"regally" poems
She waits. How beautifully she waits.
How impossibly lovely she is
with a thing so passive.
With what weight she waits,
making her bus or boyfriend
(or whatever she waits for)
seem like a first brunch with Christ.
She waits regally, in perfect contrast
to the drooling buffoon describing her.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
May we live in and see interesting times, the old saying goes
another offers that when the mind is blind, the eyes cannot see
for me my days are interesting and the laughter readily and often comes
for the grapes of wrath brings forth mirth filled grapes on grapevine tendrils
As lemmings and sheep enact bellyaching absurdities, as the ridiculous does
Veracity on sojourn and falsehood in residence with doors firmly closed
Hamlet re-enacts hapless role, with Red Robin Hood and vigilantes to a tee
eager audiences, participatory scenes in towns and cities, leaving empty homes
come all and vent your spleen and satiate your prejudices without paying a fee
This land belongs to us, it is our birthright and we will send Hamlet to the catacombs
Nothing is private anymore, rights and freedom nailed, anywhere we roam
Ophelia not only went to Italy, she went to Hull, Turnpike Lane and even Essex
but a joke here, if all these were good, why did she come to me, you simple gnomes
perchance unlike you common goons, she knows distinction has no comparison to thee
Your vacuous hate filled mind cannot see that difference in a Prince, that regally looms
Act two, dim, fooled actors in their Beggars Opera, screaming, 'we oppose' with glee
so called republicans, laughable in their ardent favor, ignorant of their lobotomy botches
we will do Hamlet's head in, totally unaware theirs been done in, for the brains of fleas
in a civilisation, our conscious and stable populace, roots for vigilante and mob rule, yeah
for a man of distinction is a threat reminding you of your insignificance and lack of tomes
Come friends, lets see how the home of Democracy, hounds a citizen for us all and we
lets know that Robin Hood is alive and taxing, and 'Windrush' is still active in dispatches
indigenous people power, meets criminal gang stalking, meets racism and we all drink tea
and in true cowardly fashion, its all done by insidious, indictable, nefarious, malcontents and psychopathic crazies
It is our proud duty that we should all ruin Hamlet, for mediocrity has no distinction for aspiration et excellence
Copyright LaurenceA. JUNE 2018.All rights reserved.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
#9 | 31 Poems for August 2016
She unapologetically loves each and every crevice of her canvas.
Each part regally resonates to the woman who birthed her.
Each part elegantly exudes the exuberance of its own beauty.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the heads of men which turn as she walks down the street.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
Through pain she found love and through love she found herself.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink intimately holds us together.
These words I write become intertwined in the veins of our loving hearts.
In the rain of her presence, my words will always form a rainbow.
I can never get enough of her love; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we both know what we’re fighting for.
She has never spent a day letting the world turn her starry sky into a ceiling.
She wears her crown proudly and embraces the queen that she is.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the whistles which dissipate the silence as she enters the room.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
The world is my canvas and I hope this African queen will always be my muse.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
Spring comes
as grasses leap forth
and emerald hues are added to the landscape,
with wildflowers peeking up from the
dewy roadside.
The world smells
fresh like worms and earth,
while birds drift down to finish last year’s
seeds.
Yellow rain boots hop
out of shelves and into the puddles,
while mud gathers and plays in the road,
gurgling with mirth at passers by.
The badminton net is resurrected,
regally looming over the lawn,
as the swings squeak joyfully in the breeze.
The fireplace gives a sooty yawn
and falls to sleep.
And in the kitchen, fiddleheads unfurl upon
a hot pan
as the old and sour scent of the earth
settles upon our plates,
spring steps lightly
onto the world.
~Yuka Oiwa
May 6, 2008
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my ancestral home,
where generations lived.
Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found not an easy task it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He puzzled me with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.
The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights "for your confused soul"
"To fit in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient throne.
An antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
I am a proud Queen
Regally dressed and God-blessed
With my head held high
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Write a Clerihew:
It’s easy to do.
Two rhyming couplets of any length:
Short and simple, that’s its strength.
Remember Johnny Giles
A player with all the wiles.
In midfield he did scheme:
For Leeds he was a dream.
Nicole Scherzinger,
What a messenger.
A Friend so loyal,
Regally royal.
Oh Nick Clegg,
Why did you have to beg
For a Tory-led Coalition,
Sending the Lib-Dems into Perdition?
(PS) All hail be to great Don Newton,
Always had a winning solution.
Played table tennis with flashing blade,
A Legend that will never fade.
Paul Butters
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
A tall, proud
sunflower
reigns as an empress
over
a trickle of a
river
She stands, thirsty
daring
to live in
barrenness
She is not
proud
because she is
exceptional
She is proud
because
she was determined,
audacious
She overcame concrete,
thirst
relying on sunlit
days
She overcame man's
concrete
rules for her
blooming
She is blooming
defiantly
regally, in season
She is a
tall
proud sunflower
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 4:21 PM UTC
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
And I must rise from the frightening ghoulish depths of darkness,
Right in the face of the sun & prevail.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
As I rise from darkness I will outperform many and conquer the difficulties arising,
Out of competitive spirit & succeed in the face of glory with each difficulty easing.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
As I defy class-boundaries and become the king of my own small world,
Away from this mean society & in the calm peace of loneliness.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
And you must not present me with another obstacle in the path I choose myself,
Sweet revenge for the taking after the 7 Seconds that you consumed.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
And my anger is calm enough to not err again in life whatever I may choose,
Disciplined it shall be as I break your ritual of carelessly punishing people for their sins.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
I accept all the negatives that I ever have had and work to nullify them,
I chose this path for me where I stand against the blizzard of in this hostile snowy world.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
I accept all my weaknesses too as I started my life anew sometime ago as the second life,
In revelry I'm not going to lose your track either & let you take over my life in your hands again.
Listen O Time!
I must perform regally again,
I must perform regally again,
I must perform regally again...
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Cats are cool,
They regally rule.
You think you own them,
But they own you.
Born as kittens they are so cute.
Before you know it, off they scoot.
Baby faces and big blue eyes,
Dopamine surges, what a surprise.
Pouncing on you as you walk through the door,
Kitty is lightning over that floor.
How we love to watch them play,
Brightening up an otherwise dull day.
The older cats look on with disdain:
They’d much rather use their brain.
More to the point cats love to sleep,
Waking only to take the odd peep.
So independent yet love a stroke:
Lots of purring you’ll invoke.
I’m not too sure of their table manners
But they’ve just got to be fans of canners.
I’m not too keen on them bringing a present,
Even though they might think that it’s a pheasant.
They can be cruel when they hunt,
But that’s their job, let’s be blunt.
Most popular pets, that’s for sure.
Feeling stressed? A cat is your cure.
Paul Butters
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
and here we'll have a magnificent view
off a moon in fullest array
in the vastness of the open skies
its luminous silver face
shall stream with torrential beams
throughout the night
it will sail over the black sea sky
on a voyage
of majesty
such a grand display
this lunar show
astounding the eyes
with its mystical glow
the stars shall dance
dance all night
in accord with the brimming
moonlight
wonder
shall dwell in the celestial plains
as the moon
on this night
shall regally rein
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
This typing
this gibberish
makes
no sense
stop running
you swan
illiterate
master composer
Floating towards
a clock
pleasuring
A robotic ****
Eggs form cash
and runaway
annihilating
the status quo
Rats play chess
often regally
orphism
Not those lot
Rotten apples jogging
with expression itself
whirling
madness on trial
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
even from a
distance
she wants to
make sure
that
you are
looking
at her
even if
you are
not
she
will see
to it
that her
un-plunging
neckline
is not
plunging
and
no flesh
shows
where the t-shirt
is just a bit short,
a royal hand
run through
flowing hair
when you pass her
she will say it
without say,
it is she who is
passing,
make way
then
when
she draws close,
as much as a hug
a cell phone
emerges as if
by magic
in her clasp
stares at it
unblinkingly,
places it
regally to
the ear
and before
you never
see her again
in your life
there is that
hint of a smile
hook like
at the corner
of her eyes
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
ONE CRISP NIGHT in mid October, we went down the old fisherman’s trail, where the mountains meet the lake. This was before the trail had been maintained and tossed with wood-chips and at the time, it was a narrow mangled dirt path sporting thick roots and fist sized rocks at every twist and turn. You’d be foolish to not carry a headlamp and flashlight, for the woods were nearly impassable without them. We knew this, and we came well prepared even thought stumbling at points on the trail was inevitable. When we came to the light clearing in the trees, which was brushed with pine and spruce, and the tallest oak tree I’d ever seen, we sat down on two logs. They were wet through, and covered in patches of lichen and moss. Insects crept through the rotted wood, and night moths fluttered in the still air. Though half the world was asleep in their beds, and would stay that way till morning, the forest was wide awake under the crunching maple leaves.
We marveled out at the round moon, bright and pale in the sky. It hung regally, while it’s light shone upon the lake’s dark waters, holding our faces, holding the mysteries of the universe and the answers to any question we might have. Cradled by the natural world, we were. I’ve never felt as protected, since then, as I did that one night. It was as if Mother Earth cradled me in her own ancient hands.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
Veins of leafy plants creeping and
Peeping from the cracks in the wall of stone
As the koyal sat regally and chirped
On its wooden branch of a throne
Out in the veranda sitting
Cross legged as you tugged
My messy long tresses with coconut oil
And made that wretched braid I loathed
The smell of ripe mangoes lingered
In the summer air and starry night
As I lay on my back on the folding bed-which was as ancient as my grandma-
And tried to decipher those stars in all my childlike might
Running barefoot in the haveli corridors
Built in that old colonial style
Chasing you as you outran me in your sarree
Almost as if I was chasing my dreams
I remember the playful teasing
As you became a child with me
I also picture grandma's white haired bun
And the flyaway hair coming loose as she chased after me
I remember those lazy peaceful afternoons
When dreams exceeded reality
It was a droning hum of a life
I miss it all so dearly
So whenever I want to go back to you, mum
To visit those summer glows
I just close my eyes and think of that haveli
And once again I smell the mangoes
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
This world is running 'round,
Further out of my control.
In everyone's tears, drowned.
Coursing in my blood, runs phenol.
Burning everywhere I go,
That poisonous mix pumps.
Seeping through icy veins so slow,
Making me a useless fleshy clump.
They see me running, screaming
****** ****** in this awful town.
With great force from within, beaming
These filthy lies in full meltdown.
Yet, no one sees my frightful scene.
How can they? I'm sitting alone.
This moment, so wretchingly serene.
Still, my life is coming unsewn.
I feel it laying down now,
My life, so quietly it snaps.
So regally it suffers, I must bow,
For this substance causes collapse.
Burning inside I smile, so small,
Thinking of the glorified cause.
I gave up, taking this horrified fall
And making it to life's last pause.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 5:50 PM UTC
they cower in motels
behind brave windows and balconies,
hurling mortal nouns
into private spaces
avatar faces
painted dirt brown
spew hurt and shame
like acid rain
with decadent refrain
and broken blades
seek veins hidden
in sheer fright
from eyes cued to gore,
grime and more
criminal cocktails
circumvent cogency
by a moonshiner's mile
improvised neckwear
leave a mark
as the world goes dark
like forensic files
or the hunt
and another soul
checks out early,
bypassing the lobby
and the regally blind
eyes cued to gore,
grime and more....
~ P
#bedroombullies
(8/3/2015)
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Sunsets are so much more grand once you've known sadness,
reminding you of the halcyon days from every slash of red through every majestic cloud,
melancholy swallows your veins in such a zany manner that you almost saw it coming.
The light bends regally through the gaps of clouds to put a warmth to you,
even if you're sitting alone in the shotgun seat of his truck, waiting for the tank to fill,
even if you're hoping no one in the lot watches as you bury your sobbing eyes into your aching hands,
even if you feel as though you're growing smaller,
and your soul's sinking deeper,
even if you're tired,
even if you cannot bear to utter the sound of the radio,
even if your mind is slipping,
but you still love him,
and you can't tell if you're losing him or yourself,
and it's like you built your mountain on a pivot,
even then
the light will still warm you.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
I preen
Like a thousand eyed poser
And strut imperiously
Before my conquests
When you say you want me
I shine
Like a technicolour light show
And blaze dramatically
In my paradise
When you say you need me
I climb
Like a majestic bird king
And hover regally
Over my domain
When you say you love me
I stand
Like an ice carved emperor
And search desperately
Over my wilderness
When you say goodbye
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
**** and cigarette smoke mingles with exhaust and the smell of cooking food
The homeless and the elite businessman walk side by side with tourists and hipster girls, and so few stop and stare, to gawk at the urban sprawl of the city, regally scraping at the cloudless sky, fingers hoping to grasp at god
The trolley bell, the scream of distant sirens, the shuffling of feet scraping the ***** sidewalk, the hydraulic hiss of brakes, the music of construction workers pounding and making and fixing, the blare of traffic horns and laughter and serious conversations of passersby in so many voices and tongues all combine like some cosmic tune, a discordant harmony that speaks to the very nature of city life
I feel the wind blowing through my hair as it carries pigeons and trash and the branches of the trees wave their greeting to the people, a friendly universe choked by stone and asphalt and metal shapes, but life will not be constrained, and so the city prospers and we go on and on, not as cogs in some machine, but cells in a body, growing, changing and shaping the whole
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
not one
of the moon's mystic seas is filled
with their yelping
though those
haunting harmonies save me from solitude
on the naked prairies
the sky, cold, awash
with wispy clouds, carries their sour song,
a dirge no creatures emulate
like they, I howl at the proud wolf moon;
it ignores me as it does them, but ‘tis regally round
for only a blink in time, then mournful
as it wanes to penumbra
in earth’s shadow
the wild dogs and I
cease our serenade, but wait in darkness
to cast another refrain when the ornery orb again
filches the dying sun’s light
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
93 million miles Ra’s rays travel
and light your cratered face
as you rise between monoliths
where janitors man buffers
and ambitious white collars sit by crumpled fast food wrappers
devouring data, dreaming of their own ascension
while you climb ten floors a minute
tomorrow, our wide world will shave a corner from you
in a fortnight, you will be a white whisper
though surely as our stone spins, you will again
become gibbous--then regally full
inside the scrapers, the buffers yet buzz,
the aspiring giants yet yearn for more
while you remain, silent light in the night,
unperturbed by their folly
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
The night fell down with a silk sheet.
The city sleeps.
The night is walking silently
Through concrete heaps.
She treads regally, barely touching
The dark stones.
The night has come, smiling lordly,
Into the throne.
The night's happy. It's to her liking
People's dreams.
They're sacred. All men in them
Are almost saints.
Well now, the night rejoices and rules!
It's her time!
She scatters the stars and the moon in the sky
To sublime.
The night put out all lanterns
In city's streets.
The city sleeps quietly and soundly
Without all feats.
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 6:33 PM UTC
Sporting the battledress of the warrior queen.
Her eyes wide open.
She's unfurling black banners,
while spewing venom, at the blackened retching sky.
Midnight crisp approaches,
as she grabs the sullen one,
Smashes through his barriers,
She is the chosen one,
And she sings to him, provocatively, luring him in,
dashed onto gilded rocks,
For he too is the chosen one,
the son of sighs,
deliver me from death,
I beg,
oh so unholy one,
Once again, he smiles at her,
deliverance curtly,
through teeth ,
blackened by his spite,
As morning light breaks through the sky,
he stops and stoops and wonders why.
On hell and Earth, in spite of heaven,
Why did he bid goodbye to his wild warrior queen,
the royal one,
So regally attired in ebony black.
For you woman,
you seek only the sycophant,
Believe him not,
It's all a fake, a disguise behind which he hides,
Forget her not, she still wants you,
Wants to rip your **** in two,
no chance at forgiveness,
for making the lady blue,
You,
with the faces of loyal Gemini,
you state,
categorically state,
the woman, the one,
that woman,
And f**k, as inside you walk, right in again,
As inside you go again,
Here you go again, letting your passion, cause more pain.
(c) Livvi
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC