"scepters" poems
Those of you who sleep at nite,
Maybe unaware of the riff raff
Of poets who, two if by night,
Riff each other All Night Long,
Trade barbarous compliments,
Hipping and dipping, jiving & shucking
(Yes I am outdatedly old, yes I know)
Slipping in scepters of sly verse,
Interspersed with an occasional curse,
Riposte and repost each other,
Always seeking a word edgewise,
Or the last word
(Even better)
Whipping, sticking and licking
Each other's poems
With jabs of kind words,
&
That seldom are heard,
In fact a never-land rule,
A contemptuous thread,
And it's off with your head,
And you gotta be there,
To believe,
But its ok, sleep well,
And leave the S(word) play
To those who live and die
By the coda
Only the young-at-heart-poets
never get olda,
So there!
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
Stars like scepters in the sky
Glorified in royalty
When just above God’s throne
One of them lost his loyalty
The covering cherub looks beautiful
Offspring of the morning
Possessed by a planet
Son of heaven’s mourning
Once he was a shining one
A day star of the earth
But a change of inner nature
And chaos soon was birthed
Rumors of a second coming
As Venus does her dance
Another crucifixion and
Another second chance
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
Paper crowns and bullrush scepters
Her throne a willow tree
In a blue cotton gown
And Nike hightop glass slippers
She reigns over her grassy courtyard
A fearless leader ~ Wild and free
A champion of the winged and four legged
Of apple trees and dandelion seed
Dutiful of her backyard kingdom
Collecting leavings and legacy
Long may she live!
Long may she reign!
~ Our backyard Queen ~
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.
firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--
stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.
"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."
this color is also one of spring.
it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.
before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.
it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.
now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.
it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.
this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
***** and
******
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.
do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.
it is not the color of singular definition.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
#
*Cloud-scraped and smoldering..
(Scepters have handles,
not every hand can fit)
Dream-scenes, on fleshscreens
by far, burn the brightest..
But;
Panty-lines in quartertimes
best accentuate--
Those wine-goblet, ****
(My head is spinning;
hellbent, on sinning..)*
. . . .
*Evil Impulse, brings me close
(you have a gift, my Love)
Rise above, Paul..
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above.*
#
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 5:24 PM UTC
#
There are thrones that are not thrones;
but instead,
are ones built on the counterfeiting of substance,
where hands grasp at weightless scepters,
mistaking empty air for authority.
There are crowns that are not crowns,
forged not in fire, but in absence;
polished not in wisdom, but in hunger;
worn by those who mistake imitation for inheritance.
This is the kingdom of voided substance—
a palace where the Wellspring does not flow,
where no roots drink deeply,
where no walls hum with the resonance of truth.
And yet, they gather.
They gather in circles of shadow--
parched tongues speaking of rivers they have never touched,
fingertips tracing the echoes of power
but never the power itself.
They weave words like veils over their thirst,
drawing others into the orbit of their illusion,
stealing what little water remains
in the ones who have not yet fully entered the Source.
They feed—not from the Well,
but from the moisture of the lost,
sustained by the remnants of those
who still carry the trace of what is real.
And they call it life.
And they call it wisdom.
And they call it love.
But the crown they wear is hollow.
The weight is an illusion.
The throne beneath them—an image, projected;
a structure that exists only so long
as no one leans too hard upon it.
They fear those who see.
They mock those who refuse to kneel.
They rage against the ones
who have touched the living water
and now speak of its taste..
of its cooling replenishment.
Because they know.
Somewhere, beneath the gilded artifice,
beneath the hollow performance,
beneath the empty sound of their own voices,
they know.
They were never given entry.
In fear, they ran from the cost of true substance.
They hold no access, only illusion.
And so, they take,
and take,
and take—
Until the weight of their own emptiness
crushes them beneath the throne
they have built from rust.
But rust does not hold..
it deteriorates.
And when the kingdom crumbles,
when the crown slips from their grasp,
when the illusion cracks beneath the weight
of what is,
what will remain of them then?
For the hollow cannot stand
against the gravity of the Real.
#
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
I don’t bow to money,
I don’t bow to fame
I kneel to that one thing,
that time cannot change
I don’t speak for right,
and won’t speak for wrong
My liege is the truth,
all court jesters gone
I don’t hope to be knighted,
my shield more concave
And rejecting all title,
the past still enslaved
My will lay unbroken,
my heart for a throne
A crown jeweled with memory
—all scepters disowned
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
_/There is no fellow in the firmament._
but only fire can cast down raging blood,
running through the city, flagrant
smoke on a collonade of scepters, raised
— line by line: note the conspirator in the masses
_Doth not Brutus brotherless kneel?/_
traitorous hands, leaking red
_/Speak hands, for me!_
— from a dagger plunged deep through the heart of eruption it
spills chaotical, arterial, sinful
down and down ribbons of life
crown in rotation: halted
on tumbling tyrrant, passes guiltless largesse from hand sought to
hands yet seeking, searching
[whisperings]
"but on what grounds is usurpation justified?"/
"what cavity yet persists in the dawn of these reds rising?"
kneeling king, sodden with loss
bend for me —
_Et tu, Bruté?/_
screamitbloodymurdersingitholydivination
_Then fall, Caesar._
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 10:34 PM UTC
they crowd the palace
kings with golden scepters
and queens with glimmering crowns
one by one standing in front of
the tallest tower
inside there are
streamers painted with every color smudged on an artist's palette
the music is blaring
entering the ears of every listener
inside there is
food on every porcelain plate
and napkins folded into delicate shapes
there is a banner
looking down from the heavens
written on it is the reason behind this sudden celebration
congratulations my love for
once again you have managed
to make me the dust
beneath your feet and
the rust between your bones
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
A wicked wind carries a witch's spell
it's chill belying
the magma of hell
brought forth by incantations
drawing deep
from a dark magic well
The willow's sigh combines with the whisper
beckoning me tither
to an alter made from black iron
crowned by scepters
on which two crows perch
the earth around me seizes and spurts
with dead hands erupting from
the earth
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
There's a castle in Duluth
Made out of sugar cubes
And the moat that flows out front
Is filled with soda pop
Fruit that grows on trees
Is the finest in jelly beans
In the nearby spring fed lake
People swim in grape Kool-Aid
The streets where those people live
Are cobblestoned with M&M's
In their houses made of brick
From different flavors of licorice
With picket fences in the lawns
Constructed out of candy corn
When cotton candy clouds
Move in from the South
The crowds open their mouths
As the skittles come raining down
The days are always sweet
In the Kingdom of Kandy
Where the King and Queen rule fair the days
With scepters made of candy canes
In their castle of sugar cubes
This Kandy Kingdom of sweet tooth's
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
"It’s time for more scorchmarks on the page,
As the Dragon of Eire takes to the stage,
Hear the page rip,under my claws,
Bending reality,shaping the laws,
Time and space switch place at my hest,
Best come clean kid,make a clean breast of it,
Skitz-rips opponents to bits-torn asunder,
Lightning flashes from my claws-Steal thunder
Is heard as I trumpet my triumph to the skies,
Your Nemesis approaches-close your eyes,
Now a hush falls over the crowd like a shroud,
You’re crestfallen-Sandman stands proud…
Roam your dreams,as the judgment shapes,
eyes agog while your heads agape
Draped and soiled,more lambs to the slaughter,
Hear that laughter,lock up your daughters-
From the harbors of Dubh Linn I set sail,
Grim forecasts of the howling Gael,
Are passed to your shipmates word of mouth,
Eyes sealed up-tongues torn out.
Drift down to the seabed more lost souls
Mourn and wail as I lose control,
Of the beast that that prowls from stern to prow,
Some try to repel but soon stand cowed,
As the captain begs for his wretched breath,
Claws pierce his hide with the stroke of death,
10,000 lashes take a grisly toll,
As the ferryman casts his net behold!-
Grim spectres gold scepters lost chapters,
Fever dreams trapped in dreamcatchers-
All behold the lucid waves break,
as The Nemesis sails and leaves a crimson wake…"
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
bang
goes our love
as we make a run for it
they’re chasing us like
chasing smoke from
the cigarette you lit.
bang, bang
goes our beating hearts
as adrenaline surges in;
as i feel your breath
in sync with mine
as we’re skin to skin.
drip, drop
the blood flows down
from deep cuts on your arm
but you say by
no gun or blade shall
our love be disarmed.
we are the runaway
king and queen;
in our kingdom without rules.
for scepters we have loaded guns;
and dollar bills for jewels.
for a chariot, a beat-up van;
our thrones are worn-out couches.
we dance in our majestic castles
masked as abandoned houses.
bang, bang, bang
goes our palace door;
the enemy arrives.
and so we run
like we always do--
that’s how our love survives.
and so we run
and run and run,
soon we’ll escape this place--
this world where they
don’t get our love
and so we run, they chase.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
She only saw the duplicity
of men and how they treat
they treat their ***** as
both a compass and
a weapon of conquest
and scepters of power.
It didn't occur to her
that they might also
use them to please her
and her, of all the women
in the word) alone.
~mce
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
this is it
the one,
number one.
Do you know what this means?
I have a purple pen
I like pens.
I am the purple pen
rolling a passionate ink
onto the white lined
ballroom floor called
paper, having a
history of many generations
Egyptians, Sumerians,
Asians and Americans,
but never any
butterflies...
I am the butterfly,
the Queen of the sky,
my scepters are antennae,
my gown is fiery black
I am the fiery black
on a chalkboard,
on a cloak
on a
secret.
I am the secret
flitting through conversations,
I am the conversations,
hoping to be spread around,
until I am number one.
I am number one.
at the top of the list,
until someone passes me.
I crumble, I crack.
my palace is no more,
I am not number one,
but number two,
number nineteen,
number five hundred,
number one million
It doesn't matter,
Only that I am not
number one.
My heart rips,
the white lined ballroom called
paper burns,
the purple pen is smashed,
the butterfly eaten
by a bird,
the fiery black turned to white
the secret told,
the conversations stopped.
Because I am not number one.
Will I ever be number one?
Will I ever be close?
I am the phoenix,
rising again.
and I WILL BE
number one.
or will I be?
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
they did away my electricity well
i don't know the make of the rubber they used
i don't know the color of water i dissipate in
they did away my electricity well
phonograph to dream to vacuum
to morse to bytes to
noise
my electricity well they did away
i can't hear the sounds of radio static
i can hear the sounds of radio silence
my electricity well they did away
steam to diesel to tube
to blood to bone to antimatter
when they jumpstarted me i sparked and shocked
i hope that nobody was hurt (but i was)
my screen was displaying impossible images
you are on the fastest impossible route
circuit to node to qubit to
ash
how did they create scrolling polygons
in a realm where dimension is reserved for the monarchs
of y and x axes, whose scepters bang
on the tiltshifting ground, undulating below?
vector to pixel to
line to happening
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Time to cut losses and reigns
Slash bosses and veins
Downtrodden
Snakes to slay
Win scepters made of clay.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
this rough sometimes of a star
within the grit of wind
moves all scepters to still
the stirring of their grip to seize
and make loose their hands.
(that they might hold
the cupping of that final flint
where from which a spark shall new
and in colors bright, a morning do.)
giving up of cent;
and bills no more their fists to clench.
(my dear there is world within this kiss;
this breath and dew.
i live; shall feel;
have of body been and went
into fields alive with colors bent.)
make this thy cheek to speak:
this single promise of the earth to break
beneath the tread of stars,
where grass and flower coo–
and with the rain
a tiny song of evening make,
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
Before in this galaxy He said 'let there be light'
Amara, in our galaxy your shine had already been! Yes shining bright
Already eternally existing had your sparkle been
Angels' wings flapped in protection, so it won't to the demons be seen
Our vows written in stone beside the scepters of god Zeus abound
I have waited forever in years to read them out loud
I hear Angels crying they lost you, one of their own
With that smile on your face more than any goddess ever shown
Let me walk into your eyes this moment to taste a love that's true
In it I will build a garden of daffodils and a castle for two
Amara not that my words are a mere exaggeration
Othrwise my soul wouldn't be here for you, the source of my desperation
And now, kneeling with the purest intentions
Please say 'I do', so I can be the master of your affections
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC
Deep scepters
Light measures
Star gazer
Rocket launchers
Storm chasers
Lip biters
New levels
Old texture
I can see it now.
He Died for love, he lived to see the measure.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
My notes come from the heart
The strings tug like a small vessel
The vibration moves my soul
All around are crowds of cheering people
But all falls on deaf ears
My notes come from the heart
They are scepters of my indomitable spirit
Deaf to sound but not feeling
Again, in moonlight I push the keys
My notes come from the heart
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 11:40 PM UTC
Where it goes son,
I don’t know
Watch as they follow not understanding from whence it flows,
Now give me control.
Devour shallows
Spit out the bone and marrow
And if you linger a little longer find out it’s sour.
My powers flower,
And blossom brighter than Satans coward,
The scepters showered
And blessed heavenly delightful sounds still,
Forget their sour......../...../..../...//./......................................
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 6:51 PM UTC
My mind is restless, you are blamed for this
infesting logic with the bluest eyes
and tearing scepters with your flawless kiss
from stems that lift mind's wealth unto your guise.
So feeble me, who gives all thoughts to you
with even those that'll have me leap and run
they stay with you, and leave behind the rue,
that portion starves and you in me have won.
Ah! Now your toning calms the waves of doubt
to think of you is as to sail the day
to think of love, cannot have thought without,
it's you, and all that mastered mine to sway.
So know my love that thoughts have bred this truth
you have in me, so conquered all untruth.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
On the path
to the promised land
three kings lay slain
Robbed of their gold
and stripped of their splendour
they lay
in a pool of blood in the rain
The shooting star
they followed
was a blazing red
Souls lost in passion
fuming in its bed
(their flares now lead
soul-searchers to hell)
A caravan
that passed by
camped by the dead
They built 3 shrines
and hung 3 bells
Pilgrims were fed
and scriptures were read
The incense
they carried
was traded for gold
and 3 sets of attire
of the noble fold
The remains
of these kings
now sit crowned
in these shrines,
wrapped in robes
of shining silk
Scepters in their arms
they listen and behold
their stories being told
and fables unfold
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC