"leach" poems
I made a deal with Satan
Because you showed me
That he was my only shot
I threw away who I was
And became your enemy
As I smile like your friend
I learned the game
And that I have a gift
I use it to play you
And steal from you
And I’ll continue to do so
With you as my teacher
Until I cough and glare at you
Through my last dying breath
I’m a villain.
I secretly extort and leach
Off of everything and everyone
That you have ever loved
Because that and you
Don’t mean anything to me
I want to deceive
And take advantage
Of you and your friends
So that I can take your money
Because I will not settle
For less than the ivory tower
That you sleep in.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
I'm all too used to the touch of your absence. Your mother's wrath in that time can be a death sentence so tragic. But when you come back, Demeter returns to her senses expressing light magic. Life springs through the darkness, and flowers race to see who can reach the farthest. Lovers emerge to nurture their gardens, and soak in sun to thaw out the hearts that hardened. Birds sing songs highlighting your arrival. Trees breathe easy seeing what their last set of leaves died for..
Yet when you retreat, mother again takes away her warmth. The high-flyers no longer soar, and some paths feel too bitter to explore. Bone-chill zones, a frozen reality stream. I can't blame anyone for what's a part of me, as we fall into winter's annual dream.
Queen of the Underworld, I appreciate your harmony. Thank you for teaching me to see the depths of my own duality. Still, I can't help but wonder how existence would be had you not eaten those pomegranate seeds. In the darkness of winter I want to curse Hades for his greedy need to leach on life through trickery. Though to curse him I'd be cursing myself and ive had it with the blasphemy. Besides I too know what it's like to rely on the dead as your only company. I ride ebbs and flows of loss and hope, but I know your presence promotes healing. So again I'll remain as the seasons change, taking layers and peeling. I've found in light and dark we can succeed in setting our bound spirits free. Communicator of both worlds, I want to Thank and honor you, Persephone~
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
I have been living in these huts lately,
As this life seems aimless and desultory,
Slowly flowing like the splash of drops over the board,
Hallelujah . For me, it's still our God's handwritten story.
Two cents quietly sit in my little pockets ,
And they still fit perfectly in each,
Same as our feelings, as they huddle around our hearts,
Occupying the bijou portions and trying not to leach.
I will hold on till the day, staggering away,
In my tattered clothes, till the color withers and my story stales,
Lingering in the huts, with a hue of nostalgia,
Ailing but not wailing, after a series of massive fails.
Before God finishes writing my story,
I believe he will hand me the pen, its a fact, not a lie,
And with you by my side, I will scribble my glory,
I'll dress you your Gossamer, and myself a Suit and a tie.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Pretend that you're a poet
& sleep beneath beer-stained sheets
Pretend that you're a *****
& lay down in the streets
Pretend that you're a Buddha
& delight in the peace
Pretend that you're a preacher
& drain them like a leach.
Pretend that you're a soldier
& cry when no ones there
Pretend that you're a lover
& kiss her when shes bare
Pretend that you're a housewife
& start to make a list
Pretend that you're a prisoner
& stare into the abyss.
Pretend that you're homeless
& and beg beside the road
Pretend that you're an alcoholic
& wake with guns to load
Pretend that you're a poor man
& sleep upon the floor
Pretend that you're a rich man
& you won't have to pretend no more.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:45 AM UTC
I used to feel stress as some others do
I’d cry and pout and usually eat the stress away
Gaining 5, 10, 15 pounds in the process
But at what point does stress become too much?
Phase 1- Normal
A little stress
But less than should cause concern
Take a quick pause and breath
Till you feel fully awake and ready to handle the whole deal that is worrying you
Eating pattern: Normal
Phase 2- Intermediate
More substantial stress
Quite the mess inside the mind
Especially in an unkind situation
Eat a little more than normal for the sake of taking away the thought of the problem
Make a list and stick to it to reduce the impact
Don’t place the fist to the wall yet
Eating pattern: Calories increased by 25-40%
Phase 3- High
Stress has reached its max
Like a leach ******* the life away
Mind trying to stray from the food or the situation
But somehow falling pray to both
Like a host for a parasite
Eating pattern: Compromised. Calories increased by 60-75%
Phase 4- Immense
Stress too high to handle comfortably
Functional human abilities begin to cease
Like a paralyzing disease
Lies like not feeling well begin to find their way into play through each and every day
Not only is the issue stressful but the thought of eating becomes impossible
Now more problems creep in with the deep dive swim of an eating disorder side show
Eating pattern: Crippling loss of appetite. Calories decreased by 90%
I digress to address the source of my stress
A world I thought I knew and had nothing left to do but ride the wind with my sweetheart
But things fall apart yet the world still spins and at the end of the day the side I’m fearful of wins
And now I’m alone and scared of what’s next I just sit here with empty stomach rumbles hoping for your text
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
I really think
that it is just a sin.
That when there is trouble
The Big Boys join in.
They all come across
saying that they'll make a change
and then somebodys World
they will then rearange.
The US and Russia
along with us Brits
don't want it that way
so we blow it to bits.
We give guns to him,
supply arms to another.
Then we sit back and watch
as Brother kills Brother.
Who are we to guide?
Who are we to preach.
When we cling on to their assets
like a blood ******* leach.
We should leave others alone
till our own house is done,
yet we watch as our schools
become run by the gun.
Where now it's the norm
to be shot as we learn,
just as long as big commerce
is able to earn.
Those who should know better
don't know how to behave
Happy to see
another Child in a Grave.
So you Big Boys go elsewhere
because it's well known
that if you come to play
you come armed with a Drone.
While you're sitting back
comfy in your armchair.
You can relentlessly ****
from a place that's not there.
Then when you pull the plug
and remove your devices
we are faced with a problem
of people making bad choices.
We have made problems worse!
We have let people down
and when we get a world crisis
we'll react with a frown.
We don't want them here.
They cannot go there.
A whole host of humanity
who is welcome Nowhere.
We created this problem!
We created this way.
So in the future
keep The Big Boys away.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
You're not a necessity,
You’re an accessory.
Stop trying to own me, talk at, and stand next to me.
Stop playing the role of the leader- you’re less than me.
I am the boss here you have nothing to offer- see?
I am stronger, smarter, brighter, bolder-
and all you have to say is what?
“If I can’t have her I’ll hurt her.”
You think because you’re man and I’m women I’m yours,
but when it comes to offers I haven’t see anything worse.
You call at me,
Stare at me,
Swear at me,
Slimy and gross like a leach.
You taunt me and smirk at me as if I’m in your reach.
So I’ve talked to you once,
We’ve made eye contact- your point?
You’re a cog in a machine line,
a small piece,
an ordinary joint.
You’re unoriginal with your words,
even less with your actions.
I’m beautiful and talented,
So when it comes to you there’s no attraction.
You have nothing to offer me,
let me be-stop accosting me.
You’re taking up my time and it’s costing me.
Because unlike you I’m not worthless,
I’ve got ambition and drive.
I’ve got brains-not just an ***
You’re not the reason I’m alive.
You’re nothing,
You’re worthless.
And if I wanted you, you’d know.
I’ve been trying to tell you repeatedly just where you can go.
Your offers?
Not catchy,
not tempting,
I don’t want anything less.
So sad to know when it comes to relationships-
this is as close as you ever get.
You’re ****
You’re trash.
You confuse me when you talk.
Since when does a women sleep with someone when they gawk, or when they stalk?
You’re a coward,
You’re a loser,
Your creation was a glitch.
And though yes, I am rejecting you,
No, boy-you are the little *****
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Even though your funeral was in the summer,
It felt like autumn the way the tears
Hung off Aunt Shelley's jawbone like cold raindrops
On the eaves of the old porch,
The way Grandpa's eyes were too red and wet and
A thousand years away,
The way Dad's sorrow poured out of folded arms and tight lips,
Soft like worn leather,
The way it rained too lightly to add any cliché dreariness.
I just couldn't think of that red granite box as you, even though I
Knew
It was the soft gray remains of your body.
Death is not like winter, cold and harsh
Death is autumn, life draining from bodies,
Life drip-dripping from stuttering lips and
Once-strong grips
Death is watching summers of laughter and hugs fade to
Hospital rooms and rain-grey skin and
Slow sad songs like wind in red-brown, dead-brown leaves
And feeling a slow, quiet loneliness invade your veins.
Your death was not cold, impersonal sterile white; it was the
Aching melancholy melody of removing
One shade of green
From a palette, not noticed in the painting at large
But felt keenly in the way the artist's hand no longer
Cues that brushstroke.
Watching you die was watching all the green leach out of the leaves
And turn them briefly, painfully on fire,
Standing in a field of emerald grass and feeling it
Crinkle and turn yellow-orchre under cold fingers
Collapsing into mud.
Watching Death from the outside is the single
Most painful part of your painless process.
When you took your last breath, your features were a
Picture-perfect memory of peace, even as my face was a
Mask of confusion, my chest heaving with stale hospital air
The way yours would never again.
I wanted to run outside and imagine all the trees turning red-gold
In your honor, mimicking your final
Blaze of glory in that last smile.
Autumn came early that year, though no trees
Turned
Til October.
Even in the middle of spring I can smell the
Rain-woods-wind-wine scent of your autumn soul
And it makes me smile.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Some people have a jungle mentality.
They say if we lived in the jungle
the strong would dominate the weak.
But this isn’t a jungle
it’s so far from the jungle it’s impossible to say
exactly who the strong and the weak are
when there are so many variables
and the society we live in
dictates the skills and attributes we acquire.
Yet some people try to turn society into the jungle
because they think they’d thrive there
but their jungle doesn’t have trees
it has chimpanzees cut off at the knees
nor does it have a sustainable ecosystem
it has concrete walls and steel bars
where they beat the small and leach the large.
The ape beating its chest the hardest
hoards all the bananas
while its shrewdness starves.
The only jungle it resembles is Upton Sinclair’s
but before that jungle can be realized
they have to plant the jungle mentality in our minds.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 8:55 AM UTC
Listen soldier to the tale of tendor nightingale
Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain in a sympathetic strain
with a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.
Singing bandages and lint; salve and stearate without stint
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion.
And your mixtures pushes about
And the pills for you served out
With alacrity and promptitute of motion
Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands
How to manage every sort of application.
From a poultice to leach, whom you haven't got to teach,
The way to make a poppy fomentation.
Singing pillow for you smoothed; smart and anguish smoothed,
By the rediness of feminine invention.
Singing fever thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made
With a cheerful and considerate attention.
Singing succour to the brave and a rescue from the grave,
Hear the nightingale that's come to the crimea.
Tis a nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,
To carry out so gallant an idea.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 12:06 AM UTC
Compassion the last one that enters the room
A key trait that isn't groomed
A true character the teachers don't teach
A pure thing that leaches won't leach
Compassion the leader to happiness
The follower of sorrow
Compassion something you can't barrow - d.j. Turner
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
What's up with this planet, who's in charge here
Obviously ****** up people whose minds aren't clear
They're clouded with greed
They bribe people who lead
Deaf are their ears when we plead
Get out of our society, just leave
You're not welcome here
You make us hate and live in fear
It's hard to believe people still fall for your games
The world is blindly covered in your chains
We will free ourselves just you watch
We are raising the vibrations another notch
Maybe you should run while you still can
Before everyone finds out your sick twisted plan
Revolution will be lurking around the corner and in the dark
We need to inform everyone and ignite their spark
Our souls know something is horribly wrong
The caged bird sings the prettiest song
Look at the music and what people say
They're fed up with the planet and it's evil way
Life here is horribly unaligned
With Mother Earth and the divine
Don't be distracted just open your eyes
Get in tune with yourself, feel the vibrations rise
You'll change the world if you look within
Knowing thyself is how we win
Don't stop growing, you'll never be done
Love yourself and make your changes fun
See the silver lining, the light, the sun
Look at what's in front of you, don't just run
Feel awareness in every part of your soul
A loving world for all should be your goal
Happiness isn't far out of reach
Ignore false prophets and what they preach
Let your experiences and your higher self teach
Be a sustainer and not just a leach
I promise we can change the world if we try
Listen to what people are saying when they cry
We should come together with love and compassion
Quit self loathing and quit people bashin'
Lend each other our heart and our hand
Quit fighting over oil and this sacred land
The Earth is for all of us to share
To create something beautiful with endless care
It's not all about you, it's all about us
Now come join me on my hippie bus
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
This town is too small for secrets
The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates
Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago
While moss oozes out of the letters.
This town is too small for secrets
Through windows at night
The citizens play out their dollhouse lives
And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire.
This town is too small for secrets
Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later
And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry
Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts
And place them on the counter.
This town is too small for secrets
Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells
But the protestant one always wins
And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice
But whisper politely in each other’s ears
About the scandalous protestors out on Main.
This town is too small for secrets
With its coffee shops littered with youth
Who deny their wealth through coffee steam
And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map
And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain
Back to new cars and million-dollar homes
Where daddy pays the bills.
This town is too small for secrets
The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups
And scuttle towards their shared flats
Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep
Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer
Three semesters ago.
This town is too small for secrets
With its gated communities of retirees
Where the homes are manufactured
And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren
And the rebellious ones packed away
From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Stuck in a time long since passed. Heart emptied hopeless. Faces blur along with the days. Nights linger incessantly, haunting all that ever was. Dreams tease happy. Sun kills dreams. Time makes scars. Distance allows the fallacy to continue. The lies turn daily mantra. The mantra into perceived reality. Reality into dreams, the dreams into nightmares. Sun cannot **** nightmares.
**Hollow glass hearts bleed
Puddle will evaporate
To exist no more**
Joy-filled memories leach all hope for future joy. Heart crushed to powder. Powdered hearts cannot bleed. Dead hearts cannot feel. Memories, overflow with the shadow of love's embrace. Pain jabs the senses like lightning. Still, the heart has ceased to exist. Calluses fill the space that scars cannot. False emotion permeates the truth. Future acquaintances see beauty behind dead eyes. As they close in, icy breath freezes long enough to drain their heart to beat some life into the one lost. Walking away with minimal pulse as their heart is hollowed and bleeding. Soon too, that puddle with cease to exist.
**Life's casualties
Joy begets pain begets joy
Hope dies most quickly**
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:36 AM UTC
tea leaves sit soggy, sad
forgotten at the bottom
of the cup
leaching, bitter tannins
now, forgetting the life they led
no one willing to read their fortune
no spilling of the secrets
they never truly had
just detrius now
from dust to dustbin
the cycle of a tea leaf
long or brief,
happy or sad
a parable, in hot water
once green and lush in colour
in essence, verdent's liquid fame
once used and now just *******
every life has limit, every limit claimed
as we sup, we suffer the race of time
running through our fingers
clamouring at our mind
one day we too,
will be *******
waiting for the dust,
one day we too
shall leach our liquids
in the unforgiving dust
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
---
she
is
defunct
mother of a
strange changeling
she
nurses it upon
her own heart
arterial blood
of deepest crimson
while It
bites the ******
she
accepts her fate
and allows it to feed
until it is bloated
as a leach
she
allows this stillborn
to drain her soul till
there is no longer any
joy nor pain
love nor hate
peace nor fear
lust nor frigidity
she
has named
her child
loneliness
and she
lets it
drain her
til
she
is
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
Hey it rained today
Here on Rehoboth Beach
I don't have much to say
As I laugh at each
Of the idiots on this beach
Twas not just rain
But a storm
And unlike the norm
People here claim the terrain
As would a leach.
One in particular
Was strapped...with a baby.
Above the law for sure
On bath salts maybe
Did run to the shore in agony.
Life with no umbrella
Must make one sad fella
For such measures of magnitude
To ruin the attitude
Of everyone here on Rehoboth Beach
All dem beach biddies.
Yoloswagin up in here
Gettin my swag on it cities
And all over dat pier.
Rockin dem flippy floppies
Engage slomoswag
Drunk on lemon poppies
With my gift shop bag.
Soak it up ladies
The wife beater
The shadies
Come on over here
Mmm taste that retainer
Of champions!
Can't contain her
Sweet two ton European.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 2:47 AM UTC
Elope me in your thoughts and all this mental pain.
Like a rope you seem to choke me and cut me off from my brain.
I can't make sense of it, nor can I explain it.
I tried to paint the picture from the window I was "paned" in.
Sprained mind thought I still want to reach you,
Teach me to love you, don't preach that I bug you.
Release my anxiety, I "Leach" on to propriety.
Sobriety is getting harder by the day...
Society is watching me, I'm not sure what to say...
I'm sitting in my rocking chair, typing away a blurred array,
I still write about you everyday,
you haven’t read a word I've saved.
I still think about you every night,
Your closeness is what I crave.
When I talk to you I cave, man I don't know what to say..
I feel less intelligent, but hell your smile, I relish it...
It shines so bright no need for embellishment.
I want to see it all the time, so much I feel so selfish..
It's pure happiness in it's prime,
but the crime is that it's for a lie.
You hurt inside, I seem to help.
I'm on your mind, and you're on mine.
That's fine with me, you're divine.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
If a deity's power is based around the faith put in that entity I have a new pantheon to propose.
Giggles and Fun
A gay couple and first because there is not one person here who has not done something just for fun or just for giggles, period you may not have said it but your actions at some point have been dedicated to fun or giggles, fear and respect them.
Godamit & ****
Anytime anything goes wrong one of these to is to blame, sometimes **** will get you laid but that may not be a good thing seeing as 1 in 4 people has ****** and that's just one of the many incurable venereals you may pick up *******
Left and Right
Subjective and relative are Left and Right maybe its a little more to one or the other or maybe you need to turn to one of them at the light we lean heavily on them to know our way around and to make things worth looking at when you get to were your going.
Science
The first single god and the most active, constantly provides evidence for his powers, just wants to be understood, some would say he hopelessly flirts with reality but that's another story.
Reality
Well she's vain self centered and materialistic, reality checks, reality TV and any who ever said get real gave her power but she's getting on in years and may soon concede her secrets to the advances of science.
Please and Thanks
Often thought to be ageing and weary these two are just as spry as ever having traded quantity for quality, the rigmarole of formal worship with the passion of devout praise, one thing certain if you call out to one of these two in this day and age you mean it and with the change even sarcasm seems to be laying off.
Sarcasm and Irony
Once amongst the top tier traded quality for quantity and what passes as comedy now days has all but killed them, with derp irony and that **** from work who still says please and thanks like with that snide sarcastic tone and a wince of disgust maybe a snort, ****
Love and Hate
The definition of a love, hate relationship, again trading quality for quantity with sarcasm feeding off them like a leach on raw pork it may be time for a change or an end to love and hate.
Demigods include but are not limited to.
**** No & Yes, Hi & Bye, Good, Forgot, **** UWhtM8 & blighter...
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Heart stuck in gray dawn. Subtle remembrances, consume. Longing for more. Lingering for, "used to be". Vulnerability in pain gambled for strength in love. Held in place by promises.
**Spoken words deny
Actions scream in love and pain
Hearts splinter and crack**
Time cannot heal what was not meant to be broken. Change is slow coming. Dreams of warmth take hold, trying to leach into reality so abruptly ripped apart. Something once so perfect, so beautiful in its purity, in its simplicity. Forever tainted by selfless gestures turned selfish motives.
**Promises broken
Dreams relive yesterday's bliss
Stopping tomorrow**
What's good for one, not enough to sustain. Love enough to last, pushed under, forgotten. Lost to fear. Submerged in darkness. Yet, there lies the sun. Warm and alive. More than a seed, a field of flowers ready to bloom. Still, flowers of love do not bloom in tears of despair.
**You are the warm sun
Watered by my salty tears
Flowers turned to hay**
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 8:28 AM UTC
My skin may be bruised while you continue cruise..
but seconds later
I stand withheld
Because you see, wounds heal
And your fingertips are no longer felt,
My neck free from your belt
I rebuild
So Thank you for giving the monster a borough in the back of my head
It's only so narrow
But now its filled, I have to thank you,
Thank you for making room
For the flowers to grow
Forever out of your reach
I can only heal after getting away from the leach you coast as
My skin was once blue
But after leaving you which was long overdue
I see being me is the only thing I need
And how I'm finally free
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
I pull at my hair
And scratch at my skin
You ask me why
I don't even know where to begin
The curls in my hair are all wrong
The colour orange just doesn’t belong
My skin looks all weird colours and mottled
The feelings inside I keep up and bottled
There is no reason for my depression
I find it hard to show my expression
I escape into the word of fiction
I stay so long it becomes an addiction
Being who I am doesn’t conform
To what others consider the social norm
People who know my sexuality
See me as an abnormality
I get terrified when in a crowd
Everyone just always seems so loud
I cling to people like a leach
My voice is weak without freedom of speech
I wish I could be normal
But that would just abnormal
I wish I could learn to accept
But in that I am so inept
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
*Cut me, leach this tumor within me
it has festered into a separate entity
with its own blood supply
grown overbearing in its voracity
taking up more space each day
edging me out of the picture entirely
seems as though it'll devour me whole
dismemberment appears imminent
I'm only afraid of what I'll find
a face similar to mine with two heads
a cancer of your caliber, eating me alive
cold, ruthless treachery of no denial
ancestral antecedent, I'd prefer it dead
set fire to your name in vain
demon feasting decades after
it will never surrender peaceably*
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
Goodbye
Disgusting excuse of a friend
A confidant
I used to hold such confidence in,
Now a sickly
Pseudo relationship.
You and I
A Despicable desert dry
Duo
I can't spend another second
At this pathetic pretending
That you can offer anything to anyone
But a narcissistic notion
And a nerve-racking
neuroses of the mind
The universe is out to get you
I curse my oblivious self
I had forgotten you are the single
Cohabiter on Earth
Ah, yes
You are undefeated
At the blame game
I've tried to hold honor in defeat
But, I don't have an ounce of energy left
For your egotistical world
You unhinged
Dark gate
You let your steed of self-obsession
Out to stampede the sincerest hearts
You don't even see the *****
Destruction
You deal out
From your deprived reciprocity
Alcohol, your only ailment
Your **** filled words
Tossed out lament and futile
This is where we go our divided way
I will not claim even a freckle on your face
As a friend
I will not look back
Nostalgia is not necessary
I will detach myself from your
Leach like misery
And I'll slowly build strength back
A blood flow of enraged fierceness
Has circulated through my core
And it will be as if
I never had any bit
Of me
Belonging to you
Friend, now foe
Farewell
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England,
which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde,
while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring,
was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe.
Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde.
Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set,
after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land.
Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained
till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking,
did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy.
That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn.
Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured.
There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre:
there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness.
There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde.
There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne.
Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome.
Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry.
Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I
tell,
for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not,
in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC