Kingdom Over the Mountain
Courts are many in the kingdom over the mountain,
Where kings have stammered over their speeches,
Where the royal palaces must conserve their strength
To fight us in the lands of many, the land of plenty.
Offered a ghostly help by his subjects,
The king is expecting melodies to surprise his court,
His is the evolution to tame a monster and a country,
Too many troops have died in the end for this country.
Always some of us stage rebellion in trampling fashion,
In work of worst strategy, and fame at last.
Then a king and a queen have departed to the hereafter,
To the land of Paradise, the bouncy one.
Plenty of people gather in strong heaps,
To cling is the best strange action
So then we learn of these royal families
To cling on the hammer of their judgement.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A King in Exile
O THE Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
Sure, it is a wondrous country
Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
You could almost stroke her face.
And the dwellers in that country
Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
He can do—just anything!
And, although his regal stature
May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
Noblest, wisest, best of men.
Ah, how fondly I remember
The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
Was a reigning monarch there!
But my subjects they discrowned me
When they’d older, colder, grown;
And they took away my sceptre,
And upset my royal throne.
Yet, although a King in Exile,
Without subjects to command,
I am glad at heart to think I
Once was King of Babyland.
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Of The Mountain
Come on
Im gonna climb the mountain
Im gonna hit the top
I wanna go where nobodys ever been
Im never gonna stop
Im gonna reign, Im gonna shine
Im gonna beat the ground
Im gonna shoot through the night like a shot gun
Im gonna get on down, I wanna get on down
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Listen, dont try to save my soul from destruction
Im never gonna fall
Dont try to give me a piece of the action
Im gonna take it all
All the kings horses, all the kings men
Were gettin crazy again and again
Make up your mind, its time we get goin
Were gonna get on down, were gonna get on down
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Yeah, now
Oh, yeah, king of the mountain
Say it, king of the mountain
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain, yeah
Im the king of the mountain
And the winner takes it all, lets go, lets go, lets go
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where to complain
Where to go for complaint?
When king becomes blind and turn saint?
When kingdom is handed over to wolves
Whole mystery surrounds and treachery involves
Is it wise to turn the kingdom into holy land?
Leaving the subjects into the unholy hands?
Allow anarchy and misery to prevail
All rights and freedom may also to curtail
These were the old divine rights of the kings
King was master and we the animals in rings
No voice to be heard with clipping of wings
Not to even murmur and allowed to sing
Kings used to abdicate power in favour
Such a mad race shrouded in glamour
Such was state and no worry for subject
Power or authority only main object
Kings have vanished but leaders are born
Only power game and principles torn
Who knows which side they may turn?
Monarchy is over or likely to return
People still favour old king’s system
Voice was still heard…………………
Thousands of leaders have come into being
Promises forgotten and no welfare to bring
God may save country from clutch
King was accessible even within reach
Leaders have worries and no time to spare
There is no use quality to compare
We have no choice but to live with evil
One may be less other may be more devil
Life is short and has to be compromised
When words are reneged initially promised
There is no use for blood to get boiled
Only strong resolves to get attempts foiled
Still nothing is slipped away and out of hand
Rule should prevail with respect to holy land
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Ch 01 Manner Of Kings Story 06
It is narrated that one of the kings of Persia had stretched forth
his tyrannical hand to the possessions of his subjects and had begun
to oppress them so violently that in consequence of his fraudulent
extortions they dispersed in the world and chose exile on account of
the affliction entailed by his violence. When the population had
diminished, the prosperity of the country suffered, the treasury
remained empty and on every side enemies committed violence.
Who desires succour in the day of calamity,
Say to him: 'Be generous in times of prosperity.'
The slave with a ring in his ear, if not cherished will depart.
Be kind because then a stranger will become thy slave.
One day the Shahnamah was read in his assembly, the subject being
the ruin of the dominion of Zohak and the reign of Feridun. The vezier
asked the king how it came to pass that Feridun, who possessed neither
treasure nor land nor a retinue, established himself upon the
throne. He replied: 'As thou hast heard, the population
enthusiastically gathered around him and supported him so that he
attained royalty.' The vezier said: 'As the gathering around of the
population is the cause of royalty, then why dispersest thou the
population? Perhaps thou hast no desire for royalty?'
It is best to cherish the army as thy life
Because a sultan reigns by means of his troops.
The king asked: 'What is the reason for the gathering around of
the troops and the population?' He replied: 'A padshah must practise
justice that they may gather around him and clemency that they may
dwell in safety under the shadow of his government; but thou
possessest neither of these qualities.'
A tyrannic man cannot be a sultan
As a wolf cannot be a shepherd.
A padshah who establishes oppression
Destroys the basis of the wall of his own reign.
The king, displeased with the advice of his censorious vezier,
sent him to prison. Shortly afterwards the sons of the king's uncle
rose in rebellion, desirous of recovering the kingdom of their father.
The population, which had been reduced to the last extremity by the
king's oppression and scattered, now assembled around them and
supported them, till he lost control of the government and they took
possession of it.
A padshah who allows his subjects to be oppressed
Will in his day of calamity become a violent foe.
Be at peace with subjects and sit safe from attacks of foes
Because his subjects are the army of a just shahanshah.
Two Views Of the Same Country (Polar Opposites)
The land of plenty
The harmless country
The friendly land
That can only breed opportunity
Of 'righteous' people
Of 'open-minded' folk
The kind you talk to
While you have a smoke......
The land of sickly
The bully country
The greedy country
That can only survive on consumers
Of prejudice animals
Of close-minded folk
The kind that you poke fun at, just
For jokes..............
poem by Nick Lennert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Barbarous Chief
There was a kingdom known as the Mind,
A kingdom vast as fair,
And the brave king, Brain, had the right to reign,
In royal splendor there.
Oh! that was a beautiful, beautiful land,
Which unto this king was given;
Filled with everything good and grand,
And it reached from earth to heaven.
But a savage monster came one day
From over a distant border;
He warred with the king and disputed his sway,
And set the whole land in disorder.
He mounted the throne, which he made his own,
He sunk the kingdom in grief.
There was trouble and shame from the hour he came-
Illtemper, the barbarous chief.
He threw down the castles of love and peace,
He burned up the altars of prayers.
He trod down the grain that was planted by Brain,
And scattered thistles and tares.
He wasted the store-house of knowledge and drove
Queen Wisdom away in fright;
And a terrible gloom, like the cloud of doom,
Shrouded that land in night.
Bent on more havoc away he rushed
To the neighboring kingdom, Heart;
And the blossoms of kindness and hope he crushed-
And patience he pierced with his dart,
And he even went on to the Isthmus Soul,
That unites the mind with God,
And its beautiful bowers of fragrant flowers
With a ruthless heel he trod.
To you is given this wonderful land
Where the lordly Brain has sway;
But the border ruffian is near at hand,
Be on your guard, I pray.
Beware of Illtemper, the barbarous chief,
He is cruel as vice or sin,
And your beautiful kingdom will come to grief
If once you let him in.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Was King
The second time I lived on earth
Was several hundred years ago;
And—royal by my second birth—
I know as much as most men know.
I was a king who held the reins
As never modern monarch can;
I was a king, and I had brains,
And, what was more, I was a man!
Called to the throne in stormy times,
When things were at their very worst,
I had to fight—and not with rhymes—
My own self and my kindred first;
And after that my friends and foes,
And great abuses born of greed;
And when I’d fairly conquered those,
I ruled the land a king indeed.
I found a deal of rottenness,
Such as in modern towns we find;
I camped my poor in palaces
And tents upon the plain behind.
I marked the hovels, dens and drums
In that fair city by the sea.
And burnt the miles of wretched slums
And built the homes as they should be.
I stripped the baubles from the State,
And on the land I spent the spoil;
I hunted off the sullen great,
And to the farmers gave the soil.
My people were their own police;
My courts were free to everyone.
My priests were to preach love and peace;
My Judges to see justice done.
I’d studied men and studied kings,
No crawling cant would I allow;
I hated mean and paltry things,
As I can hate them even now.
A land of men I meant to see,
A strong and clean and noble race—
No subject dared kneel down to me,
But looked his king straight in the face
Had I not been a king in fact,
A king in council-hall and tent,
I might have let them crawl and act
The courtier to their heart’s content;
But when I called on other kings,
And saw men kneel, I felt inclined
To gently tip the abject things
And kick them very hard behind.
My subjects were not slaves, I guess,
But though the women in one thing—
A question ’twas of healthy dress—
Would dare to argue with their king
(I had to give in there, I own,
Though none denied that I was strong),
Yet they would hear my telephone
If anything went very wrong.
I also had some poets bright—
Their songs were grand, I will allow—
They were, if I remember right,
About as bad as bards are now.
I had to give them best at last,
And let them booze and let them sing;
As it is now, so in the past,
They’d small respect for gods or king.
I loved to wander through the streets—
I carried neither sword nor dirk—
And watch the building of my fleets,
And watch my artisans at work.
At times I would take off my coat
And show them how to do a thing—
Till someone, clucking in his throat,
Would stare and gasp, ‘It is the king!’
And I would say, ‘Shut up, you fools!
Is it for this my towns I burn?
You don’t know how to handle tools,
And by my faith you’ll have to learn!’
I was a king, but what of that?
A king may warble in the spring
And carry eggs home in his hat,
Provided that he is a king.
I loved to stroll about the town
With chums at night, and talk of things,
And, though I chanced to wear the crown,
My friends, by intellect, were kings.
When I was doubtful, then I might
Discuss a matter quietly,
But when I felt that I was right
No power on earth could alter me!
And now and then it was no sin
Nor folly to relax a bit—
I’d take my friends into an inn
And call for wine and pay for it.
And then of many things we’d clack
With loosened tongues and visions clear—
I often heard behind my back
The whispered ‘Peace, the king is here!’
The women harped about a queen,
I knew they longed to have a court
And flaunt their feathers on the scene,
But hitherto I’d held the fort.
My subjects wanted me, no doubt,
To give the throne a son and heir—
(There were some little kings about,
But that was neither here nor there).
I’d no occasion for a wife—
A queen as yet was not my plan;
I’d seen a lot of married life—
My sire had been a married man.
‘A son and heir be hanged!’ I said—
‘How dare you ask for such a thing,
‘You fight it out when I am dead
‘And let the best man be the king!’
‘Your Majesty, we love you well!’
A candid friend would say to me—
‘But there be tales that people tell
‘Unfitted to thy dignity’—
‘My dignity be damned!’ I’d say,
‘Bring me no women’s chattering!
‘I’ll be a man while yet I may—
‘When trouble comes I’ll be a king!
I’d kept my kingdom clean and strong
While other kingdoms were like ours—
I had no need to brook a wrong,
I feared not all the rotten Powers
I did not eat my heart out then,
Nor feebly fight in verse or prose
I’d take five hundred thousand men
To argue matters with my foes!
It thrilled me through, the mighty tramp
Of armëd men, the thundering cheer—
The pregnant whisper through the camp
At dead of night: ‘The King is here!’
And though we paid for victory
On some fields that were hard to hold,
The faith my soldiers had in me
Oft strengthened mine a hundredfold.
I’d chat with soldiers by the fires
On rocky heights and river banks,
I’d seek the brains that war requires,
And take my captains from the ranks.
And so, until the storm was by,
And came the peace just war can bring,
I bore me so that men might cry
With all their hearts, ‘God Save the King.’
When I was king the world was wide,
And I was strong and I was free.
I knew no hatred, knew no pride,
No envy and no treachery.
I feared no lies. I feared no truth,
Nor any storm that time might bring.
I had my love, I had my youth,
The world was mine when I was king.
Peace came at last—and strange is Fate—
The women begged just once alone
To see me robed in royal state
And seated on my father’s throne.
I thought, ‘Shall I this boon deny?’
And said—and ’twas a paltry thing:
‘I’ll show the fools just once that I
‘Can look, as well as be, a king.’
They dusted out the castle old,
And from the closet and the chest
They dug the jewels set in gold—
The crown and robes and all the rest.
They came with eyes like stars of night,
With diamonds set in raven hair,
They came with arms and bosoms white—
And, Oh my God! but one was fair!
They dressed me as the kings had been,
The ancient royal purple spread,
And one that was to be my queen,
She placed the circlet on my head.
They pressed their hearts and bowed to me,
They knelt with arms uplifted all.
I felt the rush of vanity—
The pride that goes before the fall.
And then the banquet and the wine
With Satan’s music and the glance
Of siren eyes. Those captains mine
Were reeling in the maddening dance:
A finger writing on the wall,
While girls sang as the angels sing—
A drunken boaster in the hall,
The fool that used to be a king.
I rose again—no matter how—
A woman, and a deeper fall—
I move amongst my people now
The most degraded of them all.
But, if in centuries to come,
I live once more and claim my own,
I’ll see my subjects blind and dumb
Before they set me on a throne
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ankomeah
Out of the royal bounty and out of peace,
Cling unto love to swing with the muse;
But be careful about life at times with,
Apes and peacocks as the signature tune.
Ankomeah, i desired your love but you left me lonely;
But King Solomon had 700 royal wives and 300 concubines.
Oh Queen Tahpenes, do extend my regards to Ankomeah;
And do lift up your staff and stretch it out over the Red Sea,
For my lover had left me in the cold.
Life is like to gather stubble to use for straw,
Of a pillar of cloud dy day and a pillar of fire by night;
I am now drowed in the Red sea of love because,
Ankomeah had left me in the cold.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King Will Return
They were attacked by surprise
In the middle of the night
They didnt stand a single chance
A single chance to fight
After the battle they gathered around the king
And they had never seen that man so sad
Im riding out to get those men
Who hurt my people bad, so bad
The king will return
With gold in his hand
The castle will burn
In the enemy land
And be will save our people
When two springs had passed a messanger
Came down the track
He said that he had heard great news
The king is coming back
Oh the time he was gone
They suffered bad in misery
Tehy didnt know the way
Everyone was shouting
Save our kingdom now
They suffered bad in pain
The time he was away
But maybe now they could survive
Now they could survive
When the king came down the hill
To his people and his land
There were many tears
That touched the ground
And made marks in the sand
Yes now they could start all over again
And live in peace throughout time
Everyone was shouting
When the king came down the hill
The king is returning with gold in his hand
The castle is burning
In the enemy land
The king is...
song performed by by Europe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Warrior King
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Lived for his whole reign thro'
The father and friend of his people,
Soldier and statesman, too.
When his armies rode to the carnage,
'Twas their King who rode at their hear
To battle as great Kings battled...
And Albert the King is dead.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Looking at doomed Louvain,
Wept for the plight of his people,
Grieved for his country's pain.
But the pride of a King upheld him;
The strength of a true King stayed,
And the love of a wise King triumphed
Thro' the travail, undismayed.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
After the red war's close,
Seeking no rest from his labors,
As a builder now arose;
Lending his life to service,
Turning to tasks anew,
Healing his country's war-wounds
Builder and comforter, too.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Died as a Man would die,
Prone on earth's broad bosom,
Under the open sky.
To a swift and merciful passing,
Here went, at the end of his span,
A greater that King of his people
A wise and well-loved man.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Of Groove
Morris butch stewart
Everybody wants to be a star
Everybody wants to be accepted by the mass
Everybody wants to be raging fire
But their heat dont last
Everybody wanta peek into my dreams
They try to figure out if Im just full of jive
Everybody wanta ride in my limousine
But nobody wants to drive
Chorus:
But Im the king
Im the king of groove
Yes Im the king
Im the king of groove
Hes the king of groove (I cantt lose)
(summon the royal brass)
Everybody want a piece of the pie
But theyll take a pass if its a case of do or die
The greener syndrome is at hand
Well kick the feline or come forth and take a stand
If youre wishing on a star
Ooh I pray your wishes bring you to receive the call
The king of groove is going far
And in my kingdom there is room for all
Chorus:
cause Im the king
Im the king of groove
Yes Im the king
Im the king of groove
Bridge:
King of groove
I cant lose,
Stand back and watch my moves
cause Im the king of groove
Im the king yeah Im the king
Yeah iiiIm the king of groove
Hes the king of groove
Thats right
Bridge:
Well, youve got your
This of that and your that of this
With the king of groove baby you cant miss
You got your joan of arc
And your house of wax
But with the king of groove
Youll be jammin back
You got your dukes of hazzard and your duke of earl
And the queen of sheba, she was one bad girl
Aretha franklin, shes the queen of soul
But the king of groove
Is in control
Hes got the lord of lords
And the king of kings
He keeps the king of groove
Doing his thing
You cant stop him
No matter what you do
cause youre dealing with
The king of groove
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of Kings
Behold the son of royal birth,
Aligned by blood, no less,
To ancient kings who proved their worth
And ones God chose to bless.
Consider all that history
Has taught us through the years,
Each miracle, each mystery,
The laughter and the tears...
Consider how each king is raised
From birth to adulthood...
As if like diamonds, well appraised,
Superior not just good...
Reflect on posture that's portrayed
To signify his throne...
That tells you he must be obeyed,
For he is king alone...
Remember all his mighty power,
His strength and bravery.
For he is king and you should cower
At all there is to see.
That majesty, that dignity,
That stare that meets your eyes...
Should grant your soul some clarity
And help you realise...
That here he is, the king of kings...
Perhaps your friend or foe...
In either case, his underlings...
What more is there to know?
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'King Of Kings'.
While this poem is about the lion painting,
the poem is written without any reference
to the lion at all. That's because of the
Christian symbolism of Jesus, the Son of God,
whose royal ancestors meant that He was
called the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.
The poem ends with the realisation for each soul.
Are you a friend or a foe to the King of Kings?
More Stephen Gayford poems can be viewed here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King's Breakfast
The King's Breakfast
The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
"Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, "Certainly,
I'll go and tell the cow
Now
Before she goes to bed."
The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
"Don't forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread."
The Alderney
Said sleepily:
"You'd better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead."
The Dairymaid
Said, "Fancy!"
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
The Queen said
"Oh!:
And went to
His Majesty:
"Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?"
The King said,
"Bother!"
And then he said,
"Oh, deary me!"
The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"
And went back to bed.
"Nobody,"
He whimpered,
"Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!"
The Queen said,
"There, there!"
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, "There, there!"
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
"There, there!
I didn't really
Mean it;
Here's milk for his porringer,
And butter for his bread."
The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
"Butter, eh?"
And bounced out of bed.
"Nobody," he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,
"Nobody," he said,
As he slid down the banisters,
"Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man -
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Shepherd's Wife's Song
Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter, too:
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,
And merrier, too:
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:
He kisseth first, then sits at blithe to eat
His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat,
And blither, too:
For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:
To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween,
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;
More wanton, too:
For kings have many griefs, affects to move,
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:
Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his bed of down;
More sounder, too:
For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:
Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sithe,
And blither, too:
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,
Since country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
poem by Robert Greene
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spoonful Of Sugar
I adore a confrontation, and I should be ashamed
A carnival of complication, everyones to blame
We can see the rockets red glare
Pipe bomb bursting in the air
As we proudly hail our taxis out of the fight
Singing born of this nation of white bread foundation
Were taping a king, beaten of his crown
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down
I have seen the hungry faces, and I have been removed
Evidence in welfare cases, never being proved
Weve written books on education
Summoned federal regulation
Skeleton hid deeply til its bones turn to dust
I know an old lady who swallowed a fly
I dont know why exactly, I guess shell die
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down
And God save the queen, oh, and pardon the king
And our ballots well stuff, then drink till we drown
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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L'Ancien Regime
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king,
Our king all kings above?
A young girl brought him love;
And he dowered her with shame,
With a sort of infamous fame,
And then with lonely years
Of penance and bitter tears --
Love is scarcely the thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
A statesman brought him planned
Justice for all the land;
And he in recompense got
Fierce struggle with brigue and plot,
Then a fall from lofty place
Into exile and disgrace --
Justice is never the thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
A writer brought him truth;
And first he imprisoned the youth,
And then he bestowed a free pyre
That the works might have plenty of fire,
And also to cure the pain
Of the headache called thought in the brain --
Truth is a very bad thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
The people brought their sure
Loyalty fervid and pure;
And he gave them bountiful spoil
Of taxes and hunger and toil,
Ignorance, brutish plight,
And wholesale slaughter in fight --
Loyalty's quite the worst thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
A courtier brought to his feet
Servility graceful and sweet,
With an ever ready smile
And an ever supple guile;
And he got in reward the place
Of the statesman in disgrace --
Servility's always a thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
A soldier brought him war,
La gloire, la victoire,
Ravage and carnage and groans,
For the pious Te Deum tones;
And he got in return for himself
Rank and honors and pelf --
War is a very fine thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king?
A harlot brought him her flesh,
Her lusts, and the manifold mesh
Of her wiles intervolved with caprice;
And he gave her his realm to fleece,
To corrupt, to ruin, and gave
Himself for her toy and her slave
Harlotry's just the thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring
For a gift to our lord the king,
Our king who fears to die?
A priest brought him a lie,
The blackness of hell uprolled
In heaven's shining gold;
And he got as guerdon for that
A see and a cardinal's hat --
A lie is an excellent thing
To bring as a gift for our king.
Has any one yet a thing
For a gift to our lord the king?
The country gave him a tomb,
A magnificent sleeping-room;
And for this it obtained some rest,
Clear riddance of many a pest,
And a hope which it much enjoyed
That the throne would continue void --
A tomb is the very best thing
For a gift to our lord the king.
poem by James Thomson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bible Stories: Esther (Part IIA)
In reward for his great service,
Haman, son of Hammedatha,
Was raised to the highest rank,
Second to just the King himself;
All servants and all officials
Would kneel and bow their head to him
As per the royal order then;
But Mordecai would ne’er do this;
All wondered why he thus behaved;
Being a Jew was his excuse.
When servants told Haman of this,
He was much angered by the news;
He planned to punish Mordecai,
And destroy every Jew that lived!
All Jews would be killed in one day-
The thirteenth day of Adar month,
In the twelfth year of the King’s reign.
Haman brain-washed the king and said:
“Scattered among your kingdom, Sir,
Are certain people with own laws,
Who do not obey King’s orders.
Haman would pay a heavy sum
In silver to the treasury,
If King issued a new decree
To have them destroyed in one day.
They were a hurdle to progress;
The king handed his signet ring
To Haman, as he impressed him;
He empowered him to act fast;
Calling all scribes, then Haman wrote
An order on the King’s behalf
And sealed it with the royal ring:
“All Jews in all the provinces
Both young and old, of both sexes
Would face mass annihilation;
Their goods would be confiscated! ”
The king’s decree was sent to all
The Governors of his kingdom,
To make forthwith preparations.
poem by John Celes
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The Ah Goo Tongue
The queerest languages known to man,
Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan,
Are all translated and made as free
And comprehensive as A B C.
Yet the oldest language talked or sung,
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue,
The royal language of Babyland
No man living can understand.
Every soul in the world to-day
Was one time anchored in Babyland Bay,
And quarantined there for a year or more
Before he even could step on shore.
And everybody in Babyland Bay
Talks the Ah Goo tongue, so people say,
But once on land-why not a word
Do they understand of it when 'tis heard.
For the fairy rulers of Babyland
Who guard the kingdom on every hand,
Have willed that no one shall keep the key
Who crosses into the Grown-up Sea.
So the sweet court language has never been made
A common parlance of strife or trade,
But is kept in the kingdom where natives come
Versed in the language of Babydom.
They are all of them royal and that is how
The Grown-up people all kneel and bow,
When they hear that language talked or sung-
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Day For Thanksgiving
Today we celebrate a proclamation, to thank our Gracious Lord and God.
To thank Him all across this nation, throughout this blessed land we trod.
And we thank Him for our Salvation, while with humbled hearts we nod.
We’re set apart through Sanctification, and led by Christ’s staff and rod.
Our country’s blessed in many ways, through The Lord’s Amazing Grace.
A Grace that sustains all our days, and across all this land in every place.
It is to The Lord we give our praise, while we also humbly seek His face.
For to that land that humbly prays, God shall continue His Loving Grace.
For us this country is a land of plenty, supplied by The Loving Lord above.
He reaches down while guiding many, with His awesome Grace and Love.
And God can meet the needs of any, fitting them just like a hand in glove.
So when blessed in a land of plenty, it should be God you’re thinking of.
Our Thanksgiving Day had its start, through the decision of just one man.
It is just one day that is set apart, to express thanks throughout our land.
And thankfulness is at the heart, as we acknowledge God’s Loving Hand.
Thanks each day we should impart, until all men truly come to understand.
Our country’s birth and every nation, is conceived by our Sovereign God,
Who alone deserves all men’s praise, for His sustaining and loving Grace.
A Grace that reaches down to many, drawing them to Christ and His Love,
Until He touches every single heart, of every single man upon every land.
(Copyright ©11/2005)