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Historical persons challenge -- the poems

AlwaysHungry

AlwaysHungry

Literotica Guru
Joined
Mar 24, 2010
Posts
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From the Earl's Point of View (#1), by Pelegrino

FROM THE EARLS' POINT OF VIEW

Lord Gaveston,
a gay Gascóne,
who had it off with Eddy,
was sweeter than a lady.

Eddy thought so,
left himself go,
ignoring Isabella
for this young handsome fella.

Now, this Gascóne,
not lord, but clone,
was bend the king advising,
the earls antagonizing.

The kingdom lost
its pride and boast,
and left without a warship,
all for an arshole's worship.

At last the earls
shaved off his curls,
and thus no more big-headed,
he ended up beheaded.

After all that
the king fell flat
to Mortimer's brief glory,
but that's another story.

chorus at libidum
Piers Gaveston,
left all alone,
in dungeons deep, in Warwick,
your star has shone,
and then has gone
all dark and allegoric.​
 
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The Librarian (#2), by greenmountaineer

The Librarian

Giacomo keeps his cards close to his chest
and knows how to lose just enough lire
to please the Duke for an increase in pay
to shelve more books on the morrow
and play for the duchess his violin
at night when the Duke goes out to play,

but it isn't so much the music he makes
as much as the words he will say,
and oh how the duchess loves to be read to
at the end of the day.
 
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Hyperion (#3), by GuiltyPleasure

Hyperion

The sky draped earth in shades of blue and gold
and beauteous Hyperion was born
to rise in eastern skies and bless each dawn.
his mother, Gaia, wept to loose her hold.

she watched her glorious son get ever bright
and ride across his father’s great domain
to dip below the rim with crimson stain
and leave the sky a damson cloak of night.

he shared his gift with all, a blinding light
but none could meet his gaze without great pain
its fierceness drove brave men down to their knee.

his sister, Theia, sensuous in his sight
succumbed to love poured down on her like rain
the union was blessed with godlets three.

no other Titan claimed to be as bold
Hyperion would gaze on them with scorn
his fiery chariot left the heavens torn,
a sun god wrapped in fiercest heat, yet cold.
 
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Springtime on The Ark (#4), by GuiltyPleasure

Springtime on The Ark

Even though the skies still weep
and no land’s in sight,
no plum blossom or pussy willow,
it’s springtime on the Ark.
Animals partner, behaving as naturally
as confines allow.
Motion sickness to morning sickness
and Noah places buckets
in strategic spots like ashtrays
on a cruise, worrying all the while,
as bellies swell, if the Ark can stand the strain.

Ham and Japheth, sleeves rolled,
taking turns to watch for problems,
breach births or other such unpleasantness.
Mrs. Noah muses, thanking God
it isn’t her lying in the straw,
belly tight as a drum.
Catching Noah’s eye,
she blushes, blows a kiss.

The Ark is filled with nursery sounds,
bleats and mews and chirps.
As mothers nurse,
fathers preen oblivious
to the repopulating
of the drowned earth.
On deck Noah scans the heavy skies
for a dove.
 
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Blues for Number 25 (#5), by AlwaysHungry

Blues for Number 25

With lengthy strides
you followed the Emancipator's pace.
You offered to the continent below
an iron embrace,
a lovely girdle made of rail, and lo,
a love fraternal that abides,
though time and malice may efface
you from our memory even so.

About your life
there's little said, and now your fleeting fame
is just a dry pursuit for learned men.
And our most mighty mountain, like a loving wife,
assumed your name,
then changed her mind, and gave it up again.
Disdain for your outmoded kind is rife.
I love you just the same.
 
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Excerpts from "The Fantastic Story of Saint Sergius & Saint Bacchus", by Pelegrino

EXCERPTS FROM "THE FANTASTIC STORY OF SAINT SERGIUS & SAINT BACCHUS"

PART 1 : AFTER A NIGHT'S HARD FUCKING

FROM PROLOGUE

After a night's hard fucking
Sergius ruminates,
if he needs moral backing
and what to tell his mates.

*****

A tribune bold in battle
and wild as a bull,
but also sharp and subtle
and in peace time cool,

and a centurion rough,
but with a human heart,
made of a different stuff,
not like the other's, smart,

became hearty friends
in Diocletian's reign,
and rode to the world's ends
conquering new terrain.

A Roman and a Greek,
Patrician with low-born,
neither of them was weak,
in any kind of storm.

*****

After a night's hard fucking
so much to ruminate,
"These Christians need a whacking
for hindering the state!

"They're dirty, daft and barmy,
treason and death they brew,
deserters from the army,
corpse fuckers, me thinks too".

After a nights hard fucking
Sergius without a doubt,
this past night is re-trucking
and how it came about:

FROM CANTO 1

"I fucked a pious nun
because she asked me to,
now that the deed is done
there's nothing else to do,

except to ride my horse
and hit the road again,
I do not feel remorse,
I want out of this den.

She's not a common nun,
she is the proud abbess,
she never had such fun,
never been fucked, I guess.

She was a virgin chick
but now she is no more,
it was a clever trick
to leave unlocked my door!

She came through the dark
and asked me how I was,
I thought, "she wants a fuck",
pretending that I dose.

She came close to check,
I kept my eyes shut,
her breath caressed my neck,
I wondered, "Now what?"

Her lips on my forehead,
she left me a soft kiss,
I asked as if half-dead,
"Is anything amiss?"

"No, nothing is amiss,
sleep easy, Roman lad,
I've made a sinful wish,
I must be going mad".

I opened up one eye
and asked, "what was your wish?
Do tell me, don’t be shy!"
And gave her a kiss.

Her lips were trembling, hot,
I said, "Did you feel lust?"
She said, "I have been caught,
it's sinful but I must,

Woman I must become,
and since you are a man,
I beg of you, do come
and help me all you can".

"It is not like you think,
don’t let your soul be torn,
in bliss now let us sink,
and then emerge reborn".

She heard my words and cried
and asked if they were truth,
I said, "I never lied,
let's share our love and youth!"

she fell into my arms
whispering, "Take me all",
and as I touched her charms
she went out of control.

Her habit she let slide,
so, naked there she was,
too eager for the ride,
sweet smelling like a rose.

Big round tits, hard nipps,
my kisses fell like rain,
giving her countless tips,
for what's more there to gain.

*****

FROM CANTO 2

After a night's hard fucking
Sergius still ruminates,
he thinks something is lacking
and feels in dire straits.

He hears some heavy steps,
a Roman is ascending,
shouting in high peps,
aware not of offending.

"Sergius, are you awake?
Get up, my lad, it's late,
we're tied before day break
on business of the state".

"Bacchus, go fuck yourself,
piss off, get out of town,
don’t shout, I'm not deaf,
I'll be presently down".

I gave this foul abuse
to Bacchus, my old friend,
I thought, "There is no use
but to get out of bed".

So I got up in haste,
I dressed and tied my sword,
this place is no more chaste,
let's face this changing world.

The nuns with eyes shifting
observe these Roman louts,
these soldiers grim and drifting
to Bacchus crazy shouts.

Till everything is ready
and each one on his horse,
then from a place shady,
from an unknown source,

there comes a hopeless cry,
stifled voices here and there:
"So young for her to die...
She hanged herself... Don’t stare!"

I rush into the hall,
she's hanging from the ceiling,
Some nun says, "That was all...
this is your own killing!"

I look at her in fear,
not knowing what to say,
Bacchus says, "Fuck off, dear,
to Roman rule obey:

Hold her and cut her loose,
prepare her for the grave,
she was a silly goose,
still... honest, fair and brave!"

Soldiers and nuns obey,
attending to the corpse,
Bacchus keeps me at bay,
a Syrian old nun mopes.

"Bacchus, I think I'm lost,
I cannot understand,
our hospitable host...
her god, destroys this land…

"she cursed him in her lust...
I fucked her all night long...
our gods no more I trust,
this new faith seems too strong.

"She threw it all away,
enjoyed my every ride,
and then she goes astray,
committing suicide?"

"Sergius, you're talking shit,
our gods will give you strife,
this nunnery is fit
only for Roman knife.

"Let's burn the cursed place down
and fuck off out of here,
god with a thorny crown...
my arse… get in your gear!"

"No, Bacchus, let us wait,
let's see her to her grave,
passing that shadowy gate,
to death's eternal cave.

Close to each other stand
centurion and tribune
on this Egyptian sand,
morning in early June.

"let's fuck off out of here,
she left this scroll for you,
the matter is now clear,
her deed she couldn't undo".

*****

FROM CANTO 3: THE SCROLL

"My love, my shining star,
I ask your pardon, please,
by first dawn I'll be far,
carried by morning breeze.

I have no more a faith
by which to live and hope,
Christ is but a wraith,
religion has no scope.

"Eros dispelled my mist,
my god he proved untrue,
your love made me exist,
my only faith is you.

You love me not, I know,
to you I'm just a nun,
I want you free to go,
and thanks for this night's fun.

No god or faith could give
what you have given me,
I do not want to live,
and feel you no more free.

Forgive me my despair,
my death I don’t regret,
innocent lives do spare,
but Christian faith don’t fret.

It's thought up for the weak,
the lazy and the slime,
for every hopeless freak,
who wants an easy time.

If love was what they seek,
that love would be their end,
but they're just too weak,
they don’t love, they pretend.

I am not one of them,
I'm not afraid to die,
my passion is my gem,
my fair tribune, good bye.​
 
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Julius Turing Mourns his Son (#7), by GuiltyPleasure

Julius Turing Mourns his Son

Sharp as a tack, even as a child.
reports reached his mother and I
in India from his schools back home
and later, at Kings he seemed to find
a certain freedom.

our beautiful boy,
our brilliant gift,
our monstrous one is dead.

might as well have been hounded,
Frankenstein-like with pitchfork
and flame, bright wounds
searing the night, but it was words,
an obscene choice in broad day
that drove him on to desperation.
Their nescience, an echo
of the secrets which haunted him.

He died too soon,
too sad,
too unfinished.

Ethel, in her grief,
refused to believe he had died
by his own hand,
calculated,
purposeful.

After all the strife in work
and life, they cut him loose,
tossed him away,
unmindful that he saved the day
working through a labyrinth,
slipping in the missing piece,
defeating Enigma.

One could say
he died for England
after all.
 
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American Sonnet for Mother Theresa (#8), by greenmountaineer

American Sonnet for Mother Theresa

Theresa in her darkest hour
heard a lullaby of love
resounding in her middle ear
and therefore, what, an outcome of
some sedative to quell the fear
of what the mind's imagining?
Or perhaps her waiting tomb
indeed might be another womb.

For all the Hindu death she'd seen
another life would be serene,
and could it be her beads weren't meant
that heaven's gained when prayer is said?

unanswered when the hour went,
but what she did what makes a saint.
 
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The Paracosm of Ellis Bell (#9), by Minervous

The Paracosm of Ellis Bell

I named the northern island Gondal,
.......the southern, Gaaldine,
then peopled them with Lords and Lovers
.......to while away my time.

Each suffered through some several wars—
.......my rule was not benign,
but fickle, how a child's whim
.......turns cruel by design.

My princess, beautiful and keen,
.......o'er many men held sway.
They wrote her songs and poetry
.......and courted her each day.

But I grew jealous of their loves
.......and cursed them in my pain,
then sent each into battle where
.......they viciously were slain.

In time, I tired of my land
.......and laid my stories by.
I turned instead to darker dreams.
.......ones more complex and sly.

You may have read of Catherine
.......and Heathcliff and how love,
when drenched in acid bitterness
.......and prejudice will prove

that misery is what wins out
.......when grievance overrides
one's better senses. Even love
.......breeds anger, crossed with pride.
 
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The Maid of Orleans (#10), by Friedrich Schiller (translated by AlwaysHungry)

The Maid of Orleans

To taunt all noble human aspirations,
The scoffers rolled thee in the deepest dust.
Derision wars with beautiful creations,
And neither god nor angel does it trust.
It robs the heart of all that it holds dear,
And wounds both faith and folly with a sneer.

Yet, like thyself, of childlike derivation,
Herself a pious shepherdess like thou,
To thee gives Poetry her consecration,
And lifts thee to the stars eternal now.
To thee, a shape of glory shall she give,
The heart created thee -- forever live!

The world, it loves to blacken all that's glowing,
To dirty the sublime, that is its trait.
Fear not! For lovely hearts are overflowing
With passion for the lofty, for the great.
Let Momus entertain the marketplace,
A noble mind loves noble forms of grace.
 
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Radium Girls (#11), by Seanathon

Radium Girls

Marie Curie was the first,
those searching eyes;
pitchblende fingers forcing
open an atomic box.
Pandora with a promethean will,
let your glow bathe a new century
like the luminescent hands
on an Undark clock,
ticking away while radium girls
poison themselves beneath
with fine-tipped brushes
worked to a delicate point
by neon-green lips and
radioactive tongues,
admiring their luminous eyelids
and glow-in-the-dark fingernails
as they smile like schoolgirls
holding their hands toward
the sky to shield their faces
as the world ends in a
white-hot instant on a
clear Hiroshima morning.
Oh, those radium girls.
 
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Sen no Rikyū (#12), by EllenMore

Sen no Rikyū

When I explained
that beauty was simplicity,

the honorable Hayato smashed his fine
Chinese teapot and confessed
he sinned in pride.

Masaru mended
this broken porcelain

and there created perfection.

My pronouncements, however, displeased my Emperor
and he commanded
my seppuku. The tea at

my last ceremony
was bitter. Yet, I served it well.

I wrote one last poem and
knifed myself.

My friend Takako finished me.
 
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P.K. Page (#13), by Seanathon

P.K. Page

In Autumn I see her by the window,
a tea-colored sky outside as she sips
from a stone cup while a kettle boils dry.
On the table is a book by Rilke
with burnt ochre leaves pressed between the poems.
As she watches the daylight disappear
an implacable black cat scratches on
the wrong side of the door and she whispers
words that warm her as the cold night grows near:
nowhere-anywhere-is more safe than here.
 
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on a wheel and a prayer (#14), by Butters

on a wheel and a prayer

before jesus was a twinkle
in some god's eye
a chinaman gave thanks
to whomever invented the wheel
meaning he could shift the loads
that otherwise broke his wife's back
and meant there was more chance
of hot rice with fish before bed

after all, as history notes,
so much depends
on the wheelbarrow



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheelbarrow
 
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Prometheus (#15), by HarryHill

Prometheus

I know they say you are a god,
titan from antiquity,
legend chiseld, wrought in stone,
but you'll always be to me,
that first man to hold a flaming brand
against the fearsome night
defiantly throwing a primal scream
there beneath its flashing light
a gleam of bone from sweet roasting meat
lying at your feet,
beware preadators drawn by that scent,
man's finaly found his teeth
 
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Triptych for Leaena (#16), by Pelegrino

TRIPTYCH FOR LEAENA

1. LEAENA'S LETTER TO PHILODEMUS

I spied your "fair one" in the sacraments,
awful, cold, an ice column,
I send you my sincere condolences,
you sleep beside this turtle!

She was wearing summer clothes,
her snout had an orange shade,
ridiculous make up, stupid eyes,
her hair reminds one of plastered glue.

Different was its color at the edge
and otherwise was colored at the root,
it could be passed as blonde only by the blind,
for those who see it looks rather gray.

And then they laugh about my clan,
but we courtesans are stylish,
I have no hair dyes on my shelf,
nor do I have turtle fuckers as my lovers.

Oh, I forgot, in her graceless waist,
she wore a vulgar chain,
like some old hooker stooped from her position,
and I never saw a more hilarious spectacle.

Her legs stumpy, awful,
I imagined her naked and I laughed,
In this world conditions don’t exist
under which I would invite her to my bed.

Therefore, to Nemesis I would take an oath,
better to face the Chimera monster,
I would fuck with a frog as a last resort,
rather than untie her chain.

2. LEAENA'S DEATH

Bite hard with solid teeth to cut your tongue,
for all to see one of your other aspects,
Tyranny in times of bankruptcy,
In the torments that Hippias puts you through.

The blood is flowing from your mouth and runs down,
whatever he can do to you he is left only with your dumbness,
he will not find out the murderers of Hipparchus,
cause blood molds its own silence.

3. EPITAPH

Made of copper and with her tongue cut,
a lioness is rigged at Propylaea,
responding bravely to the tyrant,
a democrat Athenian hetaera,
honored by the ancient Athenians,
but forgotten by the new.​
 
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When Herc Battled That Jerk (#17), by Magnetron

When Herc Battled That Jerk

Heracles was a super hero of his day
The Lernaean Hydra he did slay
in the deep underground
not by cutting away the beast's many heads
as the stories of old say

No, it never happened that way

Instead of severing each neck
he rammed his Golden Sword
up the creature's ass
where its central brain was located
while crying out,
That's what you get for mything with me!

Yes, Heracles had a speech impediment

And he never kept those hydra heads
having no need for trophies of his victory

Super heroes aren't perfect
nor do they care to be perceived as such

Only the Greek Gods were that fucking vain
and their Olympus still ended up falling
 
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Shakespeare’s monkey (#18), by Piscator


Shakespeare’s monkey

William had a monkey
brought by the Portuguese
from deepest Africa.

It died just after
he’d come to love it.
He cut out its heart
and ate it raw,
then skinned it
and stuffed it
displaying it
prominently
in a corner
of the Globe
before the fire.

Words, thoughts
poured from his pen
and he had his prick
of the delectable young men
who flashed across the stage.
Yet in the corner,
a blood stain
lingered.

William too died early
before my next birthday
leaving only his words.

Written at a time when the links between HIV/AIDS and simians were being resolved
 
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Final Insight (#19), by Magnetron

Final Insight

Inhaled are the tidings of latter ages to come

Exhaled is dread upon the midnight air

Gasping
his breathing labored
knowing only the savagely ignorant
loons
and the flat earth society so dumb
invest their goods and breadcrumb wages
into the livelihoods of astrological sages

A hard lesson learned as his death is nigh
grains of sand in the hour glass
too few to spare

Final foreshadowings pass into each vacated lung
like butterflies fresh from vast cocoons of promise
crushed wings and all into balled up songs unsung
within a churning stomach rearing and sinking

More ironic than odd
their symbolism
mirroring the tiny desolate planets and moons
reflecting in the full steaming water bowl
suspended from rope within tripod before him

And he
being a vessel emptying of wishful thinking
spilling out any remainder of hope
a nourishment no longer filling his soul
long ago he gave up its drinking

His seering mind now twisting and veering
to avoid what it was already expecting

Cursed are those glimpsing the future

Blessed be the ones gifted with hindsight

The breath of what comes next
taken in on knees in prayer to God
and desire for death's forgetfulness
regarding frightful sights witnessed tonight

Generations unborn, heed this quatrain:
Days of mankind are numbered unkind
Contain your curiosity and abstain from prophecy
when looking forward with the worst in mind
 
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Unkulunkulu (#20), by greenmountaineer

Unkulunkulu

In a pit the Trekboers made him dig,
Bandele glared at the calamine chin
behind a breech loading Remington

above which Unkulunkulu rose
from a fetid swamp in Zululand
as a swarm of ancestral fathers

to canker tonight the jungle sweat
of farmers who pray to their Jesus Christ
under holey mosquito nets

that he kill all the snakes in paradise
for fear someday the reptiles will bite
Afrikaners in their beds.
 
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Untitled (#21), by Ashesh9

a young lawyer was humiliated in South Africa
he went back to his Upanishadic roots for succour
& gave the world Civil Disobedience or Satyagraha
the heartless Brits showered lathis
on nonviolent peaceful protesting satyagrahis
blood flowed like water
into the holy Ganges
human lives were cheaper
than the lowest ranked Imperial corporal
belonging to the ruling race
but events they were happening
World War two was flowing furiously apace
the Nuclear holocaust & massacre of helpless Jews
broke the feudal Monarchist mentality
into modern assembly line pews
on 15th August , Nineteen Forty Seven
a New Nation was born ---
from Hellish slavery into democratic Heaven
so here I am to pay my tribute
to the Father of My Nation
a defenceless victim to
Fundamentalist , Dogmatic assassination ..........
om
shanti
om...........
 
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estlin (#22), by Tzara

estlin

in lowercase his poems were writ
and twisted like a comic skit
where punctuation came to play
but grammar sometimes strayed away
yet somehow, everything was knit

into a form that really bit
satirically or one that hit
pomposity as quite cliché,
in lowercase!

his poems were like banana splits,
a winning card, effusive tips,
as tasty as a cheese soufflé
(though sometimes slightly, well, risqué)
but charming, everyone admits
and lowercase!
 
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The One Book (#23), by Magnetron

The One Book

Forging a mythological past for Englanders
like a jolly good natured but mad
goblin miner weaving a red wheelbarrow
through caverns sparkling with glints of
gold and mithril
silver and iron

gaining speed downhill towards a furnace blazing
as fierce as a white dwarf

for decades he inspired
the genre of science fiction and fantasy
this veritable treasure chest we have inherited

be it
Game of Thrones

or the role playing games
Dungeons & Dragons
and
Magic: The Gathering

so much more appends
upon
The Lord Of The Rings

than the mountain vault of notes
accompanying one man's epic literary vision
known as Middle Earth
 
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