"noblemen" poems
got so drunk at their little, ahem, initiation ceremony: drank a bottle of whiskey when i heard we were going clubbing wearing lycra shorts... the man with the biggest bulge and the biggest stick... never understood male group psychology... or any group psychology for that matter... it isn't exactly a throng of noblemen following Henry VIII.
i joined the lacrosse university team
for a bit,
left it when the time came to buy the
equipment - i didn't think getting
smacked by the defenders' longer sticks
was worth it, to be a striker with the shortest
stick - too physical - i thought i'd seek
some other physicality,
got stuck-up on rock climbing, and mountaineering
for a while, nothing serious,
a bit of easy bouldering on the edinbrugh crag,
the one lining the skyline at holyrood park,
the salisbury crag, just west of arthur's seat -
i'm not going to lie about clinging off the
matterhorn or something -
but i did an expedition with the mountaineering
club near Ben Nevis once...
Glen Coe / Coire nan Lochan...
and i figured, with all this talk of light pollution,
well, "pollution", to think that a bunch of
street lamps can blind away the stars of what
former poets spoke of: about the illumination
of the heavens for the blind eye to see...
we camped outside one bothy (basic shelter)
set off fireworks, drank whiskey, played music,
burnt a fire in the bothy...
but to be honest... i was not amused by this whole
theory of light pollution...
i looked up at the sky, and the number of stars
was no greater than the number seen in a bright
lit city... i know they say all those telescopes
amplify the chance of peering into the heavens
at night and see more stars...
but why cite light pollution, when, in a remote
highland hideout the number of stars didn't
increase in number... i've heard a girl from
australia cite that, in the outback she said
more stars could be seen... even without a telescope...
so the scottish highlands are unlike the australian
outback? is it just me... or is it simply ********
this whole light pollution argument?
it was dark out there like in an **** after black coffee
and charcoal tablets.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Sown as corn at little cost
And doomed to bloom amid the frost
Struggling through frozen earth
Weak and withered after birth
Swaddled up in soothing lies
With jingles as our lullabies
Numbered at our fledgling breath
Weighed, tagged and worked to death
Grown into a paper mould
With ball and chain of solid gold
Impotent to break or twist
The wireless shackle about the wrist
Conform, obey, do not resist
A silken blindfold binding eyes
To hide corruption on the rise
While noblemen with scented whips
Peddle lies from fattened lips
Voices raised in honest fear
Are drowned before they reach an ear
Just watch the screen, rapt, unblinking
Television does your thinking
Accept the credit, pay the debt
Take the chance and make the bet
Tow the line and wear the tie
Heckle the honest, praise the spy
Apathy has your gullet gripped
And leather fingers, sugar dipped
Have slipped on over zealous triggers
Suppressing freedom, defending figures
Chemical fed and bred to serve
Dry of tongue and numb of nerve
Right and wrong have merged together
And apathy, our chosen tether
The beast is neutered, caged and tame
The sinews of defiance, lame
Wash down pills with poison water
Disregard the silent slaughter
Slumbering as lions of old
While politicians growing bold
On plundered gains and stolen lives
Until their reckoning arrives
For once again the lions stir
And shackles fall from ancient fur
Beware the people, stay the whip
The masque of apathy must slip
Rise up, lions, sleep has passed
With every lie and bullet cast
A revolution overdue
We are still many, they are few
**
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
Each night, which engulfs the day,- like the ocean's tide
Rolls over sand, like death envelops life, both timely and blessed-
Washes us away to reveal who we are. From him we can not hide.
Still we attempt, we turn, we face inside ourselves. We confide
In no one, in fear that others will soil our dreams. We detest
Each night, which engulfs the day like the ocean's tide.
The Son of Man was nailed to a cross and died. He chose to abide
A God he had never seen but believed in. A God he confessed
Washes us away and reveals who we are. From Him we can not hide.
Yet we are condemned by our choice, our power to decide
What is wrong from what is right. Which is why we can not rest
Each night, which engulfs the day like the ocean's tide.
We hope that when we look back at our lives we can say we've tried
To turn ourselves around. I've heard that at our final hour fear of death
Washes us away to reveal who we are. From him we can not hide.
All three noblemen: the darkness, he who defied
Death, and that black angel himself hold our souls within their *******
Each knight- engulfs the days like the ocean's tide
Rolls over sand, like death envelops life, all timley and blessed-
Washes us away to reveal who we are. From Him we can not hide.
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 12:03 PM UTC
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria,’ you tell me with wistful smile creasing sad eyes.
I squint up with narrowed lids,
Trying to push scepticism aside as my sight traces the words carved into the stone.
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria.’
I can barely contain my scoffing.
But I do, because as ridiculous as I find it that we are claiming these men
actually died for
Something,
I would never dream of disrespecting them.
In fact, in my eyes,
They are the kings,
The noblemen,
The deities.
They deserve
More
Than the riches of their wildest imaginings.
They deserve
A family,
A beating heart,
A silver-lined
Life.
They are worth more
Than a fancy inscription
On a grey headstone.
And some didn’t even get that.
Consider this, though:
What use is a fancy inscription when you’re a pile of bones under the ground?
We can only hope that there is a
Heaven.
That they are living like
Kings.
That their divine lives are
Silver-lined.
That they can’t see how little has changed,
Because that is, I think, the saddest thing of all.
I look up again,
At the clouds sweeping across the sky.
It was then that I thought:
Just as
The clouds keep moving,
The Earth keeps turning.
And
Just as
The Earth keeps turning,
Humans will never stop fighting.
That’s why
I can’t help but scorn those words.
‘Pro Rege, Pro Patria,’ you tell me with wistful smile creasing sad eyes.
And that’s why I cry:
Because I know better.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
Wise men tell their tales
Of yesteryear
With vigor and pride
To youngsters and noblemen
In accordance
With their passion
To teach.
Fools tell their stories
Of mockeries
With evil and filth
To ascertain encomium
In accordance
With their pleasure
To scorn.
Young ones keep silent
And understand
As the words are drawn
From both the fool and the wise
In accordance
With their desire
To learn.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 4:21 AM UTC
Sometimes after I've been sitting with her a while,
I swear she calls to me.
I am sprung off of her obscene beauty,
under the influence of her grandiose blues.
The crush of her might upon the anchored
cascades into the mist of syllables,
Her fawning noblemen hold their waivering arms out beckoning me.
She roars with tumultuous lust;
she for I, and I for her.
I don't know how much longer I can resist her request
that I fling myself from this loose soil
into her rapturous grasp
and allow her to envelope what remains.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
As I walk down the memory lane,
In search of the voices in my head.
All I perceive is an endless pain,
The verses you have bled.
The verses of a broken dove,
The verses of true love,
The verses of some shrine,
The verses of decline.
The desolation of your bliss,
The laughter that you miss.
The grief in your eyes,
The promises and the lies.
Of all the gracious deeds,
Is it here a tender heart leads ?
If this is what you deserved,
No justice will ever be served.
No drops will ever descend.
No hearts will ever mend.
No bird could ever trill,
Not even at her will.
You deserve to be loved,
You're meant to be adored.
The most exquisite of all,
A noblemen's brawl.
At times I crave,
Amidst my mind's conclave.
To hold you in my arms,
Keep you from the harms.
Far away we shall afloat,
Far from the letters they wrote.
Bereft of these endless nights,
Far from this certain blight.
Yet we cannot flow much further,
For I see the tides have changed.
A lady as broken as you were,
Grew stronger when estranged.
I witnessed what it took you,
To be yourself devoid of his gloss.
To forsake the ashes of a foul love,
To adore yourself you now emboss.
How shall I escape this plight,
How shall I soke you in my rain ?
Do I have a right,
To leave you vulnerable again ?
Shall I be joyous,
For you found your long lost shine.
Or shall I be in despair,
For you'll never be mine.
If only I'd have met you before,
If nothing more than this I could've swore,
You would've loved me too,
If only I could love you.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Desireless
One sees the big picture
Non striving
The tao is like water
It loves and nourishes all things
But does not strive
The western man
Does not understand
The way of tao
Like a man mounted on horse
In the springtime
He strives
And puts on a show
Like the noblemen
Of the Chinese village
Who wear fancy clothes
It is not necessary
It is extra
Humble
And simple
The man of tao
Loves his fellow human being
To the good person, he is good
He is also good and loving
To the unkind
The soft and yielding
Overcome the hard and strong
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
My name is Umrao Jaan. I am a Tawaif, an Indian Classical Dancer, Singer
My other names are Saheb e jaan, Nargis, and Anarkali, many names I have
I am trained in fine arts like classical dancing and music by ustaads or teachers
My work was to entertain kings, noblemen and wealthy patrons who visited my court.
My court is known as a kotha in the Hindi Language, my residence and workplace
Here I reside with my family, my sisters in trade and our fellow musicians.
We are financially well off, but what we yearn for, love and respect, we do not get
Trained as artists who entertain kings and nobility, we are sadly now disrespected
Our services now are desired not for their true value but to satisfy desires.
The desires of wealthy men who treat us as concubines but will never respect us
Sadly, the nobility and value of our profession have been eroded completely now.
This erosion started with the British Raj when they colonised India
They never valued our services and degraded us to the level of vaishyas(prostitutes)
The evil that men do lives on after them, and the good they do is buried in their bones
Even after India gained independence, the cultural values of the Tawaifs were never restored
It died with the end of the reign of Akbar, Shah Jahan and other Mughal kings
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 4:19 AM UTC
The noblemen was a president by day
And Freemason by night
Giving speeches in the morning,
Whilst making the world's fate by night ...
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Locked
Gates
Private
Estates
Fox hunts
Badger baits
We've been f****d for a thousand years
Noblemen and bourgeoisie
Buying up the property
And the all the land
That you can see
Now there ain't no place for free
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC
Those folks
They cry about forgotten love
As though it's a thing of yesterday
We all snicker at their naiveté
For it is known their love cares little
So cry on, little poet, cry your little heart out
But you achieve nothing
Those folks
They weep as though they're wounded
Yelling wolf about some depression
What's got you down? Some advice
Maybe stop taking yourself so seriously
Poems about how hard it is from noblemen
You've never seen the Tysa overflow
Those folks
Crying over your mother like a child
So what if she is dead?
Shouting to the rest of us like some imbecile
Crazed upon the perch of suicide
When it is just a woman who birthed you
Why, mine didn't even love me
Those folks
Singing odes to addiction
Be it hiding behind drugs or alcohol
Snubbing your face with powder
Locking yourselves in your room
Suspended bodies of privilege
Crying about hardship
Those folks
Who have never been attacked by their own mind
Assaulted by their trusted
Tricked by those they loved
Who've never seen a man take his life
Or heard someone get shot
And think they've been through it all
Those folks
Who have never heard the true songs
The real notes of reality pass them by
Hide from the world all you want
But those prophets were once right
And if you had listened you might know
But you just assumed you're as smart
You folks
With your upper-class *****
Your cliques of conceit and deceit
Those godforsaken silver windows
You've never seen it rain like it does
You've never seen the fire in the forest
So quiet down, you good-for-nothing son of a *****
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC