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Author Topic: Poetry collection  (Read 240888 times)

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1080 on: November 01, 2018, 03:52:05 AM »
Pg 5

Where's The Last Ship, Losing Her Grip

The Danish man misfiring.
Opening the inquisition.
As he starts inquiring,
The other's grid positions.

Sigrun too starts to ponder,
Where is the last ship hid?
Has the medic conned her?
He assures it's on the grid.

Can they be let out soon, please?
It's been a month and a half.
The doctor lady disagrees,
It was one week, don't be daft!

Only three weeks to elapse,
So they'll all have be patient.
The Swede reading relaxed,
He glances to the chamber adjacent.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1081 on: November 02, 2018, 01:14:45 AM »
Pg 6

Checked-Out Is The Scout

Lalli is occupying
His bed under the bed.
Underneath there lying,
Staring straight ahead.

In Finnish trying with
Three fingers in the air.
Gibberish mystifying,
Or he just doesn't care.

He's a non-enthusiast
To Emil's mild frustration.
Still a long time to pass,
Without any conversation.
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He got hit on the head
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1082 on: November 05, 2018, 12:19:21 AM »
Pg 7

Line, Sinker, Hook, 'Hi' Makes Him Shook

The quarantined lot,
Drift off into zeds.
The mosquitoes he swats
Buzzing round his dream head.

Water as far as he could see,
Filled with lily pads.
Off the jetty of wood he
Drops his line with a splash.

With shock his face flashed,
Things are not as they should be.
As the Finns dream is crashed,
"Uhh... hi?" says the good Swede.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1083 on: November 05, 2018, 10:36:25 PM »
Pg 8

Would-Be Fishemen, How's Your Condition, Finn?

So the two young allies
Meet over here once again.
"Hrmh" just utters Lalli,
Now they're would-be fishermen.

The cleanser wrongly felt
It would not again happen.
So how's the Finn mage dealt?
His spirits seem a bit dampened.

He's seemed little glum,
But "I'm fine" he insists.
With a stern face, the dumb
Idea almost fully dismissed.

You know, the Swede did try,
To get someone to talk with.
At the translator person he cried.
Denied, maybe, by rudeness a bit.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1084 on: November 08, 2018, 09:56:49 AM »
Pg 9

What Kind Of Service? Can't Help The Disconcerted

"Yes?" asks the orderly,
The guy's dealing with things.
A counsellor there needs to be
Who's also Finnish speaking.

There's no such person on board.
What kind of service ship is this?
It's a vessel for cargo stored,
Not for this singular purpose.

They were already en route,
With proper quarantine facilities.
For his friend, almost mute,
Sorry, but they have not the ability.

The Swede standing, shunned there,
She can't answer his demand.
"So...need to talk?" Emil wonders,
He's fine, he just can't wait to land...
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He got hit on the head
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1085 on: November 09, 2018, 12:13:00 AM »
Pg 10

Proper Room And Bed Wish, Fishing Birds, Flying Fish

The Swedish man gets,
Where Lalli's coming from.
A proper room and bed
For proper slumber.

From sleeping on trains,
To mouldy houses and awful tank,
On a sofa, a train again,
To barracks and ancient trash can.

Now a glass box he's kept,
Inside with no privacy.
But the dream's affected
By the Swede's mood variety.

On the wooden pier mystified,
Directly fishing birds.
The mage takes it in stride,
Though the flying fish are absurd.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1086 on: November 12, 2018, 04:28:57 AM »
Pg 11

Back To Food Flanked, Back To His Plank

Treating the air like a stream,
The fish look quite batty.
At the closest flying bream,
Lalli throws his hook at it.

All that the Finn did
Was make the display go POOF!
Their shared dream thus splits,
They separate ways go aloof.

Emil to his own dream
And back too goes the Finn.
Back to familiar themes,
It was nice talking with him.

Back to his house of swank,
Just about to have his chow.
Lalli returned to his planks.
Straight away, sleeping now.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1087 on: November 12, 2018, 10:29:22 PM »
Pg 12

Bored Of The Toy, If Looks Could Destroy...

Playing battleship laying flat,
Crossing days all the more.
While Reynir and the cat,
Getting more and more bored.

Batting with her mouse toy,
With a face not invested.
Isolation sucks out the joy,
And her patience is tested.

With a makeshift reaching hand,
The two 'friends' have their fun.
While alone is the braidy man, 'til
"Visitor for one Reynir Árnason!"
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A man left his Icelandic home
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He got hit on the head
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1088 on: November 14, 2018, 09:35:36 PM »
Pg 13

Brother Of Reynir, Show No Symptoms Here

It's Reynir's sibling,
Bjarni's his name.
With some minor ribbing,
Like quarantine's a game.

His suit is itchy
The brother complains.
Refrain from acting sickly
In the sterile domain.

Displaying rash symptoms
Here is ill-advised.
After all there was a victim,
Who from it has died.

How are their parents?
Are they angry at him?
A letter Bjarni's sent,
Guess the trouble he's in...

The brother doesn't doubt
That they're not not mad.
Now that the cat's out
For the troublesome lad.

------------------------

How's The Plastic Prison (based on Ride Across The River by Dire Straits)

He's deprived of freedom in a small prison cell
Quarantine frozen, transparent hell
He's rendered immobile and he can't adjust
The days passing torture but endure it he must

Now his brother's come in, grinning wide...
How's the plastic prison, being locked inside?

He was going stir-crazy, 'til he got the word
A visitor for him was what he then heard.
It's his older bro Bjarni in a suit round his frame
Like being all locked up is part of a game

Now his brother's come in, grinning wide...
How's the plastic prison, being locked inside?

Asking how are their parents, are mom and dad alright?
They haven't spoken, a letter he did write
After the long forbidden journey he's had
It may be bad news, doubts they're not mad

A ride wasn't permitted, parents defied
Guess the trouble he's in, now they're terrified...
« Last Edit: November 14, 2018, 10:30:52 PM by corncobman »
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A man left his Icelandic home
Escaped to Denmark to freely roam
With hair braided red
He got hit on the head
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Odd word here and there: :japan:

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1089 on: November 15, 2018, 11:26:15 PM »
Pg 14

Access Unlocked, Cleared To Dock

He's sure that they'll be,
As he fist-bumps the divider,
At least a little happy
That Reynir's alive there.

"Don't touch the wall."
Snaps the escort all strict.
With some skills magical,
He'll give their mom a lift.

Visiting time elapsed,
They're really tight-fisted.
His shoulder clapped,
To the showers assisted.

"I'll see you on the outside!"
While he's dragged, he salutes.
"Decontamination showers?" he realised
"What was even the point of the suit?!?"

Crossing the final day,
With the marker observed.
An announcement is made,
Cleared to enter the berth.
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A man left his Icelandic home
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He got hit on the head
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Odd word here and there: :japan:

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1090 on: November 19, 2018, 12:49:59 AM »
Page 15

Great Walls Are Not Clear, Country Of Reynir

The quarantine done,
Not a moment too fast.
Rejoices Sigrun,
Freedom! At last!

Free from their rooms,
How great, non-see-through walls!
Get the belongings of whom
Are permitted to recall.

Have to suffer the box,
One of them though still.
Be carried under key and lock,
To landfall kitty will.

All eyes to shoreward,
Finally allowed entry.
Now to be harboured
In Reynir's home country.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1091 on: November 19, 2018, 10:40:47 PM »
Pg 16

Where In Reykjavik? Follow The Icelandics

In the Icelandic kingdom,
The gantries stand tall.
After the limbo humdrum,
Passengers make land fall.

Free cats on crates and tiles,
Watching the out and inflow.
They have lodgings to file,
Which direction do they go?

They follow, Mikkel presumes,
The Icelandic speaking pair.
A welcome, opportune,
A group with great fanfare.

On serveral faces worn,
Smiles of relief and placation.
"Welcome," says Torbjörn,
"Back to civilisation!"
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A man left his Icelandic home
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He got hit on the head
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Odd word here and there: :japan:

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1092 on: November 21, 2018, 11:57:03 PM »
Pg 17

Motherly Hug, Mysterious Tug

Hugs of joy and tears at
The reuniting families.
Sigrun gives a head pat,
To Trond as he seethes.

The old man is alive yet,
Though grim at her tease.
Reynir's mother full of frets,
While his dad seems displeased.

"How are you?" Taru asks Lalli,
Is there anything she can do?
Dismissed, then to an alley
Dragged by the scruff, out of view.
« Last Edit: November 22, 2018, 12:03:12 AM by corncobman »
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A man left his Icelandic home
Escaped to Denmark to freely roam
With hair braided red
He got hit on the head
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Some knowledge: :france: :germany:
Odd word here and there: :japan:

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1093 on: November 23, 2018, 01:42:00 AM »
Pg 18

No Longer Smiled, Stupid Idiot Child

A quiet word to the lonely,
Taken out of the line.
"Don't dwell on it," says Onni,
"It'll be fine. We will be fine."

A hand on his shoulder,
Some much needed assurance.
From the younger to the older,
They both must endure it.

Reynir's mother lost composure,
The red head getting it.
The grief and relief over,
Now the rage is setting in.
Logged
A man left his Icelandic home
Escaped to Denmark to freely roam
With hair braided red
He got hit on the head
With a crate lid slammed onto his dome

Fluent: :uk:
Fluent spoken, bad writing: :china:
Some knowledge: :france: :germany:
Odd word here and there: :japan:

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1094 on: November 26, 2018, 09:05:19 AM »
Pg 19

Down Blows Did Rain, Have No Heart? No Brain?

The insolent tyke
Didn't love his mother.
After multiple strikes,
She then pokes his brother.

Always getting into trouble
His little brother, led astray.
Also giving him a pummel,
What part did Bjarni play?

How could Reynir do this
To his own poor mommy?
Is his heart in absence?
Or did he go barmy?

A harsh scolding he's earned,
His adventures are done.
Never would have returned,
His very unintelligent son.

Trond he goes thanking,
For bringing him back to base.
He wouldn't have been
There in the first place.
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A man left his Icelandic home
Escaped to Denmark to freely roam
With hair braided red
He got hit on the head
With a crate lid slammed onto his dome

Fluent: :uk:
Fluent spoken, bad writing: :china:
Some knowledge: :france: :germany:
Odd word here and there: :japan:
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