Bury st. Edmunds
Visit the abbey in ruin,
Greene king pubs beckoning you in,
Amid bloom see the sights you can,
See links to an age that's Norman,
A charming suffolk market town,
That's known by an arrow shot crown,
Named after the martyr king Edmund,
The true patron saint of England,
Sample the local vintage ales,
Take in the area's folktales,
See the history in Moyse's hall,
Bury cathedral standing tall,
Note what's on at the theatre royal,
At the festival enjoy all,
Walk the lark vale and angel hill,
Fondness a visit will instil.
poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The River Lark
The valley of the River Lark,
Whether carved through a country park,
Set along side a tranquil lake,
Crafts a beautiful walk to take,
Life ever teems upon the bank,
Mother nature we've cause to thank,
Age old roots of the English Oak,
Those too of the quaint local folk,
Down in the South East of England,
Amid a blanket of farmland,
The charming Suffolk countryside,
Where there are treasures to be spied,
A course cut by many a wood,
Prized by those in the neighbourhood,
There is much worthy to behold,
Owing to settlements of old.
poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Death of William Rufus
The Red King's gone a-hunting, in the woods his father made
For the tall red deer to wander through the thicket and the glade,
The King and Walter Tyrrel, Prince Henry and the rest
Are all gone out upon the sport the Red King loves the best.
Last night, when they were feasting in the royal banquet-hall,
De Breteuil told a dream he had, that evil would befall
If the King should go to-morrow to the hunting of the deer,
And while he spoke, the fiery face grew well-nigh pale to hear.
He drank until the fire came back, and all his heart was brave,
Then bade them keep such woman's tales to tell an English slave,
For he would hunt to-morrow, though a thousand dreams foretold
All the sorrow and the mischief De Breteuil's brain could hold.
So the Red King's gone a-hunting, for all that they could do,
And an arrow in the greenwood made De Breteuil's dream come true.
They said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been,
But there's many walk the forest when the leaves are thick and
green.
There's many walk the forest, who would gladly see the sport,
When the King goes out a-hunting with the nobles of his court,
And when the nobles scatter, and the King is left alone,
There are thickets where an English slave might string his bow
unknown.
The forest laws are cruel, and the time is hard as steel
To English slaves, trod down and bruised beneath the Norman heel.
Like worms they writhe, but by-and-by the Norman heel may learn
There are worms that carry poison, and that are not slow to turn.
The lords came back, by one and two, from straying far apart,
And they found the Red King lying with an arrow in his heart.
Who should have done the deed, but him by whom it first was seen?
So they said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been.
They cried upon Prince Henry, the brother of the King,
And he came up the greenwood, and rode into the ring.
He looked upon his brother's face, and then he turned away,
And galloped off to Winchester, where all the treasure lay.
`God strike me,' cried De Breteuil, `but brothers' blood is thin!
And why should ours be thicker that are neither kith nor kin?'
They spurred their horses in the flank, and swiftly thence they
passed,
But Walter Tyrrel lingered and forsook his liege the last.
They say it was enchantment, that fixed him to the scene,
To look upon his traitor's work, and so it may have been.
But presently he got to horse, and took the seaward way,
And all alone within the glade, in state the Red King lay.
Then a creaking cart came slowly, which a charcoal-burner drove.
He found the dead man lying, a ghastly treasure-trove;
He raised the corpse for charity, and on his wagon laid,
And so the Red King drove in state from out the forest glade.
His hair was like a yellow flame about the bloated face,
The blood had stained his tunic from the fatal arrow-place.
Not good to look upon was he, in life, nor yet when dead.
The driver of the cart drove on, and never turned his head.
When next the nobles throng at night the royal banquet-hall,
Another King will rule the feast, the drinking and the brawl,
While Walter Tyrrel walks alone upon the Norman shore,
And the Red King in the forest will chase the deer no more.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade De Marguerite (Normande)
I am weary of lying within the chase
When the knights are meeting in market-place.
Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town
Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.
But I would not go where the Squires ride,
I would only walk by my Lady's side.
Alack! and alack! thou art overbold,
A Forester's son may not eat off gold.
Will she love me the less that my Father is seen
Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?
Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,
Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.
Ah, if she is working the arras bright
I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.
Perchance she is hunting of the deer,
How could you follow o'er hill and mere?
Ah, if she is riding with the court,
I might run beside her and wind the morte.
Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys,
(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)
Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,
I might swing the censer and ring the bell.
Come in, my son, for you look sae pale,
The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.
But who are these knights in bright array?
Is it a pageant the rich folks play?
'T is the King of England from over sea,
Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.
But why does the curfew toll sae low?
And why do the mourners walk a-row?
O 't is Hugh of Amiens my sister's son
Who is lying stark, for his day is done.
Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,
It is no strong man who lies on the bier.
O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,
I knew she would die at the autumn fall.
Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,
Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.
O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin,
(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)
But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,
'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'
Come in, my son, and lie on the bed,
And let the dead folk bury their dead.
O mother, you know I loved her true:
O mother, hath one grave room for two?
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
King Money
Not what you are,
But what youve earned
Where jack-queen-king
Moneys concerned
A friend in need is a friend in debt
That kinda friend king money can forget.
May those that are full get struck dumb
When they tell the hungry of the good times
To come,
More money than sense in their defence
And cheaper jokes at our expense
So if your king is money
Then I feel sorry for you
And if you think that its funny
Then maybe you do...
Maybe you do king money
King money, king money
The midas touch doesnt mean
That much until youre crippled with greed,
Using gold as a crutch or half a man
For half a crown for half a kingdom
For half a town
No geldt-in-my-pelt-jack,
No cash in my shack so tell me the things
That you think I lack
Just what kinda price are you willing to pay
For a holiday from the royal tourniquet
So if your king is money
Then I feel sorry for you
And if you think that its funny
Then maybe you do...
Maybe you do king money
King money, king money
Standing by the xerox machine
I want to duplicate some money
Build a fortune up in black and white
But Ill need a master copy.
Youre gonna give your love to me
Shake an apple off the apple tree
When she moves its poetry
Come to me now, one, two, three
King ka
King ka
King king money
Plan the perfect double murder
Maybe win the pools when I get some money
Honey, Ill be knee high in consumer
Durables
Adorables...
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade De Marguerite
(NORMANDE.)
I AM weary of lying within the chase
When the knights are meeting in market-place.
Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town
Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.
But I would not go where the Squires ride,
I would only walk by my Lady's side.
Alack! and alack! thou art over bold,
A Forester's son may not eat off gold.
Will she love me the less that my Father is seen,
Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?
Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,
Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.
Ah, if she is working the arras bright
I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.
Perchance she is hunting of the deer,
How could you follow o'er hill and meer?
Ah, if she is riding with the court,
I might run beside her and wind the morte.
Perchance she is kneeling in S. Denys,
(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)
Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,
I might swing the censer and ring the bell.
Come in my son, for you look sae pale,
The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.
But who are these knights in bright array?
Is it a pageant the rich folks play?
'Tis the King of England from over sea,
Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.
But why does the curfew toll sae low
And why do the mourners walk a-row?
O 'tis Hugh of Amiens my sister's son
Who is lying stark, for his day is done.
Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,
It is no strong man who lies on the bier.
O 'tis old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,
I knew she would die at the autumn fall.
Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,
Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.
O 'tis none of our kith and none of our kin,
(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)
But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,
'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'
Come in my son and lie on the bed,
And let the dead folk bury their dead.
O mother, you know I loved her true:
O mother, hath one grave room for two?
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kebra Nagast – Ark of the Covenant
A new Mystery for Me:
The Ethiopian Queen known as Queen Makeda
came to visit King Solomon of Israel
we read in Chapter 25 of the ancient
Ethiopian Epic Kebra Nagast
King Solomon sent her home
with the gift of half his kingdom
carried through the night
as swift as an eagle in his flight
On Solomon’s secret Flying Machine
afterwards she gave birth to his son
known as King Menelik
who returned to King Solomon
In his Flying Aircraft
to carry off the Ark of the
Covenant to its final
resting place
The town of Axun that had been
founded by Noah’s grandson
so history came
full circle
And I can breathe again:
The Mystery is still
unsolved!
poem by Margaret Alice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Emperor of Germany is the king of kings, the King of Spain king of men, the King of France king of asses, the King of England king of devils.
The Ballad of Ben Hall's Gang
Come all ye wild colonials And listen to my tale;
A story of bushrangers' deeds I will to you unveil.
'Tis of those gallant heroes, Game fighters one and all;
And we'll sit and sing, Long Live the King,
Dunn,Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
Ben Hall he was a squatter bloke Who owned a thousand head;
A peaceful man he was until Arrested by Sir Fred.
His home burned down, his wife cleared out,
His cattle perished all;
"They'll not take me a second time,'
Says valiant Ben Hall.
John Gilbert was a flash cove, And John O'Meally too;
With Ben and Bourke and Johnny Vane
They all were comrades true.
They rode into Canowindra And gave a public ball.
'Roll up, roll up, and have a spree,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.
They took possession of the town, Including the public-houses,
And treated all the cockatoos And shouted for their spouses.
They danced with all the pretty girls And held a carnival.
'We don't hurt them who don't hurt us,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.
They made a raid on Bathurst, The pace was getting hot;
But Johnny Vane surrendered After Micky Burke was shot,
O'Meally at Goimbla Did like a hero fall;
'The game is getting lively,'
Says John Gilbert and Ben Hall.
Then Gilbert took a holiday, Ben Hall got new recruits;
The Old Man and Dunleavy Shared in the plunder's fruits.
Dunleavy he surrendered And they jagged the Old Man tall -
So Johnny Gilbert came again
To help his mate Ben Hall.
John Dunn he was a jockey bloke, A-riding all the winners,
Until he joined Hall's gang to rob The publicans and sinners;
And many a time the Royal Mail Bailed up at John Dunn's call.
A thousand pounds is on their heads -
Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
'Next week we'll visit Goulburn And clean the banks out there;
So if you see the troopers, Just tell them to beware;
Some day to Sydney city We mean to pay a call,
And we'll take the whole damn country,'
Says Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The whole world is in revolt. Soon there will be only five Kings left--the King of England, the King of Spades, The King of Clubs, the King of Hearts, and the King of Diamonds.
quote by King Farouk of Egypt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The whole world is in revolt. Soon there will be only five Kings left--the King of England, the King of Spades, The King of Clubs, the King of Hearts, and the King of Diamonds.
quote by King Farouk of Egypt (1948)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Today... 'Christ the King of Israel
Rejected and spurned they just would not receive
Him as Christ the king and they did not believe.
but there they crucified Him upon that hill
and platted a crown of thorns mocking Him still.
Reviling him they began to rant and rave.
'He saved others but Himself He cannot save'
All those that had preferred Barabbas instead.
'Let Him descend down now from the cross, ' they said.
We hear the God of heaven look down and say
'My King reigns upon My holy hill this day.'
For Jesus Christ is the King of Israel
and the King of all other nations as well.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
King Of The Mountain
Listen people can't you hear the voices that are crying out.
There's a hunger burning in the heart of their souls.
Maybe now that I got you let me tell you what I'm talking 'bout
Stand up and shout tonight we'll lose control
I been down and mistreated
Now we're standing undefeated.
I'm the King of the Mountain
I'm the King of the Hill
I'm the King of the Mountain
I'm the King of the Hill
You spend your life working 9 to 5 it's like doing time
Boss man says "Hey boy
song performed by by Bon Jovi from 7800 Degrees Fahrenheit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
For Too Much Self Pride
Your admirers have named you the man of the day
But with your success don't get carried away
For too much of self pride not good for one at all
Like some say it often comes before a fall.
Whilst some look up to you as king of the town
There are those who like to drag tall poppies down
That the ego can be self destructive no truer words said
And the praises of others has gone to your head.
On the hill of success one might say you've climbed far
And you no longer drink in your ex local bar
Your former best mates you no longer wish to know
With your success and fame apart from them you did grow.
With your new found wealthy mates in grade a restaurants you dine
And you only drink the most expensive wine
With the inflated ego of the new millionaire
But people like you sad to say are not rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King of Erin's Daughter
THE King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea;
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)
The King of Erin's Daughter went up the mountain side
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way,
'O somewhere waits a King's Son and I shall be his bride,
And tall he is and fair he is and none shall say him nay.'
The King of Erin's Daughter–O fair was she and sweet–
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's Son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.
O tall was he and fair was he. He looked into her face
And whispered in her ear a word un-named of mortal breath
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's Daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.
poem by Norah M. Holland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
St. Leonard
Of Frankish noble stock was born
Saint Leonard in 5th century.
His people were king’s courtiers
Of Clovis I, a pagan king;
He prayed to God for safe childbirth
and queen had a safe delivery.
The queen had joked to Leonard once
To stop an army’s invasion,
And Leonard prayed to living God,
And turned the battle’s tide, his side!
The king and many others got
Converted to Christianity;
Leonard had rode a donkey all day,
And got the land from king afree!
There-in, he built his monastery
And lived a hermit’s life austere
Preaching about the God, one true;
His brother Lifiard turned a saint!
Leonard then went to Limousin,
A forest where he lived alone,
a life of solitude and ate
just herbs and fruits found in the wild.
Converting those who came his way,
releasing prisoners by his sway,
he turned a saint and passed away.
They built some churches in his name:
the patron saint of prisoners all;
women in labor, locksmiths, miners.
Nov 6th is St. Leonard’s feast day.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-11-11
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Zebra Visit
f you’ve ever had a visit with a Zebra
It’s an animal that stands on its own
For there is nothing at all quite like it
As it nestles inside of its home
The markings are each one unique
For there are never two of the same
Although usually wild in other countries
They can sometimes be nice and quite tame
I was privileged to visit this huge barn
Where Clydesdales have their stalls
But imagine a Zebra in the midst
Standing so beautiful and so tall
Horses and Zebra’s are not exactly alike
And sizes can be very different too
The markings are so fascinating
Some seem to sit rather askew
So if you’re lucky and meet one
An animal that is truly exquisite
You will never ever forget it
To be able to have a Zebra visit!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Three Kings Of Cologne
From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King.
To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,
And many a beauteous golden thing;
They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,
And in that manger set them down.
Then spake the first king, and he said:
'O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!
I bring this crown to Bethlehem town
For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;
So give a heavenly crown to me
When I shall come at last to Thee!'
The second, then. 'I bring Thee here
This royal robe, O Child!' he cried;
'Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one
There is not in the world beside;
So in the day of doom requite
Me with a heavenly robe of white!'
The third king gave his gift, and quoth:
'Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,
And with these twain would I most fain
Anoint the body of my King;
So may their incense sometime rise
To plead for me in yonder skies!'
Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,
That gave their gifts, and went their way;
And now kneel I in prayer hard by
The cradle of the Child to-day;
Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring
As offering unto Christ, my King.
Yet have I brought a gift the Child
May not despise, however small;
For here I lay my heart to-day,
And it is full of love to all.
Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,
My only tribute, Christ, my King!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XII
Dear royal France! I fix the happy year
At forty--seven, because that Christmas--tide
There passed through Pau the Duke of Montpensier,
Fresh from his nuptials with his Spanish bride;
And because I, unwilling, shared their pride,
As youngest of the English children there,
By offering flowers to the fair glorified
Daughter of Bourbon standing on the stair--
A point in history. When we came at last
To this gay Paris I was doomed to love,
There were already rumours of the blast
That swept the Orleans songsters from their grove
In flight to London, after Polignac
And the true king, at their King Bourgeois' back.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
24 Hollywood Ave
24 Hollywood Ave.Cranford New Jersey is a home that is white,
this is the first house I lived in when I was born at night.
Just googled mapped it today,
It was interesting it was still standing o.k.
Maybe I will go visit when on the train,
see the area before I am old and grey.
Haven't been to New Jersey since 2010,
will visit state, only 2nd cousins are left.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 10,2012
www.suechevalier.com www.suzae.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!