Royalty Poems

Of splendid thrones of gold or treasures manifold Of jewelled caskets or lavish banquets Of Emirs and rajahs Of Sultan and Shahs Of kings and queens Of rulers and emperors Of sparkling crowns or flowing gowns Of their subservient stewards

Of splendid thrones of gold or treasures manifold Of jewelled caskets or lavish banquets Of Emirs and rajahs Of Sultan and Shahs Of kings and queens Of rulers and emperors Of sparkling crowns or flowing gowns Of their subservient stewards

Back in bygone days- one might have been amazed by all the tricks and trappings of the fool now that we are here- royalty is rarely near and what has cycled in is to be cool not-with-standing out- crystal clear-

All my dreams of her – not royalty or a classic beauty just a girl in a shift hair to her shoulders thick thighs and a rising color that gathered in her cheeks as she followed her herd of megafauna

One could tell that she had ascended from a peaceful and noble family of visionaries This rare beauty was never bounded by mirrors of painted images and selfishness She loved the open views that afforded her a first hand look

the horizon knows no bounds Urania ……… ……One Basic Truth….. The Suns ……The Moons…..The Stars …….The Sky …… Into their Eldest ………….…The Time ……..They Fly……. So Unfathomable ……..Beauty …………So Bounteous……..Powers ….. What Quantum of Energies ……These Celestial Cousins Possess ..

We found the kid outside of McCleary walking in a daysuit like some land owner off some nineteenth-century hacienda he got in the car stinking of moss and unwashed armpits there were at least two kinds of fluff in his

If I lived in the sky, dressed in gold, looking charmingly fine and on my lips honey glowed If I owned a kingdom spanning skyline to skyline with slaves at my beck and call due to royalty in my bloodline

As nights grow long a faint chill creeps in. Autumn royalty ascends like whispered wishes on the wind. Floating free on velvet wings in shades of black and tangerine, this regal host, a true wonder to behold. Ruling mild October

I feel sad, and it feels so helpless to me So little to do about the monsters of the sea They go north, then south; east, then west No one can steer them or bring them to rest So they

Who am I? A pure soul who’s supposed to witness slaughtering of dreams and souls but never reveal for the sake of graffiti Who am I? A beauty to be shown off and endure every pain without a single drop

  Roses have colours with global appeal; some are pink, blue, red, white and they reveal glamour and beauty for all to cherish. Roses have in them the power of love, so do they, the ability to heal a heart

Life with my father has Never been magical If anything it has always Been tyrannical I go home Anger welcomes me I meet the instigator The abuser You, my father You cheated me out of a Parental relationship Which caused

There once was a King, who lived in a castle, in a Kingdom of his own. He had everything, royalty could bring, except; he was alone. Since love wasn’t there, his castle was bare, just a building made out of

The reverse gravity pulls me into timelessness, holds me to become free from tremors. The truth of zero morality hurts. I am pathless, secular, godless. The blank paper decides, how the fingers will move. The uniform has a secret rendezvous

As lovely as the bright night the trees filled with glimmer as they tremble with tears dripping from their limbs. Glaring in a distance at the pole wires busy with droplets trying to make their way to safety as if

Is love something good or bad? Well, we all know that love makes you mad Love allows you to put your trust in that person’s hand Like someone suddenly decided to give you a thousand grand Love is something that’s

Sunshine haze over milky blue Ocean reflects white horses rolling wave Sea gulls squawk as they glide on warm winds effortlessly, above the port were boatmen slave Splendour azure skies trapping the contours of forests, behind cliffs tallest and brave

On my path to age gracefully, I realize, I’m captive to impulses, My greed triggers expectations, My ambitions drag me by head, I sense my pursuit for perfection sweeping off my honest efforts.. I fumble as an open book in

Oh and in the thick of fog The lighthouse is just a dim Shadow in the night everybody At James Bay knows this is that Time of the year as the ocean Rages with fury from the storm The Ghost

I was standing by the beach, Staring at the ocean When I saw a small boat Which was trying hard to stay afloat. I started to notice it with attention My face expressed tension It was fluttering left and right

Peace is a candle in the darkest hour. Love is the petals that fall from a flower. Peace is a rainbow arching the sky. Love is the child that keeps asking why? Peace is a dove in a sea of

Death in a glimmering light Love in the darkest place The balance of many things That goes unexplained So with the flame I bare And the love we share I rather death after a kiss from your lips Or die

I believe, I had not arrived when you were arbitrating between naked steel and the truth. Violence were you. I was watching the burning pyres in a row. Small hands were collecting the ashes, casting glances on the falcons. Why

Once again my mind takes flight . Looking at all there is to see. Wandering through different times and realities. Following things as perhaps they might be. Different story lines as far as any mind’s eye can see. Dizzying vistas

You never touch the ground neither go round and round hung up for a very different use your job now to make them amuse after retirement a change of fate now into swinging than erstwhile rotate sure I’m for this

Welcome! Welcome! I’ve been waiting for you. Now tell me, be honest, what did you do? Walk past the needy, ignoring you knew? Or was it more sinister thought through and well planned? I see you have blood smeared on

“Today at work”, she says, “My boss went berserk” Has all the luxuries of the world, Except if you see closely, she has no one. Beautiful and intelligent she is for sure, but Rumours tell me she was never chosen

Ask Van Gogh why he painted; A lunatic left at his own devices His grey mind sucking colors from the world into a canvas. Each rub leading to liberation from the known world The thick paste transforming a canvas; Into

A dream… Always like a stained past An unknown future A brimming river which dominates And takes you wherever it wants Doubtful, Undecided and Dark Sometimes sweet.. sometimes bitter Sometimes cute.. sometimes harsh Incredible yet uncontrollable Fantastic yet unpredictable A

Silent killer is what it is Nothing is worse than this Once it embeds itself in you There is nothing that you can do Inside you there is a voice It speaks so loud you can’t avoid Everytime it says

My Guitar Weeps My tired Fingers Strum The strings…. Crazy twangs Wild jingle… A sad song My guitar weeps The heaviness Of my lonely Heart…. The heart is wounded It bleeds The blood clots Into touching Words… A song is

Racism is a poisoned thorn that is imbedded in the heart of America. At first glance, it appears the thorn is merely a sliver creating a small amount of—discomfort but not really a wound worth considering after all, it will

Open Imagination flew from my hands bringing sunlight into play Rapture of fire beams flew across the crop planted in the fields Love was a place I knew nothing about It did come within my parents Each had been an

Come back to me. I yearn your bitter, yet velvety touch. You make me blush, I miss you in my lungs. Come back to me. You fill the void that you re-create, Every time I let you escape, From a

Standing at the head of the spacious hall, Miss Smith addressed the whole assembled school; Fixing the crowd with a firm, fluid eye, Silent tears rolled as she began to cry: “Our young Mark Newell, from Year Eleven, Has now,

I can’t touch its walls, neither I can touch its roof, the void within me expanse of emptiness with no end, no boundary infinite it seems its reach, its vastness. How can then it be within me? No, it’s me

Once I lived in Swaziland, Away from my country my beloved homeland. A beautiful country of Southern Africa, Manzini and Mababane are its heavenly replica. We lived in coats valley near the grove of guava trees, My maid used to

Long barbed wire- rage- divides nations imaginary line in the blue sky- fear- keeps nations alert beyond the waves of shore, a nation’s hand of power keeps control, subjects are squeezed, rulers thump feet, earth is divided in the name

At the END OF THIS AUTUMN, I am standing Under a barren tree, bleak and exposed TO weather with shedding leaves, There rests a house away from the barn, Decorated with vivid colours of rainbow And maintained by careful hearts

The Singapore-schooled child Is bonsai-born to perfection; His hair doesn’t grow wild; His mind has no inflection. He is just the rare inquiline His islanded government ordered For in his rinsed head is recorded A rhyme: toe the line or