"lordship" poems
Men my brothers who after us live,
have your hearts against us not hardened.
For—if of poor us you take pity,
God of you sooner will show mercy.
You see us here, attached.
As for the flesh we too well have fed,
long since it's been devoured or has rotted.
And we the bones are becoming ash and dust.
Of our pain let nobody laugh,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
If you my brothers I call, do not
scoff at us in disdain, though killed
we were by justice. Yet þþ you know
all men are not of good sound sense.
Plead our behalf since we are dead naked
with the Son of Mary the ******
that His grace be not for us dried up
preserving us from hell's fulminations.
We're dead after all. Let no soul revile us,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Rain has washed us, laundered us,
and the sun has dried us black.
Worse—ravens plucked our eyes hollow
and picked our beards and brows.
Never ever have we sat down, but
this way, and that way, at the wind's
good pleasure ceaselessly we swing 'n swivel,
more nibbled at than sewing thimbles.
Therefore, think not of joining our guild,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
Prince Jesus, who over all has lordship,
care that hell not gain of us dominion.
With it we have no business, fast or loose.
People, here be no mocking,
but pray God
would us all absolve.
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A holy dip in a river, revere you may,
Or any philanthropic act may it be,
Only wisdom finds divine salvation,
From cynic cycles of birth and death,
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….17
Relish respite in temple serene,
Cherish in the shadow of a tree,
Squat or lie on a flat ground,
Renounce worldly comforts,
Peace prevails in plenty.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….18
Dwell you may, in ecstasy,
Of fanfare and fortitude,
Attached to materialism,
But, to revel in the divine bliss is;
The only redemption of lingering life.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….19
Delve into the divine discourse of deliverance,
Sip the holy drops of sacred rivers,
Worship the lordship of Almighty
The Lord of Death dare not pinch you.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond …20
Pangs of birth, panic of death,
Over and over, again and again,
Make one and all sick and sullen.
Cultivate divine diary of deeds,
Enroll the ultimate bliss of eternity.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..21
He who cogitates cool inward,
Be content with what he has,
Contempt to what he has not,
May look like an innocent child,
Or an indecent mad cap outward.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond …..22
Question yourself –
Who are you and me?
And other kith and kin?
There lies delusion in delight,
Of experience and exposure,
Of trials and tribulations,
Ending up in ****** dreams.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 23
Almighty is all pervasive,
In you and me and all around,
To be furious is to be foolish,
Drop ego; uphold equality& equanimity,
As the best way to sacred sanctum
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 24
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
Your Excellency
I salute thee
Oh! King
King of Gbomulero
Oh! King
I salute your mighty sword
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Kabiyesi o!
I lift up my mouth
To praise your mighty-ness
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Your Lordship
That no dares to question
No one dares
To look into your eyes
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
The fighter of the spirits
The king of the witches
The night crawler
That wrestled the spirits in the dark
The only addressee of the jury
The judge and the jury
The Alápatà of Gbomulero
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
The end and eternity
Of Gbomulero's existence
The mantle of Orunmila
The Royal Highness
Of the gods
Oh! King
Kabiyesi o!
Ki ade pelori
Ki bata na tu pele
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 12:14 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
We shall not ask for the precious pearl of the Duke of Sui,
nor for the priceless jade disk of Master **
We merely ask for the recent news of our homeland.
The Palace of Spiritual Illumination must be still there,
surrounded by desolation.
What's happened to the stone statues buried deep in the grass,
still guarding the Imperial tombs?
Is it true that our people left behind in the occupied territories
are still planting mulberry trees and hemp?
Is it true that the rear guard of the Barbarians
only patrols the city walls?
This widow's father and grandfather were born in Shantung.
Although they never held high office, their fame spread far and wide.
I remember when they carried on animated discussions
with other scholars by the city gate.
The listeners were so crowded that their sweat fell like rain.
Their offspring crossed the Yangtze River to the South many years ago.
Drifting in the rapids, they mingled with refugees.
I send blood-stained tears to the mountains and rivers of home,
And sprinkle a cup of earth on East Mountain.
I imagine when Your Lordship, His Majesty's envoy, upholding the Imperial spirit,
passes through our two capitals, K'ai Feng and Lo Yang,
Thousands of people would line the streets and present tea and broth
to welcome you....
Announce that the Emperor's heart aches for the suffering people---
they are his own children.
Let them understand that the Will of Heaven remembers all living beings.
Our sagacious Emperor offers his trust which is as brilliant as the sun.
There is no need to negotiate many times after the long chaos of the years.
1.8k
the setting moon
slips close to its watery grave
and she finally appears
walking slow carrying her broken shoes
she says that the night jumped her
and she had gotten lost in the
vast differences between what she hoped
and what the world always left her longing with
tears spread from her still young innocent eyes
i held her to reassure
but as i wait for our fears to subside
i see the lights approach
of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet
and over her soul
bankers of the material world
doubling as demons from hells coldest corner
no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries
they are dead as the souls who manufacture them
she slips a pair of double a's from her
pocket rocket personal massage device
and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day
the moon has reached its last gasp
and she has romanced her way out of her dress
and you out of your noble intents
we all reach this impasse
with our pen and page
having sold off our forward momentum
for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word
we flounder at waters edge
unable to pull ourselfs back
unable to manufacture method to crawl further
we make mad dashes round and round the
proverbial gallows pole
hanging on a single idea or ideal
trying to express it clearly
it need not more clear than it is
in mind's eye
but her face lingers in your soul
urging you you recapitulate your dire love
to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down
the moon has reached its invisible zenith
on the worlds opposite side
and you have yet to reconcile
your good natured laugh
to her dark predictions
she slips away again to seek
her rightful place in her world view
and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat
once more
sexton in hand
plot your thoughts
and row king james home
the moon will rise soon
and you need to be home
when she comes in need of a hugs
and a shoulder to weep on
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
How well I know this force
that draws fast upon my brain
wages all the energies there retained
Till surging fills each life filled cell
to the roaring torment
and blessed state.
Beyond the horizon
It gathers upon the breath of those Gods
Thor riding the triumphant clouds
bellows into the night's air his charge
Of thickened, dense filled pockets of space
Edgeing upon the fringe of life.
I stand ***** arms out stretched
Like an ancient shaman invoking his god
gathering within my lungs this breath of charged air
and vibrating it out, I call the gales drifting winds
To sweep and engulf this soul of mine
Into the depths of that tormented breeze.
Hear O ancient one's my haunting cry
That steps out from the Soul and dreams of mine
Awaken again that sacred form and bliss
of natures wrath and constant kiss
To journey but the essence of life.
Thor roars in distant rumbles that gathers
pleads and romps the air and valleys
hammer flung, the metal strikes
and splinters it's flashing rods to earth
Castrating the nights air to its engulfed state.
The winds rush and cross the Firths great stance
Arran haunted to the raging sky
Lightning strikes amongst her giant peaks
Goat fell rages but to the demented storm
Like blasts from battles deep.
The seas roar the triumphant entry
Of the Viking God yet but once again
Upon theses ancient fields of time and place
charging upon the gales ravenous winds and tossed tides
The lordship of Thor upon the planes of Ayr.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
Always love or like, all alike,
Kin or none, friend or foe; hate none,
Lift yourself above all weakness,
Emerge strong & hit the ultimate goal.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 25
Purge yourself out and converge pure;
Free from lust, greed, anger & delusion.
Look behind the eye for truth beyond,
Unscathed by matter that does not matter
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 26
Cultivate prayer of the ultimate Supreme
Be good, do good and go with the good
No good to amass wealth without sharing
The poor and destitute deserve a better deal
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 27
Absorbed in pursuit of carnal desires,
Life culminates to cease in disease,
Mind is blind and blank of virtues till end,
Sins & sinners rule the roost without end.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 28
Wealth that reigns is none but one that ruins,
Rich are frightened by the shadows they cast,
Joy of pelf pales off in hoarding and hiding,
Spiritual health is holier than physical wealth
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 29
Regulate breath, sensitize sense,
Condition the body and soul,
Through meditation and prayer,
Free the fickle mind to firm up,
And search for eternal delight.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 30
Stir up your inner eye more focused,
Behold; the Lord lives in your heart,
All you need is a mentor that helps,
To liberate yourself from material life,
And capture the rapture all abound.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond 31
Worship of the Lordship is the only ship
To cruise and cross the ocean of life,
Be it chanting sacred hymns in extol,
Or be it a service to untidy society,
The essence of life is to transcend,
And attain Supreme above the self.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond. 32
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Worship His Lordship,
Brace up timely solace,
Before you are befooled,
No syntax would serve,
When death comes to date.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ….. 1
Oh Dear, desist from desires,
That govern mundane mandate.
Blessed are you, whatever deserved,
Of your actions, or inactions past,
Be content and devoted,
To your duty, serene and supreme
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ……2
Concealed by shiny silky skin,
Beauty is one of flesh n’ blood,
Glow or glamour is never forever,
Introspect and respect the truth,
Let not illusion overtake your wisdom.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ……3
Eventual, life bubbles off,
Like a droplet on lotus leaf,
Conjured by complexion,
Concluded by deadly disease.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ……4
Kith n’ kin crowd around,
And enjoy the fun and frolic,
Of youth, of health n’ wealth.
As the age anchors in sickness,
No referee comes to your rescue.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond……5
Sprint is the spirit of life,
The Soul holds the body
The day the Soul skips away,
Even your wife walks astray
Believe in boundless bliss beyond……6
Fun n’ play rein budding life,
Youngling passions linger fore,
Hoary age diminishes in distress,
None to come along, nothing to impress,
When the dusk dawns on you,
Too late to mediate and meditate.
Believe in boundless bliss beyond…….7
After all, what are you!
Of whom are you?
Who your wife and children are?
Are the bonds you made binding?
What is your origin or horizon?
Ponder over the divine marvel
Believe in boundless bliss beyond ……8
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
The hearse set off through the mansion gates
Pulled by a pair of greys,
Stepping high, so they’d not be late
For the church’s hymns of praise,
Lord Gordon Knox on the catafalque
Awaiting his final ride,
Just down the hill where the graveyard spilled
And spread on the eastern side.
But staring out from behind the grass,
From between each tree and bush,
There gleamed the beam of a hundred eyes
In a sacred kind of hush,
The word was out it was Gordon Knox
Set to take his pride of place,
And from the woods had come every fox
To afford his lordship grace.
For Gordon had been the Master of
The Aldermaston Hunt,
Had chased them across the countryside
More than a man can count,
But somehow managed to lose the fox
As it turned, became covert,
And often seemed to confuse the hounds
As the fox returned to earth.
Three generations had come and gone
Since the young Amelia Knox,
Had left to walk in the countryside
And found a secluded copse,
The peasants say that she fell asleep
By a well protected earth,
And Reynard Fox had uncovered her
Before she had given birth.
So Raymond was the first of the breed
In a mix of fox and man,
A Knox by name but a fox by shame
When his mother’s guilt began,
And when he had a son of his own
He could see that the eyes were sly,
And every fox in the countryside
Could tell him the reason why.
Gordon carried the bloodline on
Though he rode to fox and hounds,
He ruled the hunt with an iron fist
They were hunting in his grounds,
And every time that the quarry went
He would make a lame excuse,
The scent was wrong, or the wind was strong
Or the hounds were far too loose.
And every time that the Master died
And the hearse had trundled by,
The foxes all came out to see,
In a way, they said goodbye,
But Gordon had left no son behind
Just a daughter, Elspeth Knox,
And I heard they’d given up on her
Till they found her in some copse.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 1:24 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
From a bang and a big black hole
They say we arose
Hunched and furry and lacking cognizance
Grunting and glaring obscurely at the simplest of matter
That we are evolved Hominids
What an insult to so high and handsome a species
To the level of our intellect
To the stance of the master of our conception
To the grandeur of the Cherubim in-between which He dwells
To His creative ability
They go on with unabated audacity
To present us with ‘evidence’ of such theory
In an attempt to nullify the Word of His Lordship
Reduce it to but a figment of imaginative minds
They seek to re-establish the beginning
Subject the present to their will
And recourse the direction of the future
With an intent to dethrone The Alpha and Omega
For ages they have spurred violence upon the nations
While their forked tongues spoke for peace
Imposed the segregation of a race by physical demeanor
While their forked tongues spoke for unity
Instituted oppression of peoples
While their forked tongues spoke for liberation
And as they weave their intricate design
To hurl the world into confusion
Tying the loose ends in knots of theories
Which they fabricate basis to support
Then pass off as sense
All that remains is that there is only one truth
The truth that has survived interrogation and trial
And everything else is nonsense
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
An impending rate of consequence isn’t about the value of oneself when given the very right to dispose of ALL rates about the consequence that turns into the reigning champion for consequence itself. Since that very champion for consequence is how oneself would then value that very impending rate over itself entirely. Prompting the desires (that at which are forevermore “tempted”) into deceiving itself to see ONLY desires full of the consequence which is full of impending rates that (inconclusively) “shines” every claim you truly desire. Especially if that very desire doesn’t like having an identity for claim to certify it’s right for oneself to be given value over lordship as being its champion of its very own consequence! Showboating something that increases with every impending rate that coasts along without value in an identity that’s meant to be desired upon. Whilst there’s nothing more to be said or shared when there’s NO claim in itself without oneself to actually come out and perfectly express that they are lordship of claims value without a desire firstly. Which oneself is then slowly tempted upon to not see correctly. Hence, thinking they are simply a champion of consequence that performs those very impending rates as their very performance quickens steadily.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 7:54 PM UTC
Plagium
"There! See that lad beside the stall?"
The master pointed straight his riding quirt,
"The little lad with the home-made ball?"
I nodded, weary, standing slouched, inert.
"We'll make him ours before the day is done,"
I heard his lordship gloat, and wished myself away,
Remembering the day the plaga caught me as I tried to run.
No use to tell him what I thought - no use to even pray.
And so we lured the boy to see a novelty just up the street,
And cast our nets about him and rolled him in the dust
Into a rug and carried him out, bound hands and feet...
Another slave boy in the master's house who cries at dusk,
Missing home and mother's arms and small delights;
His homely past an awful ache, though low and poor,
A place of love and hope and soft, familial sights
My slaving Master Plagiarus ripped away forevermore.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 10:59 AM UTC
Blank is the only thought known in the mind's velocity
Blank is the motive for the one to unleash atrocity
Blank becomes the heart as it encases no pain nor joy
Blank merely senses no rudiment in good or evil's ploy
Blank removes the face far from emotion's function
Blank contributes part in the psychotic conjunction
Blank of colour has it not, neither has it not everything
Blank is the incubator of pure evil for its purpose is nothing
Dark has claimed lordship over the temple of God
Dark shall only not grant the self but others the trod
Dark is the illness for which not shall it cease
Dark is the standing bear to the prey upon release
Dark gives the sun's casket at the funeral the seal
Dark senses no illusion in pursuit of what is real
Dark is the siren's song of tempting desire
Dark is the fuel of persuasion to the raging hellfire
Monster has the person become from a transformation much gruesome
In comparison to the lycanthrope's curse from a life so glum
Silence does the killer perform the wait for this moonrise
Wolf does not in he result but psychosis shall evoke demise
Hell is the starting gate for the devil to begin his race on earth
Slaughtered shall be anyone until achieved is the end's worth
Light will not the butcher dwell in for his blade of razor to land
Lightless will the assassin delay in for the lust of death by hand
Cannot you outrun the follower, ceaselessly he follows
Subject you are to this doctor's experiment of gallows
Shadow does for you he wait in for the death strike
Watcher will he portray such a role in his image alike
Closet shall you beware for the demon's haunt it has become
Drains are elsewhere he shall stay for they are fear to some
The primary sense is vision for it has the ability to identify
Application of the sense does it most suit the villain to mortify
The possessed blade is as sharp as the pain to cause the victim's cries
For such an action does pleasure be ensured for the blackest eyes
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
You're what?
Mrs Broadbeam said
gazing at Mary the kitchen maid
who stood facing her
hands behind her back
red knuckles clutching each other
Miss Alice's lady's maid
Mary said softly
eyeing the cook
fearing her censure
lady's maid?
you?
who said?
Mrs Broadbeam uttered
spitting as she did so
His Lordship
Mary said
just now when I went to see him
Mrs Broadbeam breathed deeply
and stared at the thin girl before her
but you know nothing
about Miss Alice and she
hardly knows you
the cook said
Mary said nothing
about Miss Alice climbing
into her bed one night
and insisting Mary
be her adopted mother
as her own mother
was ill away in hospital
called an asylum
I know her
Mary said
I took her for walks
and we saw the horses
in the stables when the nanny
asked me to look after her
the other month
asked you?
the cook said
that's her job not yours
Mary looked past the cook
at the stove where a *** was boiling
and how am I to manage without you?
Mrs Broadbeam said
the nanny said she
will get another girl to help you
Mary said
looking back at the cook
Mrs Broadbeam sighed a big sigh
and when is this meant to start?
the cook said
Sunday for church and after
Mary said blinking
and biting her lip
there was silence and stares
and big heaving of breath quietly
all right well until then
don't stand there
there is work to be done
potatoes to peel
washing up to wash and dry
Mary nodded her head
and putting her apron
about her waist
walked off to the scullery
to begin more work
the voice of the cook
bellowing from afar
from the kitchen
pots and pans banging
then silence
then the cook's voice singing.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
Mill to mill a bitter pill this treadmill that we're led to
and from mill to mill we will always be
candy for the mills of society
they gab in the background about Christmas,
alas
no Christmas for me
the foreman has told me to work that day
and no turkey shall I see
cold ham and pickle with cheese and a tickle of trout
lightly poached (nightly poached) from the river that runs through his Lordship's land
and yes
I bite the hand that feeds me for it's the same hand that needs me in mill to mill when will it all end.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
Wishing to dialogue
About the joy of our
Shared salvation,
I must interrupt
The joyous conversation
To warn you.
Dangerous men have invaded
Your circle of faith,
Men who purpose
To corrupt the truth
Of God's free gift,
To franchise immorality
For their own profit,
To pollute the Sovereignty,
To deny the supreme Lordship
Of Jesus Christ
To deviate
For profit and profligacy.
I write to warn you.
Jude
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Render this time as sacred
More precious than gold
Render this time as valuable
A Life was sold
I speak of this time that I'd so easily trade
For that which is temporary
And those that so easily fade
This time that should be priceless
Because it was bought
And given to me
I want this time to be
More than just part of the routine
More than something to foresee
More than a task of that never-ending to do list.
I call the Giver of this time my Lord
But all the time for the mundane, I hoard
I see lordship but not for Him
I see lordship for me and to me
Selfishness at its epitome
So I bow my sorry head
Sorry for the life I've led
Where I chose to spend this time
All for me
When my God was not the priority
Grace, oh, grace I ask
From this time on
I choose to spend this time in light of eternity
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
In the two up, two down with a tin tub to
bathe in, a cellar to put coal in,
a kitchen and pantry
can't you
be happy?
If his Lordship willed it we'd all live in pigshit,
that's Nobility for you
but
I work in the grounds of the great hall as a groom
for
sixpence a week and a small garrett room
and don't feel hard done by,
still a prison though.
I'll die in service but will need to give
a week's notice
such a shame you can't put a
poultice
on death.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
Public opinion
Confusion reigns until his lordship explains
that our best interests are served by
remaining in service
no education for free for this
subject,
subject to decree from
her highness,
most royal majesty
Informally known as Lizzie.
His lordship is marking our card,
we must work very hard
get little pay
not too much noise
and
no *** on Sunday,
what a way to have to live
they take, take, take
and we try to live on
**** all
they live in a bigger hall
which still means **** all
to me.
I'm voting
one way or another
I'm voting
boring into the dead wood
Breadcrumbs.
I am Hansel and Gretel being
dead good.
Liz gets down to the business of queening,
cleaning the silverware'
getting rid of the peasants who get in her hair
tending to Phil
having her fill of kedgeree
and sod all for the likes of me,
She's off my Christmas list
if we were a republic
A peasant? revolting,
his lordship puts the boot in
but
the fault's in the system
we all need rewiring.
I'm going to Grimsby
that place will suit me
fish, chips and a
mug of tea
bye bye your majesty
don't wait up
I'll be home late.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Anthems so sweet,
Soft gallantly stringed.
Hearts beat,
Sorrow weeps.
A song of merrily dreams.
What man is this?
Whose heart is bliss.
Thou loved a maiden,
Of Anthems swing.
Whose love adored,
When all was torn.
He hailed thy keep.
Love is kind,
It doth not envy.
Even An Anthem.
Proves thee.
Maiden of Sweet songs,
Whose voice angelic along.
Sings to thy heart.
To keep thee.
"My love,
You are my life.
In peace and in suffering.
Though I may become wife,
I'll always love thee."
What child she brings,
To bear his fathers eyes.
To speak of lordship.
Behind thy eye.
Bear a child,
I will accept thy offer.
A family for us,
Will last forever.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
I prefer my actors live on stage:
Living, breathing, running around.
But sometimes you need a stiff;
I like them to be, metaphorically speaking, upstanding
With a military bearing and patriotic moustache,
Ideally tricked, or seduced, by cunning foreigners.
Once they are dead, I want them face down,
Fully clothed, shot in the back,
Being studied by a stooping policeman,
Or better still, an upper class pre-war sleuth
With a cravat and a monocle;
No need for ceremony with them.
A doctor arrives.
‘What seems to be trouble?’ he asks.
‘He’s dead, you idiot!’ cries the sleuth;
‘Make yourself useful. Get Lady Bounder here a cup of tea.
She’s fainted. Two sugars.’
Enter Inspector Dummy.
‘It looks like ****** he announces.
‘Give the boy a medal,’ comes the witty reply.
‘Oh, sorry, your Lordship. Shall I shine your shoes?’
Then there’s a sub-plot, a side issue:
The bones of a victim
Of a botched bank robbery
Forty years before
And the stiff was his grandson.
It’s a hard job, being dead on stage,
Or so I’m told, I’ve never tried it.
I once saw a ****** victim sneeze, twice,
Under a table in the library.
He deserved that kick; nothing like a good laugh.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
What lays beneath, shall remain unknown
As the creepness prevail with a dark mourn
Unsure of the foul smell of decayed meat
No one wants to breath while they eat
It's certain that we are not alone here
Cause everytime I feel the crawling of fear
Like someone rushing through to come near
But possibilities are that it's just the fear in mind
Which guides the fearful heart to actually find
What lays beneath the ground?
From which the mourn aches mumer the sound
The chill feeling gathers on hearing the dogs howl
The strange faint hooting of the jungle owls
While none has the courage to see outside
The ground breaks and the smell smearing from inside
It's what looks like the opening of the hells portal
And the creatures crawl out as a rotting mortal
The lordship of this place has guarded this place
That's why these creatures are not able to trace
For we are few who are safe for now as told
But who knows what this darkness really holds
The smokes fill the atmosphere around
The cold mist and heavy fogs surround
As there is a wait for the day break to come
How many of us shall remain? Probably some
The growling and gronning such unheard
Unseen deads roam, some even without heads
I only wish this was just a dream not true
If only this night passes and hopefully we are through
In the light of day, we shall know what's there
None have such courage, for they do not want to bare
The wreath of the dark hell creatures
With distorted bodies and disfigured features...
©sim
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC