually left
I'd like to think you were my knight in shining armor
But your armor was stolen and your knighthood was feigned and I'm just as dumb as the girls in fairytales for ever believing otherwise
You called me your butterfly
I never expected you to destroy my wings and leave me stranded
Your scar is still there, right there on my cheek, did you ever notice?
Did you ever see the others?
Did you ever care to look?
Your father never taught you how to treat a lady
Your mother never let you see her cry
And I never saw what was coming until it was too late right in my face no way to dodge or run or scream or get away
I wish I had gotten away
I wish I had known that not all bad boys own motorcycles and not all bad boys sneer and not all bad boys look like bad boys at all
Because you were a bad boy
And I still can't believe it.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
a jack of all trades
hard for me to focus
to choose just one
my body is mashed
here i am
a master of none
movements of chicken broth...
as fresh mac and cheese
noodles attached
by my knowledge and memories
but nothing so oven strong
not baked today
a jack of all trades.
if serious a talent.
if forgotten...
talent turns you aside and whispers to you
just one more time
do you make a decision do you choose?
master of one or master of none
a jack of all trades
getting quite weary
linked to motivation
the esquire in me
knighthood approaches
It's the master within thy
a jack of all trades but the focus in none
master a few or master of some
starting now or never again
master just one
a single mad hatter
to crack just one
time keeps ticking and it'll all fold down
jack of all trades
master of all
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 12:55 AM UTC
When Desmond Fitzgerald succumbed to disease
his hereditary knighthood expired.
He had fathered no son to take up his sword.
No heir means the title’s retired.
For eight hundred years and twenty nine scions
The grand clan Fitzgerald held sway.
Now with his last breath, no successor is left
So, with honors, he’s buried today.
The green knight of Kerry is still in the field,
The last Irish knight in the fray.
Not that he sallies forth swinging a sword.
He sits home and drinks sherry all day.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
possibly not, yet the deed was done,
the sword was plastic. raised we
engaged in sword, in word play.
always the actor he fine tuned
the pokes and prods, wounded me
a little. apparently i am self healing,
did not need to fall and groan so.
arise sir grandma to fight another
day. Yet i have given up that struggle,
i actually know that regeneration
is not endless.
i may not have a knighthood.
i have a gift.
sbm.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Alfred Edward Housman wrote about this county from London,
we smoke pipes and drink pints to honour the scholar's story,
which can be checked out the library, former learning quarters
of an explorer named Charles Darwin, who sits in grey outside,
despite leaving town in adolescence, returning from Galapagos
to The Mount, where my parents met in mental health sickness,
gave life to an original species that theories would have hated,
like Robert Clive, who earned his knighthood by looting India,
cried in parliament, now we want his stage ousted, his house is
next to the cottage where I sleep restless because myself and
a few other Shropshire lads failed to escape, even after studying
centurion debates, athletic form and getting serenaded by greats,
where are the names of those who rose from minimum wage?
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 12:30 PM UTC
The thief, the usurper
She rides through the black
With her white robes
And dusty, pale hair.
She calls
Minstrels and men, vagrants and virgins;
Singing to them about light
That is not her own
With dulcet murmurs, lofty promises.
Her children hide behind her
Luminescent skin like moths
Hiding from the blue nighttime-
Mother! They cry, their tears streaking
Through the sky onto the Earth,
Leaving behind iron and fire.
This vagabond, she does not suckle them,
For she is lightless, left with only
A hard, round face
Full of silence and fear
Leaving men and me to reach for her,
And she, she spins away.
Umbridged is the king
Who reigns bright beams upon those
Living on the blue skin of his sister-
Ah, his sister, a lady of green
Dotted with poppy jems and violet jewels.
She is forgotten when the larcenist shows
Her hair. Lost and lonely, it is made fair
By the light of the king.
The pilferer is made to feel whole
And beautiful. The green lady,
She is wrathful, spitting fire, spitting ice.
Still the **** is unknown,
Unknown to all the land
And the lords and ladies that reap it,
And the king whose crown stays lit
And warm on his sister's rough face,
And the Lady Green who curses and weeps
For the capture of the thief that creeps
Throughout the cold, cloudless night.
A reward for any who can catch her,
A knighthood for any to tame her.
Unbeknownst to her admirers the damnable ****
Is nothing more than a mere handmaiden
For the Lady Green. A lonely *****
Hidden away during the light of morn
Til darkness descends and
The royals' house is torn.
May she continue to steal their precious
Gold and eyes and praise and skies
With her bright pale hair,
Long when the day ceases to be.
One day the king shall burn his sister, the blue *****
Freeing the lonely handmaiden forevermore.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Contentment, worry,
Love and fury,
Fear and bravery,
Knighthood, knavery,
Joy and sorrow,
Today, tomorrow,
I accept it all.
Truthing, lying,
Singing, sighing,
Sitting, leaping,
Running, sleeping,
Living dying,
Though I'm crying,
I will eat it all.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
A dark knight
Riding alone
Across the starry sky
Ready for battle ready to fly
The battle is fearce
One could just tell
Fighting the evil
Out of hell
The evil is dark
That much he knows
As the fear inside
Continued to grow
The night is ice cold
And so is his shield
Instead of protecting
It made him kneel
Frightening scream
Woke up the wild
The knight was injured
Deep in the night
"Surrender"
"Never" screamed out the knight
He picked up the pieces
And continued to fight
The sun his faithful friend
Asked gently the moon to light up his way
It gave him hope
Of the new day
Angel carrying a lifeless body
Is what you could see at the end of the night
He might have lost this battle
But never the war
In his soul the light was still on
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
I dream of knighthood.
A life where my armor is made of steel,
instead of coping mechanisms.
Where my greatest challenge is a dragon,
instead of getting out of bed.
Where I save the lives of those I love,
instead of feeling my own life pass by.
When I dream,
I dream of glory.
When I wake,
I wake up sad.
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 3:50 AM UTC
She arrived splendidly,
a hot damsel in distress,
so beautiful,
so very nice
in her tight
silken
flowered-bodice.
And I came
in bright armor,
to feed her
insatiable hunger
under many
a moonlit night.
Then sadly
she left me,
out in the cold
to hunger for
more of her.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
There was a man from Beijing called Not Tee Lim
Ugly, bald, belligerent, recalcitrant and slim
Won the year's First Prize for Insolence,
Belligerence, Indifference and Intolerance
He was bestowed a knighthood--his new name-- Sir Irreverent Lim
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
The Dragon Power told Dragon-Man, we must start to form the Federation.
Drozen is on his way, and is coming to destroy by annihilation.
As Dragon-Man he knew he had to find the Lady of the Night
Because she would vital for the Federation’s ultimate fight.
The only problem was that Dragon-Man did not know where to locate her.
He went to his house and thought, The search can continue later.
Suddenly the light turned on, and the Lady of the Night was there frowning.
So you would be in this fight without me after I rescued you, she said hounding.
Dragon-Man looked closer and saw that she was only clowning.
You know that I could not fight without you, Dragon-Man said with a grin.
And the best part is, you already are armed with your own weapon.
Lady of the Night observed, But there are two other weapons, and you have one hand.
Dragon-Man replied, I will recruit others for this Gloryless Cause but I will be in command.
Because this Gloryless cause needs the Oathed Sacrifice to fight.
I'll take on this burden to save, Drozen wants to put out the light.
Lady of the Night said, We can use the Paroah chariot as our battlecraft ride.
Dragon-Man wondered how the Paroah chariot would work with a fighting team inside.
Suddenly they were in the Dragon Tower, and the Dragon Power said we have to say.
That your collective powers together form the Nova Knighthood Way.
The Federation is made up of various Knighthoods to fight against this dire day.
The powers you have now are not enough to fight Drozen in his quest.
So we decided to fashion together a team that would have power to contest.
Dragon-Man, you will be the Alpha Knight, and pilot the Isotrain Mechanism.
Lady of the Night, your power is the Beta Knight, you will be in charge of the Gem Prism.
But what about the rest of us, Dragon-Man asked the Dragon-Power with surprise.
You must search for them, and remember, you cannot rely on just your eyes.
Dragon-Man woke up in his room, and sighed because he had a hearing.
It was at the end of the day, so when he went to work he knew Joe would be jeering.
As Dragon-Man drove to work, he thought that he had forgot something.
Little did he know that an entity was not there, but it was coming.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Tesla taught me the
right way
but
the electricity board bought
me
on good pay,
higher than the average might pay
and that still keeps
the average
average,
game over?
I could have gone solar,
alas no
Knighthood in that
and wind energy?
that's just a tombola
where the wind blows at will.
and so Nikola
what kind of catastrophe have
you dug for me? spinning
around on an Edison phonograph?
or a fortnight of misery being
propositioned in a footnote by
the **** end of history?
Because we're all fish and chipped into
Yesterday's news,
all a bit Clement with our Freudian views,
does Mother know mohair from
anywhere?
This is not about power or strength
or the length of my **** or who ****** the furthest
and that's probably the furthest from the truth that I've been for a while
I catch a smile, but
should have caught a bus,
a zero emission.
I go on confused
zapped and abused by
the abscess on the wing
of a Boeing.
so stands the accused.
with Tesla's permission
the case can begin.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
Our Marian Consecration today intimately parallels the actions of Knights before their queen in years past. Knights would come before their queen, kneel, swear their fealty, and solemnly dedicate themselves to be in the queen’s service and do her will. In our consecration today we are essentially doing the exact same thing. Our Queen is Mary, we pledge our loyalty to her and her cause (which is her Son’s Will, for love and for souls), and solemnly dedicate ourselves to her service and being obedient to what she tells us.
Knights were often called to go and fight for queen and country. We are also called to stand and fight for there is a war that rages a great spiritual battle. We fight not with hatred and anger and bitterness and intolerance, but with love, truth, peace, hope, and joy. We do not fight to steal, **** and destroy, we fight to give, to save, and to defend.
When we bend our knees, we humble ourselves. It is an action that leaves us vulnerable and open. It opens doors, opportunities and a whole world of experiences beyond our wildest dreams.
St. Maximillian Kolbe was right in creating the Militia Immaculata. The order of the Knights of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. We are like the knights of the past. It is also interesting to note that they specifically consecrated themselves before the Queen and that through the Queen they gave themselves in service to the King.
As Knights we are also called to be courageous and chivalrous. To be kind, gentle, and to honor and respect all especially the women, the children, and those in need. To be a knight was to live a life of service, charity, obedience imitating the life of Christ and his values and teachings. We are knights: go forth now under the Queen’s blessing and favor.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
are all phillips corrupt with power 27.10.18
not sure of knighthood
but now aware of axing
is it better for greater good
if guilty claw back for effective taxing.
who is under the thumb
its so clever
on entering its a roll of a drum
reminds me of little mo's nutty trevor.
shop is a goner
like london programme ink
deserves no respect or honour
silence is key wink wink.
can not see similarity
just the name
prince phillip will give clarity
out spoken and no shame.
not going to stigmatise
that would not be clever
but going to summarise
what is it with people called phillip s trevor.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
My thoughts are my weapons,
my pen is my sword
My will is my whetstone,
my knighthood,
—my Lord
(Opening Poem to Novel 'Darkening Sun:' December, 2014)
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC