The Making of a Prince IV: Eternal Wars for Sovereignty
A pen—a claymore, a crown; power
A paper—a vast land unconquered; possession
Tear drops and blood trickles down
In a troubled gypsy, pristine in beam and frown;
In a white lily, queen of her regalities;
An esoteric mesh—keys and codes,
Algorithms and genetics ensconced
In the marrows of a little prince's becoming
Burning a thousand year, browning a thousand leaf,
In the escritoire - the sanguinary palms of scars
And there I was, cringing without recoil,
A tatterdemalion defeat
A breathing carrion
Slumbering like a mirror
Concealing light.
But there's the damsel,
The king, and the star,
They vied for me
As how I shall for them
And now they have whittled
A prince from a lifeless stone
Shoved apathy away,
Lulled the demons to sleep,
And gorged destitution to death,
I shall depart and san
This part of the story
Where I shall wan away
From their reach
And shall they recognize
And leave no chance
To stagger and miss.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Princess And The Black Horse(Final Fight-I)
And they decided to start the fight at midnight,
as the wand would work then with brilliant spark.
To unriddle the mystery of dark reign of magician,
they had to kindle the light, to annihilate power dark.
Evening called night, and night sat with blackness,
and darkest became the kingdom of prince's father.
The princess, promised to call him, prince of light,
as dark denotes, night, blackness, evil power, rather.
The King opened a box of story, which told princess,
theirs was the kingdom of Light, full of peace, gay.
It was said, the sun never sets in his happy kingdom.
But, a magician came to that king's court one day.
He played trick of black magic, and covered the sun,
blocking the rays of the sun, he set his own reign.
By his power of witchery, he made the king a lion,
turning queen, to lioness, the prince a horse in chain.
Insidious was he, sold the prince in a witch-fair.
Sordid was his mind, without hesitation he became king.
In the unknown realm the prince as a dark horse,
was bought from the fair, and in king's stable did bring.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Gates of Riches
Open the gates of riches
To the beloved prince of kindness,
Who waited for ever with abacuses
And counted the coins with adeptness.
I am the king whose prince was bold,
And I coveted his prize, the very same as gold;
He owns everything now, the whole land of royalty,
He owns all the plants and animals - absurdity!
I am a king who needs a queen to rule all,
And the man my prince is owning the kingdom therewithal.
His thief is me and my wife, the queen of great health,
The prince is executed and I am left with the commonwealth.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Glass Slipper
She flounced into his private rooms
without a 'by your leave' to woo
and fluttering long eyelashes
had him by her side: News Flashes!
Hot young damsel woos the prince,
she with honeycombed plump lips
sweeter than most sugar candy
dressed in 'Tantalizing Pink'
Roll up, roll up read all about it,
hot young damsel and the Prince,
going out for a late supper.
It's the latest off the press.
They were spotted in a restaurant
small glass slipper in his hand
as he lent across the table
really, do I need expand?
Honeyed damsel tried the slipper
and by Jove, I say, it fit her!
'Marry me' said handsome prince
for the magic slipper fits.
Oh kind sir, said hot young damsel
then I would be Queen sweet man
I will wed you and be married,
P'haps you ought to meet my mam.
Mummy thought she'd caught a good'n
now she's talking to the press
which is how we got this story
Editor was most impressed!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Snow-White (Part 6)
He took her in his arms wanting to kiss her for the last time and to kill himself,
Someone told him to hit her in the back with his hand, it was a voice of an elf.
That piece of apple came out of her throat and Snow-White came back to life.
The prince held her again in his arms and couldn't stop kissing his future wife.
The wedding was set for the next day, and her mother was invited as well.
She told the king ''This evening we go to the wedding and I feel like hell! ''
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.
It closed its eyes saying, ''The young queen is a thousand times fairer than you! ''
She was so o'ertaken that she couldn't speak, she saw at least that her eyes are blue.
So jealous she was thinking of the young queen that she dressed herself in black,
But no one noticed any difference and she saw in her mirror the deadly crack.
She has quickened her heart with a cup of hate and a very sarcastic remark,
''All white is not always white due to its mask, when white keeps it dark''.
They put a pair of iron shoes into the fire and she had to put them on and dance,
She couldn't stop until she danced her death and the end of her Gothic romance.
Against the black of the winter snow, the white is still melting in Spring.
A blue sky above us may defy all odds, when its silence may precisely sting.
Against the white of the moonlight glow, the black may have its own sense,
But in front of the power and the money's show, love is always a false pretense.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Making of a Prince II: A King with Too Many Names
Eyes of adamantine admiration,
Eyes of green jealousy,
And like my own of enigma;
Skin of robust splendor,
Skin of soigné plutocracy,
And like my own of harsh grating;
He had a extensive collection
Of these myriad visions
Brands and names,
Epitaphs and banners…
He had too much already
And I cannot endow him
Of a gift, of a name,
But in spite of the perplexity
Of his multitude, I knew him
And the core of his magnitude
A soul, a heart, a thousand words,
An assuaging fix, a destructive machinism,
Triumphs and defeat;
Overwhelming his names—
He was a king, he was a king.
He was a brittle glass of a king
Capable of holding many dishabille
Possessing ice and fire, fire and ice,
For candid tears and for affections
And as he meander in this shriveled globe
In the superfluity of his winding paths
The sun casts his diadem loftily
And the glass that his vessel was
Spewed a vexing prism in prance
Of its thousand shades and inflections
And the affliction was upon him
This king with many a name
Displays his scars too flagrantly
For it was more noble, as he believed,
Than his unutterable bank of grandiosity
And perhaps, in his vain rummaging
In myself: a mirror bijou of slivers
He saw himself, in a dour vantage,
His eviscerations, and faults, and errs -
A little coy prince wilted from a dream
Under the sun's duress, in the fear's chest
Juxtaposed the graves we built and exhumed:
We talked of riddles,
Gambled with death and life,
Shuffled reveries,
Wrote garish words
And slurring veracity,
Survived genocides
And treacle poisons—
In his clandestine dominion
Deeper than his clad loin
I had rubbed myself luster
And before I depart
I saw what he did:
A coy little prince
poem by Norman Santos
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Pleas of a Claymore I
In my sedentary ineptitude,
I shall acquaint you with
The uncouth wails of a claymore
With the hissing sounds in the air
Of its unabashed bashings
Slicing through the verdigris of reticence
Swallowed, like serrated daggers
And the throat that bled the anarchy
That had always coiled in the underground
Grottos of a stagnant river.
I shall ring the sleeping bells,
With the shrills and clatters
Spewing the turbulent climates
Of a claymore in a warfare
That he vied for, like his own
And of a greater mayhem
When is he is not desirable
Pleasant and wanted,
And remained sheathed
Effacing incorrigible thousand winks
In the mausoleum of his scabbard
That pierced through the veneer
Of impassable platinum.
Have you ever seen a saber?
Obstinately lacerating its throat
In emitting the anguish
Into the moon as he raised
Its head to wedge the enemy;
A phantasmagoria of an adversary
In an amorphous shape
For he is an abused vessel
Of a blind tormented soul
In the emollient hands
That he had vied for
Like his very own.
Sometimes, the claymore
Is more of a scabbard
Than a sword.
And when the vigor is acquiesced
Cleaving into a carnage
With a remonstrative odium
He would bow his estoque
Into the sanguinary of the soil
Reeking with sepulchral remorse
Only to pray for the clenched fist
That had mended him
And forget about his own
Fluttering pains
And peccadilloes.
Sometimes, the claymore
Is more of a rosary
Than a sword.
poem by Norman Santos
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Acid Queen
Gypsy:
If your child aint all he should be now
This girl will put him right.
Ill show him what he could be now
Just give me one night.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Ill tear your soul apart.
Give us a room and close the door
Leave us for a while.
Your boy wont be a boy no more
Young, but not a child.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy the acid queen.
Ill tear your soul apart.
Gather your wits and hold on fast,
Your mind must learn to roam.
Just as the gypsy queen must do
Youre gonna hit the road.
My work is done now look at him
Hes never been more alive.
His head it shakes his fingers clutch.
Watch his body writhe
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy - Im guaranteed.
To break your little heart.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Acid Queen
Gypsy:
If your child aint all he should be now
This girl will put him right.
Ill show him what he could be now
Just give me one night.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Ill tear your soul apart.
Give us a room and close the door
Leave us for a while.
Your boy wont be a boy no more
Young, but not a child.
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy the acid queen.
Ill tear your soul apart.
Gather your wits and hold on fast,
Your mind must learn to roam.
Just as the gypsy queen must do
Youre gonna hit the road.
My work is done now look at him
Hes never been more alive.
His head it shakes his fingers clutch.
Watch his body writhe
Im the gypsy - the acid queen.
Pay before we start.
Im the gypsy - Im guaranteed.
To break your little heart.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Fifth River
Where first by Eden Tree
The Four Great Rivers ran,
To each was appointed a Man
Her Prince and Ruler to be.
But after this was ordained
(The ancient legends' tell),
There came dark Israel,
For whom no River remained.
Then He Whom the Rivers obey
Said to him: "Fling on the ground
A handful of yellow clay,
And a Fifth Great River shall run,
Mightier than these Four,
In secret the Earth around;
And Her secret evermore,
Shall be shown to thee and thy Race."
So it was said and done.
And, deep in the veins of Earth,
And, fed by a thousand springs
That comfort the market-place,
Or sap the power of King,
The Fifth Great River had birth,
Even as it was foretold--
The Secret River of Gold!
And Israel laid down
His sceptre and his crown,
To brood on that River bank
Where the waters flashed and sank
And burrowed in earth and fell
And bided a season below,
For reason that none might know,
Save only Israel
He is Lord of the Last--
The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood.
He hears Her thunder past
And Her Song is in his blood.
He can foresay: "She will fall,"
For he knows which fountain dries
Behind which desert-belt
A thousand leagues to the South.
He can foresay: "She will rise."
He knows what far snows melt
Along what mountain-wall
A thousand leagues to the North,
He snuffs the coming drouth
As he snuffs the coming rain,
He knows what each will bring forth,
And turns it to his gain.
A Ruler without a Throne,
A Prince without a Sword,
Israel follows his quest.
In every land a guest,
Of many lands a lord,
In no land King is he.
But the Fifth Great River keeps
The secret of Her deeps
For Israel alone,
As it was ordered to be.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A Fairytale
Once upon a time, there was a prince
Groomed, grand, and great than the younger prince
Like a fairy tale, a lovely maid!
A pariah! On mats with rats she laid
Like a fairy tale the prince and maid met
Surely, their hearts thundered aloud; I bet
But the young envied the elder so much
He snitched to the king the prince with no match
Wretched was the young, the king abstained him!
So, the younger raised his wit with grim
To an apple! The young thawed a bane,
For through it, the maiden he will gain!
The prince took the fruit and was ill and died!
King, queen, and maid mourned the prince side by side
Nearby, the younger was laughing so loud1
Flaunting his lunacy behind the crowd
Like a fairy tale, burial day's come
The day was dusk, bewailing, and calm
The grave blocked with florets, men, and bells
Day died, men mourned and death sings with bells
Like a fairy tale, the maid kissed the prince
But behold! He moved! Alive is the prince!
The day is glowing, rejoicing, and tense!
Truth spilled! King arrested the younger prince!
Truly wild is the manor! All rejoiced! From serf to the crown!
Like a fairy tale, there was a wedding! Happy night was clown!
Sweet kiss! Love filled the air with madrigal of a nightingale
And they live happily ever after-like a fairy tale!
poem by Mark Joseph Canoy
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The Thud Of Silence Was Like A Tsunami
What happened in London-town
Caused traditionalists to sport many a frown
Michelle Obama touched the queen
With bare arm around the royal beam
The thud of silence was like a tsunami
Heard from London to Miami
Never before in all times past
Have Londoners been quite so aghast
They even stalled their daily tea-time
Which they rarely miss in war or peace-time
Yet Prince Charles, the stalwart prince
Didn’t allow his royal feelings to evince
The Queen had never been touched before
Assuming one believes that English lore
But somehow or other she made it through
‘Cause she liked Michelle, her friend so new
The world kept turning in spite of it all
Shoppers still shopped at their local mall
When The Queen placed her arm around our Michelle
The Brits drank their tea, convinced all was well
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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a Lovely Desire
A LOVELY DESIRE: -
Redness of roses, sweetness of wine,
From here starts, the story mine.
Story is nothing new, I can say,
Just collecting all things I meet on the way
It’s a not story of a prince or a king
Neither of a free flying bird or its broken wing
It’s a story of a slave waiting for a queen
Changing everything, how harsh it has been
Like a kid’s wish it may seam
Who doesn’t look after anything and just dream
Waiting for the beautiful fairy, I still sit on a log
Coz I am not a prince but a stupid liitle frog.
poem by Saurabh Chitranshi
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Endless Waltz
A gravid somnolence
From a constant defeat
And consistent deaths
That never really ends
Encumbers my gusto
For a waltz and its scherzo
And sit in the benches
Among the shadows
Of desolated nights
The weight of the mortified suit
And its eroding pallor
That I wore to ignite
My mechanical heels for waltz
And now I don for my funeral
In this denied living;
Took its toll
And brought me down
To the very film of my knees
And the bones kissed
The hostile marble
And the clenched fist
And shackled wrists
Toppled and rolled
With the opaque blood
The clout of defeat
From a coarse melee
Of keeping myself
In the chains of a rosary,
In the petals of a sanguinary
Glassine ice lily
In the peril of melody
Of the waltz song
Is brushed by the stroke
Of a stellar light
In the reflection of a lake
I'm too tired
To tell another story
About the pangs of reality
Of my barricading delusions
Of a dance ball
I'm bled out
Of verve,
Of demise.
But one last time
Or maybe not,
Like a chipped claymore
Crying for a war,
I will take the endless waltz
And the caustic impalement
Of another defeat
When the music stops
Favoring my feet
Because in this story
Where I have already died
I was hauled out
By an owl's cry.
poem by Norman Santos
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See Me In The Mirror
See me in the mirror if you want to
See me in the mirror if you really want to
Maybe not too clear, but the face you'll see is mine
Do you feel my eyes burning through you
Do you feel the burn when my eyes see through you
Do you see my eyes when they burn into your mind
I can feel the teardrops hit the ground where I'm layed
I can feel you breathing while I sleep through the day
See you in a vision in the dark with no light?
Your soul may go to heaven, but your heart's mine tonight
Do you feel my skin when you touch me
Do you feel my skin when you reach and touch me
Cold and blue and thin but it's still somehow alive
And you can feel my blood running through you
You can feel the rush of my blood run through you
You can feel the gush when my blood runs up your spine
And I can feel the teardrops hit the ground where I'm layed
I can feel you breathing while I sleep through the day
See you in a vision in the dark with no light?
Your soul may go to heaven, but your heart's mine tonight
See me in your mirror if you want to
See me in the mirror if you really want to
Maybe not too clear, but the face you'll see is mine
See me in the mirror, mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror, mirror
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prince Caspian
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian,
With nothing to return to but the demons in their caves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian,
And the children in the fields all sowing seed and chaffing wheat
Oh, to be prince caspian with stumps instead of feet
Oh to be prince caspian
Oh to be prince caspian
Oh to be prince caspian
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snow-White (Part 1)
Hers were the beautiful blue eyes and the black long hair,
She watched her blood dropp freezing to burn in the air.
Her pale lips were keeping the mark of her love's glow,
She wanted a child having the skin as white as the snow,
The hair as black as ebony and the lips as red as the blood.
That red on that white looked as beautiful as a flower bud.
She was sewing and watching the ebony of her window's frame.
An angel became visible in the air to tell her the child's name.
''Light up this love, my Lord, and give me this child of light
Unbearable is this pain of mine, light up my soul and my sight.''
Coming up the stairs, the king saw this and he told his queen,
'This white angel is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! ''
The queen's heart used to be like a little book being unread,
But in front of her husband, it has become an open thread.
He tenderly kissed her, ''Your broken heart is no longer dead,
Because for Snow White on the snow your secret has bled.''
When she gave birth to her child, the sun rose to be so bright
And everything in the castle could be seen in the holy light,
But when the king came to see them, he heard only the sighs.
When he saw his dead queen, sad tears flooded his black eyes.
While he was living with his child being a lonely sad father,
The king thought to bring to little Snow White a new mother.
''Light up this life, my Lord, because I have only fears and sighs,
Change my fate, because I need a new morn in my sad eyes! ''
He married again, but the queen's heart was mercilessly beating.
She was like a dangerous snake and poisoned was her greeting.
Her sarcastic lips were always keeping the mark of her hatred,
Her powers were hidden, because for her the devil was sacred.
She kept her frozen air, although the snow was melting in Spring,
Her words could remain suspended in the air to freeze everything.
‘'Mirror, dear Mirror on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?
‘'You, my queen, are fairest of all'', echoed the mirror in the hall.
The Snow White grew up becoming more beautiful than the queen,
The king told her, 'You're the most beautiful child I have ever seen! ''
When the mirror told the queen, ‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
She added, ''Little Snow-White is still a thousand times fairer than you.''
The king started seriously to think of the passion they had known
‘Cause the queen's self-satisfaction and insensibility have grown.
He realized that it's a wretchedness to continue sharing their bed.
He wanted to open a dialog with her, but the words left all unsaid.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-51
Football Lily(Blood Lily, Powderpuff Lily
Scadoxus multiflorus ssp., Haemanthus multiflorus)
Many are earthbound
Some are heavenbound
Like queen Nishagandhi
You too FootBall Lily
Descend to ascend shortly
Spiking bright graciously
Umbel-headed of blossoms
Awesomely in hundreds
Bulbous stemming solitary
Sunny for a week monitory
Aesthetic once in a year
Dormant rest of the year
Short-stalked leaves cease
Back to heaven when you race
Stored bulbs of your power
Await your flare by next tear
Like queen Nishagandhi
You too FootBall Lily
Many are earthbound
Some are heavenbound
poem by Indira Renganathan
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On the clouds, having my walk..
Carefully, I step on clouds
Trying to keep self very light.
I let the air to freely flow
Am deeply breathing
Nice.. and.. slow.
Hard to feel the air, it barely moves
Where is the wind? It doesn't blow!
Warm and powerless
I feel so light
That clouds are moving me
From the left, .. to the right
Letting things happen,
I do not fight.
Happily follow my clouds
Walk, jump, run and roll on white white
fluffy clouds
All of a sudden everything stops.
Me too:
I watch the blue bue sky
And slowly raise and open wide
my palms.
Inside,
The left one
eyes opened
My King once a Prince
The right palm
my treasured little princess
almost a Queen..
Amazed, but not afraid
They look around and smile.
Why? ! ?
Because they know,
I won't let go.
poem by Elena Sandu
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The Little Knight in Green
WHAT fragrant-footed comer
Is stepping o’er my head?
Behold, my queen! the Summer!
Who deems her warriors dead.
Now rise, ye knights of many fights,
From out your sleep profound!
Make sharp your spears, my gallant peers,
And prick the frozen ground.
Before the White Host harm her,
We ’ll hurry to her aid;
We ’ll don our elfin armor,
And every tiny blade
Shall bear atop a dewy drop,
The life-blood of the frost,
Till from their king the order ring:
“Fall back! the day is lost.”
Now shame to knighthood, brothers!
Must Summer plead in vain?
And shall I wait till others
My crown of sunshine gain?
Alone this day I ’ll dare the fray,
Alone the victory win;
In me my queen shall find, I ween,
A sturdy paladin.
To battle! Ho! King Winter
Hath rushed on me apace,—
My fragile blade doth splinter
Beneath his icy mace.
I stagger back. I yield—alack!
I fall. My senses pass.
Woe worth the chance for doughtiest lance
Of all the House of Grass!
Last hope my heart gives over.
But hark! a shout of cheer!
Don Daisy and Count Clover,
Sir Buttercup, are here!
Behold! behold! with shield of gold
Prince Dandelion comes.
Lord Bumble-Bee beats valiantly
His rolling battle-drums.
My brothers leave their slumbers
And lead the van of war;
Before our swelling numbers
The foes are driven far.
The day’s our own; but, overthrown,
A little Knight in green,
I kiss her feet and deem it sweet
To perish for my queen.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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