Poetry competition CLOSED 13th May 2019 9:08am
WINNER
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
Page:
To Josephine de Beauharnais with love
To Josephine de Beauharnais with love
My heart cannot
anymore my emotions
accommodate.
Permit me to be pragmatic
in affections which
in its very bottom I
have buried:
Let me hold you in
my cozy arms and
kiss you. Let me your
succulent apples feel,
as I explore the smooth,
soft and sweet fragrant
landscape of your body.
The sensual touch of your
lower curves would
undoubtedly to the
highest heavens convey me.
Let me hold you tight
so that no one else
may grab you.
Let me in your love's
citadel seek eternal
refuge from the vast
armies of Europe.
anymore my emotions
accommodate.
Permit me to be pragmatic
in affections which
in its very bottom I
have buried:
Let me hold you in
my cozy arms and
kiss you. Let me your
succulent apples feel,
as I explore the smooth,
soft and sweet fragrant
landscape of your body.
The sensual touch of your
lower curves would
undoubtedly to the
highest heavens convey me.
Let me hold you tight
so that no one else
may grab you.
Let me in your love's
citadel seek eternal
refuge from the vast
armies of Europe.
Written by Ogbonna
(Joseph C Ogbonna)
Go To Page
Rose🌹
Is that you, my beloved Napoleon,
Who has come to me since your long-ago death,
To your Joséphine, whose image was engraved
upon the heart of you, the great Bonaparte.
It has been even longer still, since my own
untimely parting, my own exile from life
and everything you meant to me, my Only;
Mistress Rose & then your Empress Joséphine.
I had six summers and six winters before
Your own sun shown itself on the horizon;
Babe in arms, youth & master, and Emperor;
And lover, though like a son to me, my third.
To raise you as my own Beauharnais, mon cher,
Thus to live, and have me be sixteen again,
And never be annulled because you could not
claim your seed an issue from our wedding bed.
And so, ‘twas not to be in the stars for me,
although issues of my blood are mine alone
that carry on the beating sake of my heart;
Such is the irony, our history, and you.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
August Moon
He hailed from Dartmoor, near the prison town,
while she was born to poor folk on the moor.
They chanced upon love’s passion, so profound,
and met just months before the start of war!
She knew he was the one, when he first spoke,
although she can’t recall the words he said…
the smoothness of his baritone just broke
whatever inhibitions that she had!
The short time that they had, they spent together,
although they did not know that at the time;
long evenings on the moor and in the heather,
their love affair cut short, before its prime!
By August Moon, the Kaiser conquered Belgium,
and calls went out for men, to fight the war!
This tragic turn of fate, although unwelcome,
his honor made her love him all the more!
Her eyes revealed a trust he could not vex,
he had to rise, and be the man she saw.
He would not disenchant the weaker sex,
he vowed his heart must have the wherewithal!
She watched for his return through all those years,
and no one ever claimed to see her cry.
She promised that she shed her final tears
the last time that they kissed and said goodbye.
Written by ReggiePoet
(Reggie)
Go To Page
To the girl in Martinique,
growing under a hot sun,
to the young lady in Paris,
ready to marry a nobleman,
to the wife of Beauharnais,
such a handsome count,
to the mother of his children
fighting for their lives,
to the prisoner of the Terror,
awaiting sadly her final day,
to her freedom in Thermidor
and her loves in between,
to the widow in Paris saloons,
to the dancer dressed in veils
to the seducer of Napoleon
to the Empress of the French,
to the lady of Malmaison
and her gardens full of roses,
love, love as she pursued,
love travelling through centuries.
Lizziewolf. May 12 th.
growing under a hot sun,
to the young lady in Paris,
ready to marry a nobleman,
to the wife of Beauharnais,
such a handsome count,
to the mother of his children
fighting for their lives,
to the prisoner of the Terror,
awaiting sadly her final day,
to her freedom in Thermidor
and her loves in between,
to the widow in Paris saloons,
to the dancer dressed in veils
to the seducer of Napoleon
to the Empress of the French,
to the lady of Malmaison
and her gardens full of roses,
love, love as she pursued,
love travelling through centuries.
Lizziewolf. May 12 th.
Hector and Harriet
Hector was a French romantic composer,
When one day he became completely enthused,
It was when he saw Harriet in a play,
Harriet then became Hector’s muse.
But the Irish actress didn’t speak French
Even though Hector sent her letters of love,
And for seven years Hector’s persistence,
Became the stuff of legends we dream of.
Hector went on to compose a symphony,
Inspired by the Shakespearean actress,
Comprising a piece that was so fantastique,
Even when at times it felt like madness.
In his movements Hector found Reveries,
Passions that then takes us into A Ball,
Scenes in the Field settle in like a dream,
March to the Scaffold, the eeriest of all.
The opium induced Dream of the Night Sabbath,
Into the heart of darkness and suffering,
When love agonizes with ache and longing,
Feeling as if the shadows are smothering.
Some years later she heard the composition,
It was something that was quite unheard of,
She had been the muse to a great symphony,
About beauty, dreams and unrequited love.
Hector was a French romantic composer,
When one day he became completely enthused,
It was when he saw Harriet in a play,
Harriet then became Hector’s muse.
But the Irish actress didn’t speak French
Even though Hector sent her letters of love,
And for seven years Hector’s persistence,
Became the stuff of legends we dream of.
Hector went on to compose a symphony,
Inspired by the Shakespearean actress,
Comprising a piece that was so fantastique,
Even when at times it felt like madness.
In his movements Hector found Reveries,
Passions that then takes us into A Ball,
Scenes in the Field settle in like a dream,
March to the Scaffold, the eeriest of all.
The opium induced Dream of the Night Sabbath,
Into the heart of darkness and suffering,
When love agonizes with ache and longing,
Feeling as if the shadows are smothering.
Some years later she heard the composition,
It was something that was quite unheard of,
She had been the muse to a great symphony,
About beauty, dreams and unrequited love.
One of my passions since my early youth as been things to do with history. And a few years later, my passion as a poet. And with our host Joseph Ogbonna, he gives the opportunity for someone like me to pair the two together as I bring to life these people from our history through my own telling.
I thank you for finding my words worthy to place.
respectfully
in the rhyme & cadence of verse,
Jade
I thank you for finding my words worthy to place.
respectfully
in the rhyme & cadence of verse,
Jade
I really feel delighted to meet with poetic and historical enthusiasts like you Jade-Pandora. I have read your poems, you and I have similar passions. I just read your poem 'Rose,' which happened to be the empress Josephine's name prior to her re-christening by Napoleon Bonaparte who loathed the name. Napoleon is one of the most fascinating figures I find in history. I happen to be a staunch admirer of him, and seeing someone who writes about him gives me as much excitement as the enthusiasm I have for more and more research about his life and times.
