Author Topic: Poetry collection  (Read 239939 times)

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1740 on: October 10, 2021, 11:33:53 PM »
Pg 502

Dive And Duck, Lest Eyes Get Plucked

Dodging, frantic-style,
Avoiding the beak-blast.
Like guided missile,
The swan hurtles past.

In the eye, reflects terror,
As the orange cygnus comes.
Speeds the soul procurer,
Like gathering breadcrumbs.

Beak hits, full impact,
As the black form shatters.
Lightning swan cracked
Taking care of matters.
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 #1741 on: October 12, 2021, 12:01:06 AM »
Pg 503

Swanning Governance, Incoming Turbulence

The swan speeding still,
Eye-souls gripped close.
The ebony lizard devil
Flips over in its throes.

It merges with the waters,
Transforming them jet.
The flowing current alters
Into a tempestuous threat.

The spirit makes to perch
Onto the frothing squall.
Leaving them in the lurch
When the sprite makes a call.

Gripping onto a storm hard,
As it churns and convulses.
The group's played their part.
They've got to discuss this.
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 #1742 on: October 17, 2021, 06:34:34 AM »
Pg 504

The Swan Cares Not, The Rest Won't Be Caught

"The rest of them!" She calls,
"They're escaping!" and how!
The swan won't get them all,
It's retrieved plenty now.

In contrast to Tuuri's stress,
It's in no hurry to get them.
It'll come back for the rest.
When a proper time comes.

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

Pg 505

Shaken And Stirred, Remaking A Bird

Shaking whatever's snatched
Already in the clutches.
Snapshot eyes detached
Get illuminated touches.

Flashes oscillating,
Being whipped laterally.
A large sprite propagating
Their soul shape naturally.

Feathers fixed, wings raised,
Regained its former vigour.
The others finally gaze
At the resting final figure.
« Last Edit: October 17, 2021, 10:37:17 AM by corncobman »
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 #1743 on: October 17, 2021, 11:16:58 PM »
Pg 506

Gigantic Spirit, Finally Coherent

The feathers emancipated,
Cygnuss as if in gleeful bliss.
"Uh, hi!" to the congregation,
"Nice meeting you like this."

A particular otherworldly sprite
Extends in majesty luminous.
Onni taken aback at the sight,
A known familiar gravitas.

Tuuri flies up to the crane,
The gigantic one in status.
The long-waited reunion again,
Liberated from the Kade's madness.
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 #1744 on: October 19, 2021, 11:36:52 PM »
Pg 507

One Job To Do, She'll Peck You Through

After a moment of silence,
A question is asked.
Threatening violence,
Onni only had one task!

Why is Tuuri here?
She gave him one job to do.
Hapless seer, steer clear,
Or she'll peck and wreck you.

Grandma crane incensed,
Her beak attack come stinging.
But Tuuri protests against
The murder that she's bringing.

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

Pg 508

Not His Fault, Cease The Assault

It's not Onni fault at all,
All the blame is hers alone.
Into the water Onni falls,
Before any mercy is shown.

"Oh no, sweetheart!" she cries,
She ran away, didn't she?
Not exactly as she recites,
It's a long story, you see.

Reynir and doggo go for a walk
To give them all some space.
For this family gathering talk,
It's not the time nor place.
« Last Edit: October 20, 2021, 09:13:39 AM by corncobman »
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 #1745 on: October 21, 2021, 10:37:19 PM »
Pg 509

In A World Of Insanity, Nothing Beats Family

With Reynir retreated,
And with his fylgia sat.
Family time much needed,
Sitting to have a chat.

Starts the family meeting,
A very long time ordained.
The circle at last completing,
Some closure will be obtained.

Some moments bittersweet in
A life of loss and pain,
Nevertheless fleeting,
Such may never come again.
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:

Kiran

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1746 on: November 03, 2021, 12:37:04 PM »
Hey everyone, this is my first poem here. This one is based on Emil's dreamfire.
Spoiler: show
I don't know if this idea has already been taken.
Here it is:

By a lake in the dales to the west,
Lay a small town far from the rest:
It was on the edge of the safe zone;
And ever in winter had aurorae shone.
Östersund was the name of the town,
Where of old lived the Västerströms.
High in wealth and name and fame;
Till a fire that brought their woes came.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

A night, ruby-like in the summer it was,
When the forest was but a tinder box.
The cleansers were working away, cleansing
The forest land near the town's outskirts.
But a fire they started spread out of control;
Spreading fast, it headed towards the town.
One of the cleansers was running with speed
To reach the town before the fire and alert all.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Torolf Västerstrom was working and working
At his timber factory trying to make a living.
When a commotion started outside the place,
With people gasping looking at a distant place.
Torolf went and saw the commotion outside;
An orange hue had lit up the sky to the North;
"Fire!", shouted a distant man, running to them,
Who now fell, exhausted, in front of all there.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Torolf did not wait till the carriage had come,
He started to run to his house, to the North.
All this while Emil was having supper at home,
When he saw a bright orange on the trees.
He called his nanny to show the beautiful hue;
But upon seeing it she grabbed him and ran.
The nanny shouted for Emil's mother and ran;
Ran to the main door and took a pail of water.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Helga had come running out of the house,
Dumping on the ground some papers and money.
She went in and came out of the house thrice;
But the fourth time, she saw smoke rising nearby.
Smoke was coming from the roof and the rooms
Were glowing in an orange and yellow light;
She raised a shout and then cried for help;
The neighbors came running to her aid.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

What would a pail of water do to a fire,
A fire that devoured the forests before?
Yet the neighbors came with pails of water
And ran to the now burning house with haste.
Nearby, the Bank was also beginning to be lost
To the brazen embers of the big forest fire.
People called for the fire brigade to come,
And they came with haste to fight the fire.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Torolf was still running with all his strength
When at last he came to what was his house.
Emil, Helga and the nanny were outside, weeping
With some papers and bags lying on the ground.
He immediately ran to get a pail of water and
Try to help douse the flames burning his house.
Yet the house was but entirely lost, and the bank
Fared no better as all that was in it was burnt.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Many homes were burnt during that very night,
So were two or three of the neighbors' lives.
The Vasterstroms sat down in shock and tears,
Knowing that all was lost save their clothes and lives.
They were no longer rich as most of their money
Was lost in the fire that destroyed the bank.
Skalds they became, they sold their factory,
And so came an end to their affluence and riches.

The fire had danced all through the night,
Never did it to cease to ever burn bright.
It had brought to all there great woes;
For it had burnt their lives and homes.

Edit: I corrected the typos I could find here.
« Last Edit: November 04, 2021, 06:32:02 AM by Kiran »
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Jitter

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1747 on: November 03, 2021, 01:02:52 PM »
Kiran, thank you for your poem!

It doesn't matter if someone else has had the same idea, because everybody's views are different. So no need to worry if someone has already considered the same scenario :) I don't remember this particular scenario by anyone else, though.

Ironic that Emil became a cleanser after all this. Did he realize his love for fire when he saw this going down?

ps I noticed a couple of typos, would you like to have them pointed out or do you prefer to leave it as is?
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moredhel

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1748 on: November 03, 2021, 02:25:40 PM »
I like your poem* Kiran. Thanks for sharing.




*I am no expert for poetry at all but I like this one very much.

Róisín

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1749 on: November 03, 2021, 10:46:04 PM »
Kiran, that is a fine poem!
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Kiran

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1750 on: November 03, 2021, 11:07:49 PM »
ps I noticed a couple of typos, would you like to have them pointed out or do you prefer to leave it as is?
No problem, Jitter. You can point out the typos. I tend to overlook some words and how they are spelt, so typos happen a lot. ^-^
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Kiran

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1751 on: November 03, 2021, 11:17:27 PM »
Kiran, that is a fine poem!
Kiran, that is a fine poem!
Kiran, thank you for your poem!

Thank you guys!

Spoiler: show

Ironic that Emil became a cleanser after all this. Did he realize his love for fire when he saw this going down?

I think it may be true. Because he was a small child, he did not know what was going on, so the fire must have amazed Emil. Hence, his pyrophilia.

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Keep Looking

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1752 on: November 04, 2021, 03:31:38 AM »
Kiran, that was a good poem - I especially enjoyed the narrative aspect of it, and reading your interpretation of what happened with the fire!
I write poetry sometimes.

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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #1753 on: November 05, 2021, 12:27:46 AM »
Page 510

Their Camp In Positivity,  Bear Hampered In Debility

Having made a campsite,
Rests the crew intrepid.
Drained from a fight,
Bear mama faint-headed.

As the merry band cook,
Mood somewhat cheery,
Submerged in a brook,
Bubbling away weary.

While absolutely gassed,
she ebbs, depleted,
In utter contrast,
Their task is completed.
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 #1754 on: November 08, 2021, 05:07:13 AM »
Pg 511

Battling With Death, Until The Dying Breath

In the battle for supremacy,
In this gigantic age,
They battle breathlessly
In their blind titanic rage.

The strikes, the blows, cruel.
Slasing impacts withering.
Furious hatred as their fuel,
Clashes leave them shivering.

Wrought by warring demons,
The carnage senseless.
Monsters without reason,
Matches wildly, reckless.

Stone-head and bear mother,
Battling with bitter fire.
Until one or the other,
Or both, finally expire.
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: