Poetry collection

[corncobman]

Pg 219

Metal Cut And Jimmy, Settlement For Dummies

Barb-ed barriers, biting borders,
Jab at the jaggies, jimmying a juncture.
Lifting to lever, leaving a lane larger.
Rods for the rag-rag, refit and restructure.

Words to beware, warnings whipped-up.
Carriageway closed, a castle cast aside.
Such a settlement, a silly slip-up,
Raised by the road, a rookie oversight.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 220

Hope is built with loops of wire
That lay upon the broken ground
With wooden towers reaching higher
To scour the land for sight and sound

Hope is built with many hands
The hands that heal, the hands that fight
The hands that still the shifting sands
Of fear that comes with every night

Hope is built with whispered words
“I’m here.” “Stay calm.” “We’ll be okay.”
“I’ll hold your hand - I know this hurts
We’ll run until the light of day.”

[corncobman]

Pg 220

Pointing Out, It's A Warehouse

The place looks ancient,
It's not well maintained.
Didn't last long, did it?
Fortifications in vain.

Probably had a whole load
Of non-immunes in there.
Nothing to see, hit the road!
Not for a moment to spare.

"That sign says 'warehouse'
In Finnish." says the Swede.
Just in case, he pointed out,
For a tarpaulin they still need.

Conceding to temptation,
Given what Emil just announced.
Giving long contemplation,
At this chance will she pounce?

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 221

Well in the days when he was young
The other language slipped his tongue
And the Finnish fast was all he’d understand

Then he got dragged aboard a ship
To go upon a winter’s trip
With the foreign people in a foreign land

And as the ghosts and monsters came
To take another of his name
He was left with no one there who understood

So from the mumble of their words
He took what worked for him to learn
For to tell them what he saw whene’er he could

So now as months have come and passed
And summer’s sun has come at last
He can comprehend what once was clueless sound

And when he’s asked, “ how much, good bad?”
He nods his head, he understands
“Some, but small and cannot move around.”

[corncobman]

Pg 221

The Pipsqueak She Seeks, Succinctly He Speaks

"Hey pipsqueak!" She directs,
"Trolls. How many? Good? Bad?"
The language, the subject,
Does he understand, the lad?

"...Some inside.", he in Swedish,
"Not many. Not big. Not move around."
"Sounds good enough to me." says she,
Is it safe enough to roam the grounds?

They're getting closer to a city,
There'll be few raids any safer.
So in all practicality,
There's no opportunity greater.

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

Pg 222

Rejection Quick, She Drew The Short Stick

They grab what they need
And get back on the road.
Someone will have to sentry
And have the doofus shadowed.

Then Emil volunteers,
He deserves a break.
He renegs when it's clear
An escort he'll have to make.

The Swede spurning so swift
The blissful bean pole.
He's determined to come with,
He killed the last troll!

He deserves more action!
Sigrun can be the one to stay.
Nuh-uh! She's the captain,
She doesn't baby-sit - no way!

Only one way to solve fairly,
They'll each draw from the sticks.
Sigrun the loser, clearly
The result has her ticked.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 222

I hope I’m not a burden on you all
For I can’t fight the monsters on this road
Nor pass between the looming warehouse walls
For fear of what the mage’s eyes have shown

I hope my runes will guard from wand’ring eyes
I hope my feet can lead you through the seas
To find the lost and choose our actions wise
To face the one who lurks beneath the trees

I hope I’ll make these days a little brighter
I’ll help you where I can, I’ll try my best
And smile, and hope I’ve make your burden lighter
Until this journey’s done and you can rest

[corncobman]

Pg 223

Better Vantage, Get To Salvage

Reynir would be more fun
If he just learnt some Norse.
So says Sigrun, the one
Who already knows it, of course.

They'll have a good vantage
Over there, it's more fitting.
Shifting all of the baggage,
Then down to just sitting.

The Finn leads the trio
Through the broken roofed arch.
In light and shadow,
For their salvaging march.

Increasingly deeper yet
To the neglected warehouse.
So with nothing to be said
Go the sawbones, Swede and scout.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 223

Perched upon an ancient block, its planks in disarray
The hunter and the shepherd wait as others seize the day
And as they watch for any soul that near their path might stray
The gap between them grows with all the words they cannot say

From jagged coasts and plunging fjords with cliff-tops reaching high
To fields of green that deep between the mountain-tops do lie
The space between them stretches past the edges of the sky
A land of safety far removed from one of battle-cries

Yet still the shepherd’s smile is bright, although he’s far from home
And through his trials and haunted dreams his heart and skill have grown
The hunter’s skill and strength of arm through many years are honed
Yet still she learns to keep her heart through struggles of her own

So perched upon an ancient block, its planks in disarray
The hunter and the shepherd wait as others seize the day
And as they watch for any soul that near their path might stray
The bridge across the gap between seems strong enough to stay

[corncobman]

Pg 224

To The Shanty Go The Vigilantes

A shanty-town, iron-clad
Is what they encounter.
Platforms snake, and ladders
Onto skyward podiums mounted.
 
Stretching bones exposed,
Skin layers peeling.
A nerve centre closed
Cold, frozen, unfeeling.

[corncobman]

Pg 225

Cemented In A Freeze, Hardened Arteries

The three on the prowl,
Go about their business.
With disdain and a scowl
To above bearing witness.

Plastered up on high,
Cocooned in arrest.
Some hateful pupae
In a calcified nest.

Anchored in mucilage,
Suspended, loathsome.
Calmly, so used to such,
Pass the three of them.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 225

White-bleached beneath the harshly glaring sun
Its sinews stretch from beam to rusted beam
And like a ghoul from dusty ceiling strung
Its mouth hangs wide in endless, soundless scream

Above the grass with violet flowers spread
Above the sharp-tipped spears of long-lost hope
Long-lost in creeping nights of monstrous dread
Of malady that twists like hangman’s rope

It hung through snow and through the springtime rain
As rot spread like the years’ unceasing crawl
A monument to loss and wordless pain
A lingering stain on long-forsaken walls

[corncobman]

Pg 226

Window Still, Nothing To Kill

Old bones and bits,
All cratered and riddled.
In the room there sits
Tumorous, shrivelled.

Last vestiges nacreous,
Through the glass, grinning.
Stood visions of manliness,
With fiery underpinnings.

"Where are the bad guys hanging out?"
The question then is posed.
The cleanser asking the scout
With his keen magical nose.

Itching, craving, turning,
Emil eager for stimulation.
The mage probing, discerning,
While he peers with fixation.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 226

Trailed across the white-bleached bones
Their whispers stilled by sun and rain
A green-leafed vine has swiftly grown
Through remnants left of long-lost pain

Through remnants left of long-lost pain
On rusted grates and jagged glass
And caverns dark where lost souls hang
The vine-leaves spread from uncut grass

The vine-leaves spread from uncut grass
And drink the rains from lake-side blown
While echoes still of times gone past
Lie trailed across the white-bleached bones

[corncobman]

Pg 227

In The Seurahuone, Not Knowing How Many..

His eyes of magic,
Full concentration.
With his optics,
What revelation?

With his words, though broken,
"There direction." uttered.
"Inside cover." spoken
To the speaker of good butter.

"Not knowing how many
Precise." only does he say.
Purple glowing non-friendlies
Within that 'seurahuone'.

They just get the gist,
Pronouns and such dispensed with.
Shaded, anomalies exist.
He, with his training, sensed it.

[Keep Looking]

Adventure 2, Page 227

They linger in the doorway, swathed
By rot and ruin, planks and vines
Their stranded souls a wine-dark haze
That stains the flash of mage-blue eyes

They linger in the doorway, hid
From bitter snow and brightened sun
And trapped by brightness, still they sit
To gaze on those who searching come

They linger in the doorway, still
Not knowing why or how they wait
For what dim hopes could darkness fill
When death’s white wings have come too late