"vassals" poems
Grim monarch! see, depriv’d of vital breath,
A young physician in the dust of death:
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?
Enough thou never yet wast known to say,
Though millions die, the vassals of thy sway:
Nor youth, nor science, not the ties of love,
Nor ought on earth thy flinty heart can move.
The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,
In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave.
Fair mourner, there see thy lov’d Leonard laid,
And o’er him spread the deep impervious shade.
Clos’d are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep,
Till time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from heav’n, in dire confusion hurl’d
Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,
And her last groan shall rend the azure sky:
Not, not till then his active soul shall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame.
But see the softly-stealing tears apace
Pursue each other down the mourner’s face;
But cease thy tears, bid ev’ry sigh depart,
And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
And look beyond, thou native of the skies;
There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night
To join for ever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace this joyful spirit moves
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin’d,
And better suited to th’ immortal mind.
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Tired branches of an old oak loom
Like torrential clouds—
Those distal bruises on the peach
Sky of May— above as we
Wait and watch the dust lilt away
In the breeze. I would envy their freedom,
But I see that they are only vassals
Whose lord, the wind, guides them like marionettes.
Stars split about the twigs and leaves
To lick our eyelids.
You hesitated as you asked if I heard them too,
But my ears were filled with Carolina wind.
You knew I had lied before I spoke.
Still, you told me their stories as if they were your own,
Or maybe they are your own.
Now, I slip back to that night for an instant
When I close my eyes beneath the old oak,
Only to open them and find orbital songs
Written in black between the seven sisters.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
In the castles black with dawning
broken vessels hold the light
where the vassals stand a'yawning
woken by the dead of night
Songs to aging children, come
aging children
I am one!
Where the flowers whither rhythm
where the rhymes are drops of dust
metered moonbeams lie
within them
in their melodies we trust
Songs to aging children, come
aging children
I am one!
Can we only see the lanterns
lit for us by frosty dew?
Can we yet hear all the patterns
colors bled for me and you?
Songs for aging children, come
aging children
I AM ONE!
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart
comes: it howls in thy empty court.—Ossian.
I
Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choak’d up the rose, which late bloom’d in the way.
II
Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
III
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.
IV
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
V
On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.
VI
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.
VII
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
’Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.
VIII
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!
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Voodoo bring me my bow of shining gold,
bring in the arrows of desire!
Bring in the bets, let the signs be told,
brow beat dissent with the Don's ire.
Fortify the power of lucre,
to the pit of ignominy and deceit lure
the bright colts of the game.
For when the pocket is full,
and the roost we rule,
can there be any shame?
I see see and we see see eye
to eye that making money is our right.
I see see do see see bookies on the prowl!
We see see red eye and growl,
shut up or else your projects
we won't bankroll.
I will not cease from all out fight,
the seat of power can't be let out of sight.
The magi devised Strategic Time Out
to earn more dime from TV rights.
Some may bark and others shirk
from shouldering the ***** blame,
the control's still with me, O hark!
You see the club is lame.
Blake, did those giants in ancient times
Stride with honour in the beautiful game?
Did the masters shed blood in the country's name
to let it be sullied today with ugly grime?
The hollow shirts mouthed clichés inane
and the ties sold the game for thirty dimes.
The corridors shake, the mighty quake,
the vassals at last revolt,
what would be left in the wake
are the ashes of the old.
Can it then rise, like the phoenix bird
and make its flight to behold,
or be buried in some other muck
a sordid saga retold!
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
To a master,
There are only slaves.
To a lord,
There are only subjects.
To a king,
But vassals.
To a boss,
Are only subordinates.
Yet, in reliance
Who rules who?
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 10:24 PM UTC
I’m struck
Struck, not by stubborn winds
nor seeping rain and bitter snow
I am struck by the audacity!
The audacity of life itself…
Grating insults hurled
middle fingers flashing like upturned fangs
sumptuous thighs, bare and glistening in the sunlight
heavy alcohol dripping off the cheeks.
Failed relationships,
I was bored so…
Isn’t that always the excuse,
as to why I can hear her
***** him
didn’t she know I’d be home?
Who cares.
It’s the audacity of life that bugs me,
because,
the simple answer, with every infraction,
is,
I do so, because I am.
Now leave me be.
But I know they know it can't be that simple.
They're all the 29th round boxer fighting a shadow:
an unyielding mass of darkness
chained to our souls
occupying no more than the air itself
yet heavy as the bedrock of hell
deep and destructive.
I've seen these shadows break a man.
I was that man.
So I tremble at the audacity of life.
Wherein the puppet manipulates the master.
Wherein the blind see more than the visionary.
Wherein the beggar is imbued with purpose,
and the money mogul strips his vassals of soul and sympathy.
Yes, and I have the audacity to write this,
like I give a ****
when I'm just like you.
Another day...
Another dollar...
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 10:50 PM UTC
SANDOVAL
Your brigs of bustling pilgrims light at last
On this sweet-scented isle called Cozumel.
Depopulating half of Cuba’s farms,
The skills of our six hundred souls, or so,
Erupt now in a pitched activity.
We’ve confiscated idols, and our cross
Now overlooks the rising ropes and tarps;
Our cannons hedge the campground, with our horse,
As secret weapons, hidden in the ships.
ALVARADO
Now what a breezing cakewalk will it be
To pacify this docile flock of lambs!
Let’s ****** the sweetmeats from their trembling lips,
And wean them to the yoke of servitude.
Vassals alone make masters out of men.
CORTÉS
Not yet so fast. For Cuba’s stewardship
Forbids such a carnivorous regime.
Father Olmedo warns us not to tease,
Much less ****** the native nymphs.
ALVARADO Cortés,
We trust that you, like all stargazing men,
Crave glory, fortune, and above all, fame;
That royal favor and divine accord
Will light on those who quell idolatry,
And carve new lands for God and His Castile.
CORTÉS
But like a gentlemanly pirate, I.
For Cuba’s governor deceives himself.
His pure concern for human chattel, gold,
And bandying the Indies as it were
A distant annex of the Moorish war
Has wrought a desert from a paradise.
Long-term success requires a colony.
And with what wherewithal! These islanders
Stand head and shoulders o’er Carribbeans,
With their rich-painted books and towering keeps,
The graceful girding of their modesties-
SANDOVAL
Their slave trades, and their binding bright bouquets-
ALVARADO
Distilling liquor: Culture’s surest sign.
CORTÉS
Our prime directive is to baptize them,
Not march before their eyes the Seven Sins.
But how to learn their Tower-of-Babel tongues?
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
What if I can see it, smell it, almost touch it,
That gilded throne where I will proudly sit,
Would people think me mad,
Is my ambition so preposterous and bad.
And why not me, have I not earned this crown,
Someone not worthy of that queenly gown,
Bejeweled and composed for all to see,
My vassals all around, bowing deep to me.
Naysayers bleat I'm just an empty ship,
With lights and streamers pretending to be hip,
Without a cargo or destination clear,
Sailing in circles relying on the wind to steer.
But if we're given to analogies, what if I were a Trojan horse,
With clear intent and undisputed course,
Where guile and purpose rule the day,
The aim to soundly win not merely one to play.
Demean and underrate me at your peril,
I can pivot between angel and pure devil,
While my laugh is designed to be disarming,
It masks a side of me considerably less charming.
Everything I've wanted I've achieved,
A trajectory few would have believed,
Do you think I'll stop at this last jump,
And in so doing fully flatten Trump?
Aug 24, 2024
Aug 24, 2024 at 3:39 PM UTC
It's not that I'm silent I'm, rather,
lost for words
Because this series of events are the worst I've heard,
In a minute.
this is more than simply "under the weather" because this is a divine tragedy.
A story ,of the battles, of vassals, retainers and traitors;
heavens tribulations and its resounding failures.
Shocked; What took days, now hours.
The pettiest wrath is one born from wanting, fraudulent men exhibiting the worst of fruedian plans
and add a Hate:
born from nations divided, in ways outsiders decided: for the pay;
to make use of the weak till this day,
I can't comprehend this.
It's like the collective consciousness has taken cyanid the: matricide, fratricide, parricide and pedicide; is this an attempt of suicide?
Can't imagine terras eyes, Being terrorized by the homies side
blighting it's own kin, queens and this King's pride.
Is this blaze worth it's years to come when you burn away the blood that flows through us all and purge the graces we won,blessed with a unity, cursed by sub division, the delusions they built dictate how we liv'in.
I can't lie, at times like these I can only try an fly
forced to contemplate the irreconcilable and the priceless how can I evaluate the hate when I know it's love that elevates, so...
how can I;
I'm on the hated and hatful side, oh my what a time, what a time, to be alive.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 10:15 PM UTC
Truth be told though her vassals reportedly died,
To the last man, cut down by voice and guided steel,
Left floating dismembered and forgotten,
In a duet of song and venom.
Reality spoke as a contrarian.
For you see those flowing jade robes, with emerald armor beneath.
Decided it would be wise, to don a different disguise,
I can still keep them fed, if only modestly,
My royal blood is ours, for all my family,
I am house Venom now, the last Ivy keeper.
Since boyhood brought them to me, they've graciously accepted,
What was given to them was power, it made them stronger, wiser,
Incisive enough to slice as we do through theories and viewpoints,
Less often steel upon throat than words upon logic,
Felling disobedience before points could be taken back and,
Reforged into rallying force to bring the hordes against us.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Christopher, Albert and Richard.
Opened their eyes to the sound of familiar melodies,
Nearing their proximity to reinforce their position,
Upon a realm of strife not of their world,
The three brothers never could stomach violence,
They shied away from arguments, loud voices scared them.
Rick placed his back against a tree, breathing sharply, asking Sharin for a refreshed quiver.
Andulan ordered her vassals to return to her side, come back at once,
This is an embarrassing sight, you are obviously outmatched.
Hard swallows signaled acquiescence that tasted bitter, unlike the wine they imagined,
Awaiting them should they survive.
John, Paul and Kevin stood fanned out at three points in front of Sharin's mobile tree,
Bearing apples for all to see.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
The hooves graced the stage
And we artlessly digress
Like a bed of scorpions
Beneath turned stones
Unhinged and entranced
By the dance of flesh and bones.
Stings tremble with anticipation
Cowardly poised to poison
Perfecting pretense for defense
All scrambling for impunity
Among misbegotten virtues
And self-serving fidelities.
The vassals to a bloodborne crown
Trade nations for silken sheets
Hoping that the toast of upheaval
Could fill the hungry beast
But the glass refills another round
For a charade of witless relief.
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 9:34 PM UTC
Beside her blueberry carriage,
Arranged to golden marriage,
Ran six purebred horses, carrying blue upon gloves,
Hands around both reins and spear,
Looked onward towards the waking fear,
No vassals opposed to our stay and goes,
Could bring the stench of defeat up to my nose,
Our family knows best, since it was us who brought them down,
Ripped free from dragon skulls, a hefty well-deserved crown.
Cruel emerald tendrils, rooted in betrayal,
Scrapped against her insides, cutting wounds to bleed,
Often her agony tempted cries to ring out, but fear clenched her choice,
I was born a snake, so I will live as such.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC