"lordships" poems
The banker sits for his lunch. He sits with his superiors. They ask, “how do you?” He replies, “Good, and you sir?” After pleasantries comes food. Everyone ordered a salad. Food is picked at with dashes of chatter. After food comes business. Business among superiors. The banker sits quietly using his wasted acting talents on feigning interest. He twiddles thumbs, smacks gums, and adjusts weight from one flank to the other.
The bored banker nods conformatively. When addressed, his name varies from Tim to Tom to Jack. They were close it was Al. He fills in facts and numbers the optimates don’t care to recall themselves. It’s the only use he has at lunch. Those superior to the banker could have brought his report he made up for this occasion. But, there is an air of aristocracy when one has a serf accompany his master to a meeting of patricians. Like all courtly meetings, the barons and governors hide slights in compliments, cloak ambition in kindness. Use pens as daggers, dried ink as poison.
It’s not the banker’s place to notice such things, it is place to serve those who deserve his servitude. Every time he services his lordships, his tie gets tighter, his skin looser, and his bald spot increase its diameter.
The bored and defeated banker rises with the Bourgeoisie, clings to their heels, and gets the door. His lunch is over. His break is done. Back to his desk he retreats. Back to work. His time as a squire is done. Until his masters call upon him again. For lunch.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
On the banks
of the
Delaware
where
memories
of Valley
Forge's
dire winter
encampments
still linger
where sons
and daughters
of liberty
shook off
a mid-winter
rigor mortis
risking the
slow death
of complacency
to seize
the prized
celestial
article of
freedom
America's
Labor
Movement
amassed
in the
streets of
Trenton
a vigilant
battalion of
General
Washington's
invading
brigands
speaking
in tongues
of radical
insistence
armed with
the might
of truth
demanding
respect and
equitable
treatment
from the
lordships
of state
doing the
bidding of
527 llc's
Unionists
stand
firmly
on the
shoulders,
walking
in the
tracks
rowing
the boats
of militant
forebears
pledging to
fight on
in a battle
that never ends
to
liberate
the
******
river
of justice
hijacked
by the
privilege
of plenty
diverted
into
culverts
of greed
a
gluttonous
few
siphoning
off
the spoils
of liberty
engorging
themselves
leaving
workers
wanting
democracies
require
the cup
of liberty
to be
shared by
all
The Spirit
of
General
Washington
has
mustered
new
legions
to turn
back the
entitlistas
the
pelting
rain of
lies, the
flinging
arrows of
ridicule
will not
deter
the workers
trooping
for
justice
the
fight
to roll
back
the ugly
tide of
greed
coursing
through
the veins
of America
despoiling
the blood
of our
democracy
is on
the
explosive
dynamite
of struggle
will blast
the dam
of inequity
to bits
unleashing
the river
of justice
to roll
again
Music Selection:
Pete Seeger:
Solidarity Forever
Trenton
2/25/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
The say inherit after seeing the success of other inheritances
But in other circumstances it’s more of coincidence
And sheer luck that one can be of such providence
Revered across the land in his time
By multitudes as much as the grains of sand you can find
Blinded by his love and trust of man
His life he did forfeit in his prime
But his memory is well imbued with mine
The blood of a great ruler courses through these veins
Of Chiefs of Kings of Lordships that string a long line
Chief Chivi Shumba Murambwi
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
It is only a big fool that marries from a matriarchal family
And a heavy-weight duffer marrying from the matriarchal clan
There is always a poisonous cobra, mamba and adder in the matriarchal
Beauty. Snaring like calypso to thrash the callow ridden odyssey in the lover
As it went for the stooges in Kenya blind to the colubrine station falling in love
With daughters, spinsters, wenches, damsels and brunetes of matriarchal heritage
They were swallowed by the inherent colubrine queen at the bottom of matriarchy
It swallowed them all, lawyers, warriors, merchants, politicians, beggars, billionaires,
Lordships of top-notch corporations, gurus of research, legends of foot-ball, din magnates
Negroes, Asians, Britons, Teutonic, Luos, Mulmbe men, Mijikenda and all that had money,
Their kinsmen and tribes now grieve in a song,
Chanting the song of loss in my mother tongue;
Sialile papa!sialile papa! Sicha esirove!
Sialile yaya!sialile yaya! Sicha esirove!
Wanangali wa wabaseve,Niiye wamulile!
Emenyele buli abira! yakhaba mukisumu!
Ese beve! ese beve! ese beve!ese beve!
By-Alexander Opicho
(From Lodwar, Kenya)
[email protected]
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 5:56 AM UTC
O'er shingle tossed on raggèd shore,
In awe I gaped that vast array
Of gleaming waves, a teeming store
Of natures bounty in the bay,
Reflecting with each crest and trough
Mosaic fragments of the sky
That echoed on the high-flung bluff
'Neath where stood I.
If God e'er laid a dint or breach
For beauty's sake, this land divine
Is refuge when the storm winds preach,
When rains flow like communion wine;
Each pebble strewn, yet seemly placed
In knitted weave, as tho' on high
A seamstress sewed her pattern, traced
To pleaseth I.
*Oh any heart but mine rejoice
To taste this salted spray;
The longing of mine own device
Lays far beyond the bay.*
To stand beneath the mizzen-mast,
Upon an isle of polished teak,
Surrendered to the winded flax
Wild-dancing round with every creak;
From port to starboard, fore and aft,
No land, nor ship, nor blot on high,
Wouldst dare encroach the mindful craft
That carries I.
What yearning heart has heard her call,
That siren? Oh the sailor's sea,
In beauty does she rise and fall,
Enchanting is her melody;
Too deep her eyes of coral blue
Wherein she takes, as is her wont,
Unwary souls to charters new,
The Lordships and the débutante.
*And unto her, when wearied age
Makes breathless every sigh
And bones become a prison cage,
Will answer I.*
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
Power holstered on a hip the slang
slips and hisses like a snake,
sharp venom fingers fiddling with handcuffs
he roars like a lion
when confronted with energetic excuses.
soon he will slide
behind turbo charged expressions to keep
the world clean of crims.
what he may add
to this sterile law is a hard fist
of dollar bills taken
from alleyways of shame.
hiya, brother!
we see him steering through
traffic lanes and troubles
enjoying everyone scampering
away from his lordships chariot
winning batmans race.
bring him down to the dust.
all for a chrome plated medal
a starched salute
a piece of paper that sings
of power invested in a holster.
outside of the uniform
he feeds his pet pom
pellets of crunchy biscuits.
Author Notes
Cop.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 7 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11592757-blue-stripes-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.GhZAMgon.dpuf
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
As tough as ice she might appears, but still carries a melting heart of snow,
the softer side of this warrior Princess is still left for the world to know;
She carries an attitude that may pierce the heart of many suitors,
& for those who are judgmental her words come as battle *******
Few Casanovas might have survived the attacks of her coquetry and grace,
for others are still lying unconscious deeply wounded in Hurt’s Embrace;
Although it seems she has evolved as a sagacious damsel, all set for a ****
still her humility, servitude and feminine art is hidden under a veil;
Her care for the family n kins is exemplary filled with concerns,
& her stand for protecting them is like sunlight shining on golden ferns;
At times she recollects the sweet memories that r close to her heart,
as maturity replaced d sugar-pie of her innocence with a lemon ****
Although she dresses and dallies like a grown up duchess of shire,
deep inside she’s a still kid longing for a rostrum in this world’s mire;
Her prayers to the lordships are never tinged with selfish material needs,
instead, she beseech only forgiveness & strength for enduring righteous deeds;
We wish her all happiness and warmth she deserves in her life,
may the lord showers her with his choicest blessings that too rife;
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Not everyone can see the flame behind the raging mist,
for she has ornamented with gold her mighty fist;
This world has failed to judge the shimmer of those innocent eyes,
for behind those sleepless tears she has arduous dreams yet to arise;
Mistaking her compassion and soft emotions,
many self-made critiques have made faulty notions;
For the most competent may still harbor humility of heart,
& she carries such talents as gifts from the ultimate Mozart;
Time is not far when her chirping would outrun the worldly roars,
for the lordships have heard her forgotten prayers from far shores;
Her inner Faith in almighty’s mercy can move mountains,
& that’s the only currency in his market to open nectar’s fountains;
The proposal of friendship has been sent to her from lord’s side,
& he is awaiting her reciprocations by pursuit of his will to get abide;
For after enlightening her path he expects her to initiate the walk,
& soon his mercy would supply this cuckoo, the wings of a Hawk;
Her grand flight may know no boundaries and walls,
for the divine sky will nurture her endeavors and praise her calls;
We too wanna see her laughter again pouring like a sacred wine,
for its time to drop the curtains and unveil this Covered Sunshine…
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
If the house where the Lords took a seat
was under a shelter in the park, they would meet
the real situation.
The population unclassed,held fast to the street and who move to the beat of the heart of the city,
it's a pity that those with the clothes made to measure aren't made to take leisure time with the ragged men on the front line.
Indeed ,
ermine robes do not feed the ones who would lead a life such as we'd never know and
the lords never meet the men down on their luck and down on the street,it seems the sword is all rusted and the knot remains tied , to cut it would put someone out
and putting people out is without one single doubt what their lordships are really about.
As they posture it costs you and you pay through the nose,they're wearing Savile Row suits and you're foraging in bins wearing worn out old boots and who knows what comes next
who knows what comes after when you become vexed.
Revolution,
the constitution in crisis
the price of being priceless or worthless is worth less than we're told,
we will get a hold on this
we will kiss this goodbye
we will listen to him
when the speaker cries
order
and then send him away somewhere North of the border,
our swords are being sharpened
the knot will be hewn
and then we will see.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC