"regnant" poems
Serendipities torrential deluge
Of dulcet applause reigning
In the divine dynasty of
Empiricisms arcane lore,
Heavens most high of heirachies
Beyond the veil
Drowning in altruistic
Reflexive salutations;
The regnant patent mutitioning
Of the waters Lethe from
Serpens poisened chalice of saints
Evoking the advent vigil of
Dusts chaldean dreams,
The sabbatical ordination
The fatal ravens annunciation
Heralding valediction
Convening betwixt and between
Gates of ivory and horn
Arraigning the apostolic conclave.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
London bridge is down
In code a lament
A royal queen pin now freed
A throne vacated
Hearts and minds soar at half staff
In gods name let all rest in peace
In servant to many generations
To many peoples of the world
A new regnant era is heralded
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 10:50 AM UTC
Spells of chieftain splendor
Bespeaking of loyal grandeur
Now the eye clearly sees without fear
At dusk!
The ancient kingdom of Assur?
A flight in time and space from afar?
Was that ingenious creativity of flair?
Still bids indubitable eternal mystery!
Are clothes on man an anecdote of utter hypocrisy?
Is sarcastic humor a precursor of hidden sinister?
The animals hereof show their ******
Undertone tinges of impeccant simplicity
Stirring poignant Achilles' heel character
As an infant suckling the breast of saccharine nature;
Lo! And behold…
Sage mortals envisage a grotesque quest for a promising stage,
Regnant and dignified?
The new-age psyches’ beatify and feebly beg
"Reform, in fact, is, rather softly, on the win”
The lighthouse flashing against the sleet-blurred fig twig
As every sacred notion becomes an unwavering origin certain,
With no remorse that mankind can now ascertain
The bewildering incarnation of science in religion!
Like a single lily among lilies in a dark dungeon
Great spirits now encounter violent opposition
“Un-awakened Children silently screaming with pessimism”
Hiding within the smooth sacred mask of personality
Yet the fear of “the unknown” silently plays a drowsier symphony
Calling back the violent rays to illuminate a peaceable destiny
Were illusionary realities conform to the whims of a veiled deity,
This goddess!
A mystifying inferno doing its own radiance faster
What a fuss!
So light-footed as love yet so heavy-footed as war
As if to justify the whirling gloom of despair
Like the bleakness of the morning cuckooing rooster
Or the dog which barks at his own image in a pond;
“What startling veneration”
Mortals without remorse still aspire to find
The misplaced diamonds and daffs upon the beamish ground.
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:46 AM UTC
I live in a nation where the cow is worshipped,
and there is no king regnant,
but it’s funny, how the cow feast on crap,
and the farmer becomes a peasant.
I live in a nation of aye men,
who say aye to a baloney,
of media which protects the cow,
but let the peasant starve slowly.
I watch daily, the television debates,
where logic is razored by bigotry,
and no talks about the peasant,
gagged into silence by the authority.
I witness a bathtub getting sensationalized
when a mid-aged celebrity died,
the debt he’d laden of the dried crop,
no rain never did the sky cry.
He later worked as an indentured laborer,
for a landlord who drinks the cow’s ****
as a saffroned monk says it’s healthy,
way to the eternal bliss.
A student who sloganed for freedom
from the maw of poverty.
My media says he is a traitor,
and so is the entire university.
At least, let’s agree to disagree,
that is essential to a republic,
let freedom of speech not be seldom,
and never shall it cease to exist.
The peasant must die soon,
and no more shall he crouch in dread,
may someday he incarnate as a cow,
roams free on the city streets, and feast on free bread.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
Our minds?
Underdeveloped.
Our common sense?
Nonexistent.
Our emotions?
Regnant.
Our hearts?
Easily broken.
We are the Teenagers.
We are considered,
Stupid
Emotional
And weak.
Yet if we fail as a teenager,
Our lives will be nothing
We will not attend college,
or get a degree
or get a job
or acquire a steady income
We are young
We are hostile
But most of all,
We are scared.
Failure means oblivion
Free all the teens.
Before we crash and burn.
And you will be the driver who crashes us
And you will be the person who lights us aflame
Free all the teens.
Please.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
It’s the wee things that get to you,
the things that they – the invisible
“they” – don’t think of or deem –
what an egghead word – import.
Like the many languages Pope Francis
speaks to the poorest of the poor – just
books away from Revelation and the
end – apocalypse, they call it?
Like the simple task, simpletons do it
in political campaigns for the simplest
of the simple – cost deferred until a
position be taken if it isn’t ******
Like the contours of the manhood of
the waiter leaning tightly against your
table – as he asks again if you want
your salad with French or Italian.
Like the death of Romano III, a cat of
nineteen, lying alone on a warm rug –
or it was a cold shoulder, the mother
lode of forgiveness.
Like the birth of an heir or heiress of
a circus regnant – a cut above the
silliest of the silly, dancing in the
streets to a playwright’s tunes.
Like the circumcision of a newborn
boy – a social decision on an *****
that doesn’t know itself until puberty,
an unfair decision by a man.
Like the baptism of a child – protection
against purgatory or is it the shoreline
of the Jordan where wading isn’t kosher
when the teenaged lifeguard is absent?
Like the final couplet of the last sonnet
of a poet – her celebration and self-worth
still unrhymed, its meter and iambs
unborn until next week.
Similes slant to the similar, metastasizing
and growing outside the box – oh, ****
the poet says, her wings clipped by a
little thing like a pep rally.
© Lewis Bosworth, 2013
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Have you found
It yet
I ask
Or found insuperable
The task
Discovering,
Uncovering
The surface layers
Smothering
The truth beneath
The buried past
The everlasting
Shadow caste
On sanctity's
Iconoclast
The temple smashed
The system crashed
The score is settled
In the blast
And so I ask
Again
Have you
Completed what
You set to task
Or just discovered
Some uncovered
Remnants of
The ancient past
Forgotten
Lying eons
Rotten
Not in some
Sumptuous tomb
Of regnant opulence
Exhumed
But in the gloom
Of fell
And fallen
Kingdoms
Mortals
Bow in awe in
So I ask again
Have you
Found any a retelling true
Or just library books
Renewed
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
If you’re pregnant
You’re regnant.
Nuff said.
ljm
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 8:29 AM UTC
Autumn brushed her golden hair
curling locks of auburn-red
as she shed the gold 'n fair
as she donned her white to wed
she swirled around for me to see
the colours cascade, as waves of sea,
her rain of auric crimson leaves
over hay and golden sheaves
and round about, upon the ground,
a scattered patchwork of earth's finest
clothes of copper, bronze 'n browns,
as befit her regnant highness
weathered skin of palest alabaster
with hints o' coral hue,
glistening dew on whitest plaster,
as cream of marbled statue
as she shed her harvest raiment
stark beauty in the sky
heady jasmine and cider scent
betray her unclad thigh
and he waited, bided time,
with snow and crystal'd silver
bedecking ice-king in his prime
still and patient Winter
wrapped himself in single sheet
of luminous, crystalline ice,
as he laid his ivory feet
on mount of edelweiss
for Autumn, she had melted
'fore his numinous gelidity
invisible she lay pelted
'neath his averous cupidity
he tapped his toe in single tone
in beat of coldest shiver
as in the moonlight, there alone
shot arrows from his quiver
darts of hail and blustering wind
his army of projectiles
hid benevolence as he grin'd
a warm, pulsating smile
for now sweet earth, beneath her blanket
of whitest, softest snow,
giveth forth roots for sumptuous banquet
sun shines on afterglow
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 7:07 AM UTC