"retinue" poems
As the sun moves to the western horizon
Colors are skilfully blended in a palette
In an instant the sky becomes an exquisite canvas of art
Making even Van Gogh burn in jealousy
With the last glimmer of sunset
When the shadows chase the light,
The aerial folks fly back to their nests
Like black and white specks dotting the sky
With a dark drape stretched across the Earth’s face
The arrival of the night is a spectacular sight
Cicadas and crickets welcome her with their ceremonious band
And street lamps blink their eyes to catch a better view
While truant clouds still wander around aimless
The cerulean sky signals them to hurry
Stars slowly appear in the night sky
Like sequins stitched on to a blue brocade
The crescent moon smiles down
The empress of the night, proud and regal
She and her retinue keep guard over the slumbering Earth
The unpaid sentries of the night!
A gentle breeze makes a palanquin ride
Wafting in the scent of opening buds
The beauty of the night sends me to raptures
My heart exploding like foaming wine in a bottle
Yet I cannot but keep wondering
How many dark secrets
The night holds
Within her tenebrous folds!
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
There came an image in Life’s retinue
That had Love’s wings and bore his gonfalon:
Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon,
O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue!
Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to,
Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power
Sped trackless as the immemorable hour
When birth’s dark portal groaned and all was new.
But a veiled woman followed, and she caught
The banner round its staff, to furl and cling,—
Then plucked a feather from the bearer’s wing,
And held it to his lips that stirred it not,
And said to me, ‘Behold, there is no breath:
I and this Love are one, and I am Death.’
5.1k
A Sonnet is a moment’s monument,—
Memorial from the Soul’s eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,—its converse, to what Power ’tis due:—
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love’s high retinue,
It serve; or, ’mid the dark wharf’s cavernous breath,
In Charon’s palm it pay the toll to Death.
4.7k
The spider Queen, aloofly vain!
She rules a silent ruthless reign,
with black-bead eyes like pearls of rain
that damp the depths of her demesne.
.
.
.
A spider spins, with nimble feet,
a sticky web of grim deceit
that drapes the corners, dark, discreet,
in catacombs of her retreat.
Her jointed legs (in number, eight)
traverse the threads with stilted gait,
but often more she'll lie in wait
within the hub of her estate.
Shy spiders live their lives alone
ensconced within a silky throne;
unless a transient guest comes flown,
their lives bide empty, monotone.
.
.
Well, now and then, a sullen breeze
may twitch the toils, begin to tease –
yet nothing's caught and nothing pleas,
so patience's bid at times like these.
But then again, when stars ignite,
may maunder by a gnat, by night,
be taught a dance, a writhing rite,
within a lace of death, wrapped tight.
Sometimes a spider's in the mood
and waits awhile, whilst being wooed –
and then, to later feed her brood,
the widow slays her mate for food.
In time a spider dies, 'tis true,
bequeathing but a residue
entwined, devoid of retinue,
in fibers decked in silver dew.
.
.
.
One asks "What purpose serves the GNAT –
to feed and make the spider fat?
Well, 'tis perchance just naught but that
within a mindless habitat.
.
.
"Yet, what's the aim?” you may inquire,
“at the heart of MAN's desire.
To which goals should WE aspire
reaching high and reaching higher?"
We've, through the ages, left the mire,
trundling wheels and taming fire,
doing deeds that must inspire,
nursing needy, calming crier, …
Such things as these, most may admire:
- placid dove and war defier
(some are bolder, some are shyer)
- patience (mess-up mollifier);
- humankind (Life's justifier)
- charity (charmed self-denier)
- tolerance (proud pacifier )
- love of Life (folk unifier).
What more could we, as flesh, require?
Needless kneeling neath the spire?
Childish chanting in the choir?
Preaching hell's impending pyre?
No, Death's the only rectifier,
comes the instant we expire,
nothing after, sentience prior.
So, treasure Life and don't deny Her.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
So an age ended, and its last deliverer died
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of a giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across their lawns outside.
They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath:
A kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.
Only the scupltors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad
To be invisible and free; without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed in their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.
3.9k
Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest
When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,
Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.
Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,
Through all those summer days of joy and rain,
I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,
Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.
Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee—think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!
3.1k
we're aboard the bus
me and Gus
me and Gus
we're aboard the bus
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
Stu is a great puncher
his punches are accurate
his left hook
knocks other dudes
really flat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
us guys on the rough side of town
have to know how to solidly punch
to knock those gang members down
those gang members
are tough and mean
they are the toughest and meanest
gang members
on the rough side of town
Gus and I
are going to take
those gang members on
take them on
take them on
they aren't going to give
Gus and I
no knock out gong
no knock out gong
Gus and I
will have a retinue of punches
to plant on their noses
they'll be redder
than a bunch of roses
Gus and I
get aboard the bus
to go Stu's gym
we're learning
punching skills
off him
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.
Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.
Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array’d in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day.
2.5k
And the age ended, and the last deliverer died.
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of the giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across the lawn outside.
They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath;
The kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.
Only the sculptors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad
To be invisible and free: without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.
2.2k
At my side the Demon writhes forever,
Swimming around me like impalpable air;
As I breathe, he burns my lungs like fever
And fills me with an eternal guilty desire.
Knowing my love of Art, he snares my senses,
Appearing in woman's most seductive forms,
And, under the sneak's plausible pretenses,
Lips grow accustomed to his lewd love-charms.
He leads me thus, far from the sight of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue into
The wilderness of Ennui, deserted and broad,
And into my bewildered eyes he throws
Visions of festering wounds and filthy clothes,
And all Destruction's ****** retinue.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
171
Wait till the Majesty of Death
Invests so mean a brow!
Almost a powdered Footman
Might dare to touch it now!
Wait till in Everlasting Robes
That Democrat is dressed,
Then prate about “Preferment”—
And “Station,” and the rest!
Around this quiet Courtier
Obsequious Angels wait!
Full royal is his Retinue!
Full purple is his state!
A Lord, might dare to lift the Hat
To such a Modest Clay
Since that My Lord, “the Lord of Lords”
Receives unblushingly!
1.8k
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world’s good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
1.5k
ever had those days of nagging
the ears are punch drunk
taking lefts rights and upper cuts
the retinue of blows are countless
this follows that
it's punching bag material
you know how Joe Frazier felt
when he left the ring
stunned to stupification
ever had those days of bagging
nothing you attempt to do for people
turns out as it should
everything ends up pear shaped
and asymmetrical
the best is done to fix the problems
without the proper tools
a jack of trades
is a cunning fool
a master
is a pilot ace
who do they think you are
some super hero
ever had those days of ragging
*** shot are taken
keeping you on your feet
like Ginger and Fred
doing a four two step
you hope a ****** doesn't lay in wait
hitting the all important red dot
notice how rabbits
dart and dance
not wanting to take up the spot light
ever had those days of slagging
the words are directed
like hacking scissors
chopping a crooked edge
at your sleeve
leaving you at the whim of humiliation
you dignity left in tattered shreds
where's a seamstress
when you want one
at a stop work meeting
shop stewards are thugs
and stand over merchants
no one comes to your rescue
have you ever had those days
none of us are immune
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
786
Severer Service of myself
I—hastened to demand
To fill the awful Vacuum
Your life had left behind—
I worried Nature with my Wheels
When Hers had ceased to run—
When she had put away Her Work
My own had just begun.
I strove to weary Brain and Bone—
To harass to fatigue
The glittering Retinue of nerves—
Vitality to clog
To some dull comfort Those obtain
Who put a Head away
They knew the Hair to—
And forget the color of the Day—
Affliction would not be appeased—
The Darkness braced as firm
As all my stratagem had been
The Midnight to confirm—
No Drug for Consciousness—can be—
Alternative to die
Is Nature’s only Pharmacy
For Being’s Malady—
1.3k
Peered through the ideal imagery
of petty dream-spun avenues.
Brushed the quiet tides that rose
in fluid blends of milky down.
The clamour of the Westbound flocks
that scarred the last in pulsing chevrons
told of lands beyond the lay
of harlequin recline.
The lilac swathes that bled to blue
then proffered airs a saintly glow
cooled in easy idiom, the rapid
pyroclastic flow of dry diurnal doubt.
Aromatic night descended,
petals closed on avenues
to the path, the stars attended
cold eternal retinue.
Far ushers of the dew gilt foot
in concert with the silver seethe,
the mist in supple opulence,
an ***** to breathe.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Our Lady visits places where no man has trod asunder
Places where the hand of time has kept them from the sun,
Places where the roiling earth hath ground to rend like thunder
Where history, as we know it now, had barely, then, begun.
With elegance she burrows forth, with elegance a seeking
Tended by her retinue of young, admirers’ lithe,
With elegance she sinuously writhes within containment,
To elegantly strive to shape her contour, uncontrived.
So femininely fabulous, admired by all and sundry
Her deadlines met assiduously, taken in her stride.
Secretly she smiles the smile of one who dwells thereunder
Who secretly entrances with her quiet performing pride.
Fare welled on her journey by adoring crowd and bunting,
Fare welled midst a sea of flags by rotund Prince and child
To coyly disappear from sight with retinue of admirers
To reappear with fanfare in a year, to drive men wild.
Sinuously spinning in her secret world beneath us,
Spinning and beguiling in uniquely female way,
Alice holds our promise in sweet dreams and aspirations
Our Subterranean Goddess…Our Lady of the Day.
Marshalg
Plant Co-ordinator
The Wellconnected Consortium
AUCKLAND.
27 January 2014
Alice is our giant tunnel boring machine. She is currently 40 m beneath parkland and housing in Owairaka, Auckland. In 12 months she will emerge at Waterview to be spun around to burrow the return tunnel back to the point of origin. These tunnels will form the completing stages of the modern motorway system in Auckland. The system, which will be completed in 2017, will revolutionise the existing transport network and benefit the people of Auckland and New Zealand for decades to come.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
The path winded through the jungle their tread was cautious slow
Walk they must still a long way till the sun goes down below
They carried with them precious merchandise monies earned from trade
What dangers lay on their way what would befall them they were afraid.
They walked ceaseless in worried face their words broke the silence
The shadows lengthened it bothered them still long was the distance
As luck would have it there came along a retinue of tradesmen
They too were heading the same way carrying with them trade's gain.
*Thank god we have met you for we carry with us good treasure
The way is not safe we have heard dangers lurk in immense measure
We would be secure if we travelled together in large number's strength
For our wealth we must safe keep till we reach the journey's length.*
As was proposed so was done they befriended and resumed their way
Warmly chatting sharing anecdotes not knowing when passed the day
When came evening they halted at a place set up camps there for the night
Unburdened themselves for rest and gossip enveloped in glow of moonlight.
They discussed business profits bargains the many losses and gains in deals
Smoking hookahs chewing betel leaves passing time till served their meals
When dinner was over they sat together shrouded in smoke and night's song
Basking in friendship not once doubting tomorrow would never come along.
*Behind each man sat another one a silent sign game was on play
Eyes roamed on eyes death in disguise waited to fall on its prey
Then came one call ominous and small a voice said let's take break
In one clean swift sweep fastened handkerchiefs strangled the unaware necks.*
In less than a minute stopped each heartbeat with such precision was it made
Bodies lay still the hunters got their **** without much struggle and bloodshed.
They buried each corpse leaving no trace the two groups became one
In the name of Kali they had used the noose got the ***** for a job well done.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
Dear God:
Re Eva Cassidy
Been waiting/wanting to write you for a long time
About Eva Cassidy.
Had to let the anger settle,
Had to find the write words.
Many months have past, perhaps years,
Since I stumbled across the voice of this angel,
Memorial Day, it seems like the write time to
Try once more.
But my anger has not settled, it has trebled,
It has risen and is unquantifiable, irrevocable,
a line crossed, a feud, that can never now be amicably settled.
I have a retinue of good curses, experienced friends,
Looking to meet up with you, who understand that
Blessings and curses, for full effect, should be rarely used,
Especially inside a funereal poem honoring the truly great.
But for Eva, there's no question, you dude,
Got a fleet of F bombs coming your way,
When the children have gone to bed.
When Eva sings "Imagine,"
The purity of voice, miraculous,
I know you were afraid
And so took her young,
Lest her voice raise a generation of questioners.
**Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to **** or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...**
You got the power,
You make mistakes,
We all gotta die sometime,
But you better not take the special ones too early,
Or I may stop writing to you, and then,
What ya gonna do? Who will comfort me?
Eva will, that's who,
When we walk together in Fields of Gold...
Shelter Island 5:00pm
May 26
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
The greatest eye, seeing as I see: infinity infinitely,
Passing and being amidst mere seconds, touching glassily
Fringes of the smallest universe of me,
The happier side of the sublime, distant fingers of distant peaks
Combing the edge of time.
I’ve stared at the stars too long, we saw them dance out of space
More dimensions than a singularity, for it opens up
As hearts do in each other placed.
From fixéd gaze and placidity, I stride in awe to you
We could feel one with acatelepsy
Have what some consider few, and few consider all
Intertwined by the darkness between the dying stars’
Existence, in that both skins a whole that glistens.
Of that place, I in constant drawn, that vacuity, that candoris
A promise that, regardless what season, my face feels apricity
And careless are the places as numinous are the lariots
Whether through Hell or usurping Pheobus’ chariot
Some hope may birth within the open dark
The treasured lunar retinue, a web of inspiration, generations to come;
That’s what keeps me hopeful here, a shy star in the void
Across it all, across life-lines I shall have,
Before you ever meet me, long since dissipated—
Come out to see me and play, or are you simply? Belated?
In that web, the growing ever-on, generative swan-songs,
And the one I wish on may befall a stellar death, my sky
Alighted by one less, a part of me to the cold and shiftless earth
That though the stars may fall, these hearts may flash chimerical
Etched limpid in the palimpsest of memory, they are, they will
Hearts of the little universe, consumptive and resilient
And kept ever on, there beyond Jupiter and his moons thereof
In which chaos finds itself bathed and bound by Love.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
When the last of the daylight kisses the feet of the moon and night becomes the dawn of the rising,surprised I awake on the lakeside of sorrow where tomorrow sheds tears for the time allows nothing to stand,
I obey laws of physics though consult with the mystics and the doyens of the beer hall only watch as I call to my maker, thief taker,partaker in murder,to **** dead the silence that roars in my ears.
At the bottom of this glass sits the truth that I search for,but as I reach the finale I find only the floor,it's like the dawn of the rising and no less surprising to me.
If I talk with the shadows that shiver in the doorway,they only say to me, 'spare some change for a cup of tea?'
questions that bother me bitterly, I so agree with the Government policy to ignore everything that doesn't look right to me,
and night even more looks surprisingly, like something I wore once on Wednesday.
They say that this madness creeps up on you and the way it attacks is like it's fukin you,as I've never looked back at my retinue I can't tell if the last statement is true or not,
but you've got what I consider to be the utter truth, as I fly downwards and climb to the slate grey roof where the owls there will greet me with beaks set to eat me,
I wake and sleeps beats me again.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
ever had those days of NAGGING
the ears are punch drunk
taking lefts, rights and upper cuts
the retinue of blows are countless
this follows that it's punching bag material
you know how Joe Frazier felt
when he left the ring
stunned to a stupor
ever had those days of BAGGING
nothing you attempt to do for people
turns out as it should
everything ends up pear shaped and asymmetrical
the best is done to fix the problems
without the proper tools
a Jack of all trades
is a cunning fool
a master is a pilot ace
who do they think you are
some super hero
ever had those days of RAGGING
*** shots are taken
keeping you on your feet
like Ginger and Fred
doing a four two step
you hope a ****** doesn't lay in wait
hitting the all important red dot
notice how rabbits
dart and dance
not wanting to take up the spotlight
ever had those days of SLAGGING
the words are directed
like hacking scissors
chopping a crooked edge at your sleeve
leaving you to the whim of humiliation
your dignity left in tattered shreds
where's a seamstress
when you want one
at a stop work meeting
shop stewards are thugs and stand-over merchants
no one comes to your rescue
have your ever had those days
none of us are immune
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
I shall amend the last line
Give me my sand and water so I can remove such a blight for you
What
You do not wish my hand to slay the crosses and lines?
Have a stain where I wrote my minutes lost forever
And not my original pact?
Then why stay my hand?
Did it occur that as I set my tools to bed
And pick up another tail from the carcass you made me ****
Something like this would not stifle me
And you?
Fine
Have it your way either way you spin my grip
I am only the tangible extension of your whims
Mine are gone with the soul of discarded beast at my table
The thought not crossing my mind to follow its shadow while you stare
Your eyes bore holes into my back until I bleed out the right words for you
And you grant me passage to take my own flight
I shall amend the next line
Give me my sand and water so I can clean such a messy thought for you
Distraction impede the motion of the text
As I am stuck in irons of punctuation you keep shape-changing
Broken out of comma's pauses
And you slap the final periods onto my palms that I can never step from
Blots form on the statements then
And enraged that I resist you start again
Yes
I am listening to what you have said
As my fingers dig trenches into my wrist I hear you
I hear you even when I am given time to sleep
Your orders yet another pain of baring flesh
Shred down to its rawest level by my patience to not depart
In the smallest fraction of clarity as you blink to reset your retinue
I shall amend the first line
Give me my sand and water so I can change such a story for you
Whenever you breathe the final end
Be it in my lifetime or the one I have left to stand you
Let it be that I catch your exhale in a empty inkwell
And trap your toxic soul in the same black that is the colour of your self
I would very much like to chain you to this prison dwelling
Watch as I sit ***** to crack and flex and breathe out your affect
Indeed I know ahead
The present master by my chair guide a tired limb
To make a yay a nay and a day forever
As your telling dawdles into nonsense does it blend
Make friends of enemies and daggers into pens
Must I suffer any longer re-stepping over the same syllables
I will not hesitate to respell a weapon out of my instruments
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
breaking blue hue
presides o'er the bush to-day
breaking blue hue
all plots of azure retinue
adorning brightly in array
a perfect color to display
breaking blue hue
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
stet and stumble,
both wavering excuses.
I never meant to re impose,
the scars you carried
as you set out with your new retinue,
denounce in lieu of reclamation
if you wish.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
What could come next on this life-or-death quest;
femmefatales around every corner & turn;
‘Delicious,’ thinks Medea, staying below
in the hold; only one Hero need be
willing to offer himself for sacrifice. . . .
but which; Asclepius, Heracles, Orpheus,
Argus, Tiresias, Theseus or perhaps
even Jason himself
Medusa, a ravenous wild thing, smells invasion
‘This spoils my plans & it stops here and now,’
Ever the rebel she'd been planning a new temple,
Unknown & in secret to be dedicated to nature;
for so long viperous and royally maddened,
now at midnight she hears the mystical lyre,
one string or one thousand, playing near;
Medusa feeling molten, suddenly must stop
gyrating on drunken satyrs’ laps as they throw
Leaves & make it rain on every nymph
throughout her dripping wet forest playground
lying down, she calls for her helpful maidens
Who sweetly rub her from temples to toes
With Nectar of Tiger’s **** and Librium,
which causes true disaster, her legs shuddering,
Her body quakes; the earth itself erupting
with quivering pulsations; the heroes knowing
Well what this all means as all has been
foretold on the ancient stone tablet;
For now though, the heroes of the Argo have
yet to encounter Calliope & the other
nefarious goddesses of her retinue; Muses,
fairies, furies, harpies, nymphs, queens, witches, etc....
by Medusa & Johnny Noir
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC