"mansion" poems
The nightsky is alike a mighty mansion of the stars which then
twinkle in elegance, beauty and transience until the dawn outshines them in a graceful manner.
As the night turns away from the sun and from her light, danger
in our imagination could await, from the corners of our very mind.
Yet the stars make up a soft blanket, a cover of the calmest of light,
which could bring peace to a soul which is performing a rampage.
All the constilations, all the names and forms which reveal themselves, are but a heavenly spectra for those who are nocturnal.
Or for those, whom have meet the cruel fate to be allergic to the natural, straight forward, warming and blissful sunlight.
There is no soul with no protector, in the nightsky such would be
a bright,piercing star, standing proud,manifest its location is over you
Holding many wonders, the beauty of the night comes with shooting stars, which at times shortly sweep over the heaven before fading.
Wishes are made upon, hope fills their hearts, for a better future
or a fulfilment of their desires, tangled up within the depth of mind.
Night becomes bright once the moon shines, in its fullest posture.
Becomes dark once the rainclouds drive near, calling in thunder.
But most importantly, it is a time of rest, from all this earth beholds
~ Umi
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
"Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you."
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
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Such small things: a farm in the north, a plantation in the south.
A small urban home rather than
A mansion on the edge of an enormous field.
Paved roads and rail road tracks inside cities instead of
Gravel paths through paths of trees and cotton fields.
Business men walking by or a rich plantation owner
With two African slaves at his side.
They can cause conflict, major differences.
Political views and moral issues.
How the country should be run?
How the people are to live?
The laws and abilities surrounding slaves?
Is it right to own another human?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
My Minecraft Land has a big, mossy tree fort.
It has a water park, too, with slides big and short.
I built a hidden maze inside a water fall.
I also have a party room, where I have a ball!
Next to my mansion, there is a cemetery,
Down deep underground, it is very scary.
I have a town that’s snowy and cold.
There’s a pyramid on water made of diamond and gold.
In the middle of my land, there’s a huge power source,
And everybody’s houses, including mine of course!
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
61
Papa above!
Regard a Mouse
O’erpowered by the Cat!
Reserve within thy kingdom
A “Mansion” for the Rat!
Snug in seraphic Cupboards
To nibble all the day
While unsuspecting Cycles
Wheel solemnly away!
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It still smells like human iron in your pool.
There's a crack in the concrete where the bullet stopped.
It still smells like human iron by the side of your pool, there's a stain.
I still can't find where that bullet went.
I always thought that your "love" of the higher life was overrated.
Nobody ever talked about how great it is to be rich as much as you did.
Even though you talked about it so quietly, most of the time.
You spoke a lot about Daisies.
I'm more of a Lillie type of person.
There are a lot of people in New York, Gatsby. Too many people in New York.
New York only needed you, Gatsby, but it looks like New York didn't want you anymore.
That's not sad though, is it?
Carraway's book is like gold. I bookmarked eight of my favorite pages in it with yellow cigarettes. I'm too afraid to smoke them.
When your old mansion was bought I expected to see you as a ghost in it,
you weren't there.
That green light across the bay isn't there anymore, it's red now.
I believe I'm sleeping in the same bedroom you once did.
You aren't one of those ghosts that haunt a house, you haunt a human concept of want.
I wish I'd never bought your house.
I'm going to tear this place down. Along with Nick's old place next door.
The memories here in these empty, furniture filled rooms, are unbearable at best.
Of course they're not my memories, but I'd be a familiar person to you if you knew me.
I smash and break things, and then retreat back into my money and vast carelessness.
Farewell Jay Gatsby.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
It's around prom time so I thought I'd share my prom night experience. Getting a date failed I had for possiblities who ever said yes would've been my date. I went stag hung out with my best friend and his date
On the way to the prom we got lost so we missed majority of it. The prom was at some mansion after prom we stayed at a hotel. I drank a few and passed out. Now the story has a twist the date my friend had didnt workout but ended up having another night with his dates friend.
She had to drop off her date do that's how these two ended up hooking up.
I hung with this girl who didn't have a date she out drank me and passed out. The next morning was awkward my best friend and the new hook up were busy so I had to wait to go home.
I went home all of shame hung o er and no action but I was in HS I didn't expect much
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
She is not thriving in the fancy place
but she grow up with the fertile mind
Other people think like she is in prison
But she feels like in mansion
She grow up and feel comfy
Stuck in her own routine
Doesn't makes her feel unlucky
No one can judge her, she doesn't care
She will prove it someday
What she's been prepare.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
knitting with scissors you run with.
will get you there. but you can't buy a house. i'm sorry.
you might, miiiiight get the Edwardian Tudor for a mansion in false claim
but you keep your gaze, your weary gaze ....and slumber not so sweet, my sweet.
knitting with false gods will get you everything
but Not the Other Thing
that gnaws at the substance of your gut
where the heart resides like a lion
addicted to Aesop Fables -
and dry humors that decimate with bounty
flooding the bleak with our windmills !
you and i are regardless.
knitting with shopping carts and dead batteries. washing ashore.
lick your lips at the foam
of our hysterical event. pitch a ******* tent.
and eat more stars than you came in with.
sew the hole
with a hole and
answer the phone sometimes,
****
i ain't got all day but you might take your time
like an aspirin.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
**ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S FAMOUS CIVIL WAR CONDOLENCE LETTER TO YOUNG ***** MCCULLOUGH ABOUT DEATH, LOSS AND MEMORY**
Executive Mansion,
Washington, December 23, 1862.
Dear *****
It is with deep grief that I learn of the death of your kind and brave Father; and, especially, that it is affecting your young heart beyond what is common in such cases. In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it. I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You can not now realize that you will ever feel better. Is not this so? And yet it is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again. To know this, which is certainly true, will make you some less miserable now. I have had experience enough to know what I say; and you need only to believe it, to feel better at once. The memory of your dear Father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer, and holier sort than you have known before.
Please present my kind regards to your afflicted mother.
Your sincere friend
A. LINCOLN.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
Gatsby, Gatsby, oh you protagonist young man;
To work for a millionaire and be a soldier.
To do criminal activity just for a single girl
Who once did love you but never will again.
With all your fabulous wealth and fame;
In that mansion you live in filled with Goth
Having lavishing parties on late Saturday nights;
Not to mingle but to look, to look for her.
Living in the West Egg with a distant view
Of a lake in front to separate you and your love.
Only a light of green to comfort your loneliness;
With a friend as your only connection to them.
You are the mysterious type of man that you are.
A person whom no one knows where he is from,
What he does in life or how he makes his fortune.
But in reality you are from a farm in North Dakota.
You are also a flawed, dishonest, and ****** man;
Lie about your past and the name that people know.
Left your farm life at age 17 to change who you were;
Forgot your name as Jimmy Gatz to become Jay Gatsby.
Jay Gatsby, Jimmy Gatz, you did this for your love;
For the love you had for Miss Daisy Buchanan, for her.
As a man, you were known to be extraordinary optimism;
For you were determine to take your dream and make it a reality.
The dream that you had of only you and her.
A dream that was too far from reality;
So far that it blinded you from true reality.
This dream is what brought death upon you.
For Jay Gatsby and Jimmy Gatz are one and the same.
Both blinded by love for Miss Daisy Buchanan.
Both determine to change their social status
Both dreamt a dream that would not come true.
But yet both denied the truth of themselves.
For this brought the death and the heartache
Of a father who knew so little of his only son.
For a friend who truly knew nothing of him at all.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Pixelated space,
Unspace,
Speed of the slow down-
Timeout.
Automatic space,
Hyppereal pace,
Nonspace,
Pixelated room,
In an 8-bit mansion
Mario and Princess
Zelda and Princess
Platform Romance
Pitfall jumping
space to space
Electromagnetic Consciousness
Conscience and Love
Compassion for the pixels
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
They wear their wealth like a crown
Glittering jewels adorning their kitchen chairs
Red leather velvet resting on the sofas
Pearls dripping in champagne
This lavish mansion is their Kingdom
The money their thrones of precious stones
Their influence their ermine and silk cloths
Their wealth like crowns
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
kumikinang ang mamahaling parol na nakadambana sa bintana ng mansion na nasa loob ng isang malaking subdivision. nagniningning ang patay sindi nitong kulay na umaaliw sa balana. salamat sa malaking pakinabang na kanyang kinita nang walang anomang pakundangan sa dugo at pawis ng mga abang manggagawa.
nasa kanyang sala naman ang mataas na Christmas Tree habang sa paanan nito nakahandusay ang kahon-kahon na magagarbong mga regalo. malayong-malayo ito sa barung-barung ng mga nagtitiis sa siphayo ng dusa at karalitaan.
ang mahabang lamesa na nasa kanyang komedor ay talagang pinagpala sapagkat nakapatong dito ang hiniwang hamon, keso de bola, spaghetti, carbonara, lasagna, ubas at ang lahat ng masasarap na pangarap ng isang batang kalye na kumakalam ang sikmura habang tinitiis ang ginaw ng Disyembre.
matapos ang kanyang masaganang Noche Buena ay mauupo sya sa kanyang malambot na sofa na di halos mabilang ang libong halaga. dun n'ya iinumin nang buong pagmamalaki ang mamahaling brandy o di kaya naman ay whiskey.
katabi ang kanyang pamilya sabay-sabay silang manonood ng misa habang nakatuon sa higanteng flat screen na telebisyon. ang homily ng ingleserong pari ay patungkol sa pag-ibig sa kapwa at pagbibigayan.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
I
There is a house with ivied walls,
And mullioned windows worn and old,
And the long dwellers in those halls
Have souls that know but sordid calls,
And dote on gold.
II
In a blazing brick and plated show
Not far away a ‘villa’ gleams,
And here a family few may know,
With book and pencil, viol and bow,
Lead inner lives of dreams.
III
The philosophic passers say,
‘See that old mansion mossed and fair,
Poetic souls therein are they:
And O that gaudy box! Away,
You ****** people there.’
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Night,
dark, soft, alluring,
spinner of dreams I want to be lost in,
is a kindhearted courtesan,
who never demanded anything
for all her loving, that to me
was like a swim in the pool
of "Ananda"* I was searching for.
I climbed her door steps
with the silent footfalls of a cat,
all these years for solace,
when the fair lass ,
regaled by my songs evening after evening,
scoffed and taunted,
when I fell wounded
in duels of life, I was forced to fight
to keep my honor intact.
Once,
seeing me left in the lurch,
blood soaked and badly wounded
she led my tired legs
to her house of magic and secret treasure hunts,
blessed me with oblivion, till I woke up.
Her mansion became
arena of silent dances of wounded memories,
till sun appeared above misty mountains
cheering me up with new promises,
but my thoughts never left her.
I spent my darkest hours
in her house,
thrilled by dreams she induced,
in which under moonbeams
princesses gathered,
bubbling fine wine brimmed
in sparkling glasses,
I felt the most loved man
within her tender arms.
I would wait for the night, my sullied lover,
to arrive with her hands of breeze,
to tousle my hair and caress my face.
Night took away my pains,
her lasciviousness is the only drink,
that makes me ask for more.
She is not only mine,
as a courtesan, she needs to entertain
whoever seeks her,
But when I am with her,
she is all mine.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
I can come inspire you
Become your idol
Like I have a mansion
Built on the Bridle
I have to make a move
Come and take you down
I wanna make a movie
And sing like Chris Brown
I wanna make you work for it
So I’m putting in resistance
I’m tryna go half’s on a baby
Bring another life to existence
I just watch you undress
Spend my time fantasising
Sweat drip down your spine
The temperatures rising
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 10:03 AM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
I believe in one church.
I believe in an inter-racial and unbiased church of many nations.
I believe in one church of many traditions.
I believe in one church not hemmed in by history or by man-made borders.
I believe in a God for whom his pallet of skin colours reflects his love of diversity.
I believe in God-given racial difference.
I believe in one creator God who made all humankind equal.
I believe in Christ’s one church that reflects our maker's love of difference.
I do not believe in uniformity.
I believe in the Christ’s common language of love for one another, for neighbours and for enemies that transcends local dialects.
I believe in one sundry collection of priests who are called by Christ to serve one God together, saved by His one sacrifice once and for all time.
I believe in the promise of one resurrected church drawn from all nations, from every generation to meet her bridegroom, Jesus Christ.
I believe in one eternal wedding feast at a table prepared by God which features everything from the finest vegetable samosas to the richest steam puddings.
I believe in one extravagant Father who has built one massive mansion with many rooms so all his people can come and dwell together.
I believe in God's Kingdom come.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
1119
Paradise is that old mansion
Many owned before—
Occupied by each an instant
Then reversed the Door—
Bliss is frugal of her Leases
Adam taught her Thrift
Bankrupt once through his excesses—
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I’ll never be a king, so you’ll never be my queen,
We’ll never be two cogs in the same big machine,
We’ll never be a cliché, but I tell you something, doll,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
Walking through the means streets, my hand in yours,
And a Tommy gun in the other, between my sweaty claws,
As my seniors die, I’ll climb to the top of the pole,
I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
There’s a certain premonition floating in the air,
That I’m a hardened criminal, far beyond repair,
But I’m just doing what my upbringing makes me know,
Because I can be a gangster, and you can be my moll.
And you can have me forever or ‘till I’m locked up in jail,
And we run out of money, and the mansion goes up for sale,
But even if we’re broke and poor, my love will never lull,
I’ll always be a gangster, and you’ll always be my moll.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
Dear,
My vision is clouded by two green eyes, alike emeralds gazing at me,
A delicate body, frankly short yet mature and smart, but so warm,
This is what you are for me, you feel human, you smell human yet all the others see you as something else, a monster is what they call you,
But this is not true, even if you should be some kind of eldritch abomination, for me you're a gal of grace, of elegance and kindness,
Even if they talk ill of you, saying you are twisted and weird,
And even if they call me naive, for not seeing what you really are,
I will not give up, for the both of us are not like them, we can't be.
I love you. For a world we see is true, what we manifest, what I'll build you is a mansion of crystal and of course pure, starlight.
The beauty rising by your own hand is a blinding light in the dark,
Bloom, as the world around us fades away, blossom, we become one.
But all that remains just a dream, the cruel reality is,
I can only meet you there.
~ Umi
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
What sort of lean-to
is habitat to your humanity?
Is it an apartment, bungalow, flat ,
or a cozy cape cod
or perhaps a suburban ranch?
What sort of lean-to
provides those inches and flames
that shield you from
hypothermia and death?
Is it a Georgian Mansion by the sea
or cardboard boxes stacked
beneath the interchange
on the far side of town?
(How many lack even that)?
What sort of lean-to's
will suffice
to shelter the family of man?
December, 2013
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
When I was a child, the hallways stretched for miles
Mahogany and ceramic floors, polished bookcases
A mansion for fictional paperbacks
All neatly tucked under fluorescent lighting
The librarian would wait behind her desk
She reigned silent
besides the tapping of her fingertip to her glasses
I can’t remember her ever looking happy
Until the day I noticed the chirping
Sang somewhere between the realistic & historical fiction,
a bird cage sat next to the woman’s desk
It was an unexpected visit
I should have brought a better dressed book to check out
Mine was bound by yellowing pages
But I met the canary and heard her song
As I watched the librarian smile
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
Hear the asynchronous pulsation,
Clicks of eyelids, toggling,
And the beating of a heart:
A Life, in thick layers of rhythms,
Coating a stubborn core.
Watch the white curtain of the mansion,
Behind windows, dancing,
And the fire in the hearth:
A Life, in thick layers of stones,
Glowing out with warmth.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC