"mansions" poems
It was golden and splendid,
That City of light;
A vision suspended
In deeps of the night;
A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white.
I remember the season
It dawn'd on my gaze;
The mad time of unreason,
The brain-numbing days
When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze.
More lovely than Zion
It shone in the sky
When the beams of Orion
Beclouded my eye,
Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by.
Its mansions were stately,
With carvings made fair,
Each rising sedately
On terraces rare,
And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there.
The avenues lur'd me
With vistas sublime;
Tall arches assur'd me
That once on a time
I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime.
On the plazas were standing
A sculptur'd array;
Long bearded, commanding,
rave men in their day—
But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away.
In that city effulgent
No mortal I saw,
But my fancy, indulgent
To memory's law,
Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with
awe.
I fann'd the faint ember
That glow'd in my mind,
And strove to remember
The aeons behind; &
21.4k
White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.
No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.
Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).
Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****
The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.
We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.
Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.
Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.
Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).
So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
1173
The Lightning is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertent fingers dropt
The awful Cutlery
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.
16.5k
#Genius is forged by passion
It is this which never dies:
Transcendental elation.
So long as one creation
is moved to dance mesmerized,
genius is forged by passion.
Though stone hearts lack expression,
postmoderns aching to try
transcendental elation
Keeping "plebes" from their "mansions."
Speak this opaque truth as lies:
Genius is forged by passion.
The hive mind ************
at shared expense they deny
transcendental elation.
Our yearning adoration
causes heaven's voice to cry,
Genius is forged by passion!
Transcendental elation.#
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Racing, blind nights gone weary,
Missing like cold wind, blowin'
Trees, objects of nature caught ruthlessly divine,
Simple cognition or possible chasing lights drowning tears mark moons and mansions alike, in the presence of fire,
The great blind rat lifting it's tail, in disgrace showing motionless mass,
Get the blackness on the Jordan river death urge silently moving like herds of sheep in the hills of Holy
Thousands of nation men, trodden down with sand and mud just to get the right passage of mind and thought
A small Vietnamese girl,
About the size of a...
Nevermind the voices you hear they all come awake and slowly disappear
Droughts of ether alike in tunes I might just do without the rest of doubts hedges lawns and patios
Glazed in passionate flowers
Paradoxical a nebula unhidden,
Slow chasing the candle lit masks
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
If you haven’t noticed this town is a very small place,
And it makes me wonder about the type of people that live here.
Now there is diversity of origin with every kind of race,
But there’s a type of race that is starting to disappear.
That race is an economic one called the working class,
It is heavily getting replaced by what we normal folk call the wealthy.
These people drive their shiny Mercedes like their whole life was a free pass,
And they flaunt their money around to the point where it’s unhealthy.
They buy their cookie cutter mansions up like they’re buying Taco Bell,
Spending a million dollars on a house for four surely isn’t ridiculous.
And maybe it wouldn’t be if the other 99% of America could do it as well,
But we have a lack of money that makes us a bit more meticulous.
We aren’t able to buy a new house or a new car just because we want to,
And we sure as hell can’t afford a Porsche or a Corvette.
Unlike you we have our sad little low paying jobs to do,
Yes, I’m totally sure sitting in your office chair really makes you break a sweat.
But the worst part of it all is these rich people will have a daughter or a son!
And they’re gonna grow up to be just like their mother and father.
It’ll be like watching a reality tv show rerun,
They’ll be wasting the same money and being the same bother.
My children will be working just to buy enough gas for their car,
While these kids will ask mommy or daddy for a new watch or phone.
But I guarantee you the working class kids will go twice as far,
As the little rich kids who will grow up always expecting a loan.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
Anxious
Dull, a boy is he
names he would not plea
eyes like baby blue-
lips a crimson hue
Feelings like me and you
Reclusive
Outsiders he'd not choose
In his mansions he bore
luring himself-
with enchanting lore's
drifting away, loosing woes
A Xenos
Traveling in his hallways
unknown, ominous
a wretched life he portrays
even in his heart, he'd say-
"Loneliness, such a Cliché"
Forsaken
Befriended, unseen
though he's not a devil
-for I believe
tortured, battered on thee
delude by his mistress' skim
He Left
portals out from misery
gone himself eagerly
then comes back, with such
-A Victory
for now, a statured man is he
Knights & Kings
upon bended knees
and everything he please
from a man to a boy
-in a dream
A Castle, now he redeems
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Vanity has created insanity in humanity,
the worldly hope men set their hearts upon,
possessed by Money, power, fame &respect;
empty pride inspired by an overweening
fruitless human desire,
wining and dining as the clouds darken in the
middle of the night,
as they settle for a life of deceiving enjoyment,
eyes are faded while he rest his body for a new
day,
he turns & roll in discomfort while he sleeps,
dreams are clashing, the fear of been poor
strikes his mind,
meanwhile the poor sleep in comfort ,
he won't wake up unless you wake him,
men of exotic fast cars,
Sell their soul to feed their vain pursuit,
and their happiness to feed their ego,
a life of unsubstantial enjoyment, reality awaits
its faith,
as it will be too late to plea of insanity in
eternity,
no hospitality for mental spirituality,
the vanity of human wishes reflect upon
superficial vision of human unfulfillment,
In essence that leads to eternal death.
the poor can't control his pain,
as tears drop from his eyes uncontrollably,
watching man with his fruitless ambitions,
as he settles for worldly materialistic goodies,
living beyond his means,
So many years on earth yet unsure of the
hereafter,
living a life of insecurity & fear of the unknown,
mention the word death ,he will ponder &
begin to wonder,
what his fate will be,
Vanity upon vanity,
When his time elapses,
he won't be left with anything but his good
deeds,
No mansions, no cars, no fame, no sweet voices,
what a life of vanity!!
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.
Once we had a country and we thought it fair,
Look in the atlas and you'll find it there:
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.
In the village churchyard there grows an old yew,
Every spring it blossoms anew:
Old passports can't do that, my dear, old passports can't do that.
The consul banged the table and said,
"If you've got no passport you're officially dead":
But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.
Went to a committee; they offered me a chair;
Asked me politely to return next year:
But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?
Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said;
"If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread":
He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me.
Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky;
It was ****** over Europe, saying, "They must die":
O we were in his mind, my dear, O we were in his mind.
Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin,
Saw a door opened and a cat let in:
But they weren't German Jews, my dear, but they weren't German Jews.
Went down the harbour and stood upon the quay,
Saw the fish swimming as if they were free:
Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away.
Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees;
They had no politicians and sang at their ease:
They weren't the human race, my dear, they weren't the human race.
Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors:
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.
Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;
Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.
6.6k
Money
Diamonds
Mansions
Ferraris
IPhones
None of this would matter if
I had no one to spend the money on
No one to give me the diamonds
No one to share the mansions with
No one to drive around with me
No one to call or text
What's the point of being a queen if you don't have a king
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
A beautiful sunset
Fading in the west
A path in golden sand of footprints
Leading to the sea
The wind whistles through the trees
All around a heavenly dark golden glow
Shines at the shore
Beyond the sunset is heaven
Beyond that celestial veil
God is making a place for His Saints
Beyond the golden glow
The heavenly choir forever sing
Beyond the sea
God is there
Making many mansions
There will be harps for us to play
Beyond the sunset
He is there!
~Marian~
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
My neighbourhood
Sun shines but it’s quiet in here
These mansions don’t seem to be occupied
Where is everybody?
We don’t see children playing on the street
We don’t know our neighbours
We all tend to mind our own chores
Audible tunes heard out of my small flat a few times
But I got told off for it more than once
This side of the world has no soul
I want to leave this high and mighty place
When I leave I’m never coming back
So long boring old Toorak!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
The busy day of taxing
became one of relaxing when in hushed
silence they stared at the Bethlehem Star
Did the star sparkle with colors that made
people silently exclaim oh and awe?
In star stuck amazement the Shepherds left
their tasks to behold the Bethlehem star
Did the star shine like a beacon to light the way
to bring people safely home
In case I forgot to mention it got peoples attention
from near and far who wanted to get a closer look at
the Bethlehem Star
Did the constellations align in the shape of a mother and a child
making it a very rare sign that drew the Wise men from afar?
To the Baby Born that day the star lit the way for people to find him
What a unique invitation to every tribe in every nation
What a joyous birthday party invitation
Sometime later the star might had dimmed but for those who trust in Him the light is still shining today, there are pieces of that light shining in all the hearts of everyone he calls sons and daughters
The light still shines like a beacon for those who are seeking for Him
His invitation still stands today for every tribe and every nation
No need to RSVP, he will just meet you were you are if you will believe and except his invitation He is waiting for you to receive the free gift of Salvation that He already paid the price for, He is a friend like no other invite your sons and daughters and friends too
There is a celebration party with all the angels in Heaven when he welcomes us home
In Heaven there are many mansions He is preparing a place for you it does not matter if you are rich or poor He will receive you all
May the light of the Bethlehem star shine brightly not just on one day but all year through and every year after that for You
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
I am so often held in awe
Of the created beauty my eyes can see
Quietly to myself I think
How beautiful heaven must be
When I look upon all of creation
All that is made by Gods mighty hand
He has given such beauty here
How must it be in that heavenly land
I think upon the promise given
In the pages of Gods word so true
In my fathers house are many mansions
There I have a home built for you
So it is to this precious promise
That I so faithfully hold
Knowing someday I shall walk in his presence
In a land where the streets are paved with gold
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
I'll play thief
To the home
Of a rich man
And steal
Malt for my
Bitterness and ale
For the happiness
That was kept
In the mug
Of paupers.
These ingredients
Are a lot cheaper
On sidewalks
But mansions store
The most flavorful:
Bitterness
From the source
That stings
On the plate
Of paupers.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
Pretending while the rest of us are descending
Into the legislative hell you love so well.
Tough ***** DC City,
You get no sympathy from me.
Half the country is on drugs, and you’re all smug.
**** off clowns, I hope you all go down.
Tough ***** DC City,
You don’t much impress me.
You sold your souls to the big money creeps
And soon you won’t be able to sleep.
You are finding out the old saying is true;
You are judged by the company you keep.
And you’re keeping company with half-bright thugs
And ugly fat cats with purely evil souls
You value wealth more than suffering people.
You’re those without compassion on the whole.
You think if you lie often enough we’ll believe
Sadly that sometimes truns out true.
Tough ***** DC City,
Your fingers are sticky as glue.
The people may burn your mansions down.
See if your bribes protect you then.
Tough ***** DC City,
I hope the good people jail you.
I wish I could hold back paying my taxes
Just like you rich people manage to do.
Tough ***** DC City,
I’d laugh as you tumble.
When your corrupt regime falls apart
You’ll want us to rescue all of you.
Tough ***** DC City,
I’ll sit back and watch things crumble.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
I sought Him in temples where anthems swell
Stained glass windows and polished sermons suave;
Yet here I knew He did not dwell,
While poor child of dust creeps to his grave.
I sought Him in churches rustic and plain
Eager to drown my heartfelt sorrow,
These mockery so futile and vain
As I searched for a brighter morrow.
In meadow alone, a breeze touched my face
Whispering of days bygone, yet still dear
When life flowed at a leisurely pace
And I felt His presence - O! so near!
Bittersweet weeping of the mourning dove
Awakens me to sad pleading eyes
Shattering my heart with vials of love.
Forsaken man and beast hold God's disguise.
I see Him in each rippling blade of grass
When dew of morn glistens with His tears.
In moaning of wind I hear Him pass
Through aromatic pines and lose all fears.
God does not dwell in temples made with hand,
But speaks to us through each soughing pine.
Proud wealthiest mansions o'er all the land
Mocked by His majestic Hand divine.
~Hilda~
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
OHIO MY HOME
Ohio my childhood home
a simpler life
an innocent time
a place where corn fields go on for miles and miles
the fields wave and sway beckoning you
to make secret forts in their midst
the original corn maze
in there we eat cow corn
never thinking to ask
was it fresh or clean?
it was organic at its best
playing in the water down at the “crick”
no such worries of a chemical spill
no one got sick
no parents around
nobody drowned
tornadoes come by
what a scary thrill
mother nature at her worst
toppling trees each way
providing us a strange place to play
in between the branches
we made our mansions
safe maybe not...
but we played anyway
far from the city lights
we spend our nights
watching natural sights
fireflies glowing looking for love
the tree frogs are singing out for a mate
mother raccoons bring their young from the nest
skunks delight us with their odorous best
in an eerie alien fog
ufo’s hovering over the
tall trees in the front yard
all under the moons sight
as i close my eyes i can see
Ohio my memory home
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC
The silver
Birch trees flaunt
Their glitz as I
Stroll through
Deep pearl
And sand
Pebbles
Gorgeous green
Mansions swirl
Around and
Blackbirds pick
Seeds from
The posy bunches
And sparkled
Grass.
I pass a
Pink butterfly house
With large Daisy
Heads protruding from
The diamond fencing.
The next house, a rather
Pretentious 'Cordillera',
Sounds like a disease.
A farm gate shields
4 by 4s and I'm
Now passing the weird
House with the crocodile
And gorilla and
Coloured Cow
And dog statues.
Coming to the
End of the lane
Of silver I pass
'Lane end'
Cottage with its viney
Stature and freshly
Manicured front lawn.
High cube hedges forming
A pathway to the porch.
In The final
Mansion if
Nosy passers
Have a peek you
Can see a
Swimming pool,
Fluffy Towels draped over
The Silver pool chairs.
Flitting to
The end of the
Dappled birches,
Approaches
A wide country green
Covered in bunting
Bathed in buttercups.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
The decaying mansions of English language
Rot and recede
into teenage grasses
with each unspoken year
The hired help have left their hair unmown and surrendered their uniform dress
Content with the neglect of nature
taking its timely course
When the architects and master masons of linguistics
Survey their forgotten plans in the heaven of English literature
They are not dismayed
but patiently sit and sit
The pristine edifices of the classics
Once grand and clad in deferential brick
Stand scaffolded and unread
The doors unlocked, ajar and hopelessly inviting
Into the library of the English canon
The dusty cloak on the carpets of grammar
Sheets thrown over the disused armchairs of archaic words
Echoing the plink of the out-of-tune pianoforte of the perfectly crafted short story
Bathrooms of formal poetry
With the rusty plumbing of metre and rhyme
Whereas the temporary outhouses,
hastily arranged huts of slang and idiom
are adorned by the living grasses of new forms,
creepers of half remembered dreams
mulching leaves of half formed thoughts
forests of half forgotten loves
writhing in living incompleteness
Which will in turn harden and fossilize
And we can then rue the passing of our once organic lingo
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 10:18 AM UTC
There's a girl from Loyang in the door across the street,
She looks fifteen, she may be a little older.
...While her master rides his rapid horse with jade bit an bridle,
Her handmaid brings her cod-fish in a golden plate.
On her painted pavilions, facing red towers,
Cornices are pink and green with peach-bloom and with willow,
Canopies of silk awn her seven-scented chair,
And rare fans shade her, home to her nine-flowered curtains.
Her lord, with rank and wealth and in the bud of life,
Exceeds in munificence the richest men of old.
He favours this girl of lowly birth, he has her taught to dance;
And he gives away his coral-trees to almost anyone.
The wind of dawn just stirs when his nine soft lights go out,
Those nine soft lights like petals in a flying chain of flowers.
Between dances she has barely time for singing over the songs;
No sooner is she dressed again than incense burns before her.
Those she knows in town are only the rich and the lavish,
And day and night she is visiting the hosts of the gayest mansions.
...Who notices the girl from Yue with a face of white jade,
Humble, poor, alone, by the river, washing silk?
2.6k
There was a dream. A dream of a
long road that led to
a rock. Beside the rock was a
snake and the pigeon
were meeting there,
the hummingbird
and crocodile were
resting before the grass,
and darkness was behind
us.
The hills were flat
and the deserts was covered in roses.
The land was filled with animals of
every kind in perfect unity surrounded
by a lights of beauty and wonder filled all
along the rivers and trees, calming the
world with grace and glory and awe.
My mother were there and father,
my friends some which at a time
were my enemies, and my people
gathered waiting for me.
I was home. I was home.
The eternal honey from the rock,
poured upon our feast,
love and light overwhelmed
the atmosphere.
In turn, fear's face was crushed,
tears and pain was a forgotten memory,
illness and disorder was alien, and the colors
of seven thousand rainbows danced in the air.
The surface of music sounded so perfect,
flowers sung around our yards and
rivers of waters between our mansions that we lived in,
and perfect praise was upon our lips.
We were robed in glory and our hearts magnified
the living Lord, our thoughts were pure,
and our bodies were perfectly whole.
My house was filled with glory and perfect love,
perfect love. I was home.
Then I saw fire which echoed
the sound of the world before the room
where the Lord stood, and there was chaos
in the land before where He heard the Earth's cries.
The movement, and passion of the Lord's
tears filled this one room, and brought me
in such distress, what room was this?
I heard people's homes were torn apart by rage and
hatred, men were slaughtered and women
ravaged, echoes of countless babies
tore through the Lord's heart.
The sound of curses stung his eyes,
and rebellion ripped his veins,
we heard the devil's laughter,
and people worshiping evil.
The Lord wept.
I shouted, "Lord what can we do, we must
do something, is there something we can do?"
He said nothing.
And the river of blood in his eyes, filled
with such compassion and heavy warmth,
almost like honey.
He held my hand, and then finally
replied, "I sent my only son to save the world,
for how I love them, so that
no one may fall but have an everlasting life . "
And then suddenly I woke up with
His tears in my eyes.
Filled with perfect love, I arose
from my bed. I ran outside
picked up a rock
headed toward that road.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
This is a Mindalithian
Mindalithians live in marvelous mansions
with mischievous children in Minnesota
Midalithians eat mounds of mac-n-cheese,
meaty meatballs, and magicians
Mindalithians like metallic mushroom
and mega marshmallows
Mindalithians make magnificent magic, meditates mellowly
and marches with mops
this Mindalithian taught me magical meditations
and made me march as a mop
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
19 September is the Chinese Festival of Mid-Autumn
It’s Mid-autumn of the Bing Chen year
And I’ve been drinking happily all night.
I'm drunk
.
So I write this poem
to remember my brother, Zi You.
With a cup of wine in my hand,
I asked the blue sky
‘When will the moon be clear and bright?’
’In the heavens on this night,’ it said.
I wonder what season it is in heaven.
I'd like to ride homeward on the wind
Yet I fear the mansions of crystal and jade
are much too cold and far too high.
If I dance with my moonlit shadow,
It hardly seems a human world.
The moon comes round
Behind the red mansion,
Stoops to enter the carved wood doors,
Shining upon all sleeplessness,
it bears no grudge,
oh why
Does the moon tend to be so full
when people are far apart and alone?
We feel sorrow, we feel joy.
Whether we’re near or distant
It makes no odds.
The moon may be dim or bright,
A crescent slice or round as a ball.
This imperfection has always
been there; since time began.
Tonight may we be blessed
with a life that’s long and true.
Though a thousand miles lie
between us, we can surely share
the beauty of this autumn moon -
together.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
**this song will be
on YouTube next month**
locks of flesh
and bars of bone
in these bodies we're alone
holding on for all we're worth
in this prison made of earth
why is it that we so love
this foolish thing that's just a glove?
why is it that we despise
the spirit in us that is wise?
we fight and clamour for this cell
trapped inside a
wishing well
-
we wish for wealth we can abuse
having jewelry, clothes and shoes
we wish for mansions,
yachts and things
we wish to fly, but don't have wings
we flip through magazines and books
how we envy other's looks!
tho they're beautiful and bold
the eyes are windows of the soul
look inside, it's just a shell
just another
wishing well
---
Jesus looks upon the heart
the spirit in us has a part
is Bible reading in your plan?
do you feed your Spirit Man?
do you have a nagging fear?
do you listen with your ears?
or do you try to just dispell
the angst inside the
wishing well
---
you disregard the hole inside
and all it is is foolish pride
we don't know, we disagree
we may have eyes but cannot see
we may have "fun" but it's an act
we're just deceived, and that's a fact
those who are blind will find it's hell
down inside the
WISHING WELL
soulsurvivor
written 2009
rewrite 5/20/2015
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC