Author Topic: Poetry collection  (Read 240404 times)

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #525 on: December 07, 2015, 01:11:18 AM »
Page 434

Unwise, Antagonised...

Ghostly cold atmosphere,
Looming tall, near
Showing no fear,
Foolhardy Reynir.

Raising his palm,
He has no qualm,
But while he is calm,
He needs a head exam...

No words, silence just.
Toward Reynir claws thrust,
In these shouldn't trust.
He could crumble to dust.

Attacked by suprise,
See the shock in his eyes!
Talking was unwise.
Will he meet his demise?

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

Grappled In My Face
(based on Man In A Suitcase by The Police)

I had hoped that you were my mate
It's only my face you try to perforate
You aren't so friendly alright
But it's too late now to escape and take flight

Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place
Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place

Another blow to my braided head
For I'll soon be turning soon into the dead
Head in a blackened claw, you'll never see Reynir again
For I'm soon gonna be attached for life to this end

Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place
Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place

I had hoped that you were my mate
It's only my face you try to perforate
You aren't so friendly alright
But it's too late now to escape and take flight

Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place
Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place

Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place
Must I be grappled in my face
Is it me, grabbed in the strangest place..
« Last Edit: December 07, 2015, 08:07:56 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 #526 on: December 08, 2015, 05:16:31 AM »
Pg 435

Slashing Splatter, Splinter and Shatter

In this terrible dream,
His head is jerked back.
Can not manage a scream.
Terrible bloody red cracks!

His head apart at the seams,
As it crumbles and flakes.
Crimson spatters and streams,
As his mind the hand takes.

Helplessly in the catch,
His very mind has been cleaved.
Now hopelessly snatched,
Will there be no reprieve?

His eyes begin to fade.
In this tortuous hell.
As the dog, to him conveyed,
Reynir, remember this well.
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:

MissTrips

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #527 on: December 08, 2015, 05:17:59 AM »
Page 433

Through the mist of dreams,
Drawn by the warmth of his life,
The forsaken come.

Page 435

Knowledge is power,
But the learning curve is steep.
Remember this pain.

Deep inside his dreams,
The shadows send a message.
Delivered in blood.

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #528 on: December 10, 2015, 01:22:57 AM »
Pg 436

Head Was Bust (based on Magic Bus by the Who)

This strange night I woke up blue (to dust, head was bust)
I thought I was some spirit stew (to dust, head was bust)
I was friendly, I just waved with grace (to dust, head was bust)
The spirit only grabbed my face (to dust, head was bust)

Thank you, doggy, for getting me here (to dust, head was bust)
I'll remember your words so clear (to dust, head was bust)
I thought it was a fatal thrust (to dust, head was bust)
I remember my face was bust? (to dust, head was bust)

Nooooooooo!

I don't want to be decayed (to dust, head was bust)
I gotta get back to sleep before the day (to dust, head was bust)

Don't want it, don't want it, don't want it, don't want it ... (You can't have it!)

Gotta remember what doggy said
Or I'll be a dead braidy
Gotta remember what the dog said
'Cause my head asploded every way

Head was bust, head was bust, head was bust...

He said, VĂș-off and threw me awake (to dust, head was bust)
Now I'm up and I've got a big head-ache (to dust, head was bust)
I gotta warn the rest some day (to dust, head was bust)
But now I'm gonna sleep okay (to dust, head was bust)

Don't want it, don't want it, don't want it, don't want it ...

On this night I bit the dust (to dust, head was bust)
The spirit caused my head to bust (to dust, head was bust)
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 #529 on: December 13, 2015, 10:17:40 PM »
(Wallpaper page)

See All Those Strike a Pose

Scout in cloak,
Seldom spoke,
Solitary bloke.
Small and wiry.

Swede who cleans,
Shoots unseen,
Sometimes the scene,
Sets aflame entirely.

Sigrun, best arm aloft,
Speech hardly soft,
Saves the others oft,
Shoutiest and fiery.

Stoic farm man,
Staying calm, he can
Speak most deadpan.
Smirking, say satirely.

Scatterbrained Reynir,
Spontaneous, with cheer,
Stone-dead he came near.
Seldom without enquiry.

Skalding Tuuri, last.
Surveying, seems a blast.
Sociable and with sass.
Set task to keep a diary.
« Last Edit: December 14, 2015, 03:21:02 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 #530 on: December 15, 2015, 12:38:44 AM »
Pg 438

Standing About, Chopper Burnt Out

Fallen copter in the forest razed,
While Reynir looks inside, looking amazed,
Tuuri with the broken blades tries to play.
The non-immune pair within Mikkel's gaze.

The medic relegated to the way side.
To protocol they have to abide...
With husk of the heli, long unoccupied.
Kitty looks on, her pocket, inside.
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 #531 on: December 16, 2015, 09:27:20 PM »
Pg 439

Brotherly Love

Mikkel wraps up with his trademark bow.
No need to be careful? She's free to go.
Sigrun's not one to take things slow.
Emil should stay, due to his injury, although...

Sigrun doesn't listen or doesn't hear.
Shouting the name of her buddy dear.
When Mikkel recommends that he remained here.
Meanwhile Emil tries to rouse his sleeping peer.

Lalli still slumbers, it's indeed strange.
No reaction is there, no movement, no change.
Even when his body position is rearranged.
He gets on the ground, in closer range.

Emil gets a closer look at his bruv.
Nothing from the touch of his glove,
No sign of life by his friendly shove, he's
Worried by the activity or lack thereof.

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

I'm Not Awake Yet by Rory Gallagher (with a few small changes)

I'm not awake yet, I haven't opened my eyes
I'm under the weather you may be wondering why
Been asleep for days and there's no sign of life
And I need my soul back to materialize

How much can I take now before I break inside?
How long will it take now before I'm normalised?
That I can't live without help, I'm paralysed
And I can't go long without my spirit guide

I've looked at my heart now and I trusted my eyes
I made that mistake now and I'm paying the price
My mind wanders, the cat on the other side
And then what will I be, what's left behind?

I'm not awake yet, I haven't opened my eyes
What will be my fate
I'm out of my mind, I'm out of my mind
I'm out of my mind, I'm out of my mind

Been asleep for days and there's no sign of life
And I need my soul back to materialize

« Last Edit: December 17, 2015, 10:08:41 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 #532 on: December 18, 2015, 08:28:13 AM »
Page 440

Your Leg's Not Sore, Baby Cry Some More

Emil asking if Lalli is ill,
Motionless, unmoving, still.
Tuuri knows but she doesn't explain
Of the Luonto lacking mage's pain.

He just needs plenty of rest.
An empty vessel, soul dispossessed.
Emil is ready, eager to assist.
Pulling Sigrun back, Mikkel has to insist.

They are both hurt, though not severe.
Mikkel will have to force them both here.
Is he really concerned or something else?
Does he just want to out to explore himself?

Sigrun cutting him off, she's saying no.
Nothing will stop this most best combo.
Emil pipes up that his legs hurts a lot.
The leader assures him, the baby, that it's not.
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 #533 on: December 20, 2015, 09:20:18 PM »
Pg 441

No Battling Gifts, Now Medic Miffed

Off they go, despite Mikkel's desires.
Emil's more useful with his explosive fires.
Mikkel is left with an expression of ire.
He seems not have the skills she requires.

Tuuri looks at the box and the book,
Taking a syringe out for a detailed look.
Appears to be something, that thing they took,
According to their now miffed medic and cook.
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 #534 on: January 01, 2016, 05:33:37 AM »
Page 442

Cannot Stay for Another Day

Tuuri exclaims with 'Eee!'
What could this mean?
Maybe, just maybe,
They've found a vaccine...

Examine the label,
Look a close at the vial.
The future on the table,
Humanity's clinical trial.

The box has faded,
No origin known.
This package degraded,
Only a nearby fort shown.

Sigrun has gone out.
She'll be a long time away.
It's vital, no doubt,
Have to check it this day.

Keeping to his station,
Even with this afoot.
He grabs his apron,
Mikkel's staying put...
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 #535 on: January 04, 2016, 09:50:00 PM »
Page 443

Thankless Job, Buncha Slobs...

With apron on,
It's time to work!
Will not be forgone,
He will not shirk.

Stand in the mud,
Kitty goes splat.
Snow-melting flood,
With a messy wee cat.

Washing the linen.
Clean up the brown.
Reynir's mad grin.
The sheet wearing clown.

Wipe Lalli's face,
He's still fast asleep.
Remove all dirty trace,
Polish, wash and sweep...

Survey work with pride.
Then with muddy-again feet,
Kitty tracks mud inside.
Now rinse and repeat.

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

All Of The Dirt
(based on The River Of Dreams by Billy Joel)

I'm helping, out that's right
I go do things for the Dane
From the washing of sheets
To the cleaning of stains
I must be helping or something
Carrying sheets like a ghost
And the tasks keep coming
But we'll be making the most

And even though I know the checklist is long
I clean all the pots and pans and I sweep all the floors
A smile on my face, in my head is a song
So I can help Mikkel out with all that's in store

I'm helping, out that's right
I go wipe the scout's face
While he's out like a light
I scrub the whole place
And I've been helping or something
Working hard like I should
Making the place spotless
And I knew that I could

I don't know why I am along for the ride
But now we have finally finished the long list of chores
After it's played in the brown mud outside
The kitty's making dirt tracks, we have to clean up some more

I'm helping, out that's right
I go sweeping the floor
Through the jungle of doubt
I go sweep some more
I know I'm helping or something
So that I can earn my keep
Making the place sparkle
While the others still sleep

I'm helping, out that's right

I'm not sure about the days after this
I know I've never been the most able man
Captured by ghosts, I went into the dreams
That run in this foreign land

I'm helping, out that's right
I go washing, clean and sweep
Through the checklist so long
With the rest still asleep
We're both working our butts off
We two, both in concert
I'm just all helping along
Cleaning all of the dirt
I'm helping, out that's right
« Last Edit: January 04, 2016, 10:31:14 PM 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 #536 on: January 06, 2016, 08:50:12 AM »
Pg 444



Await His Return, This Outing Earned

Picked up into the air,
Then into the coat.
Will kitty stay there?
The chance is remote.

Apron removed, off the clock.
Mikkel has done his part.
They'll go for a walk,
He's had a change of heart.

Was not told to stay,
So he can go roam the land
Have a good day,
Tuuri, talk to the hand...
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 #537 on: January 06, 2016, 09:46:31 PM »
Page 445

Objection! Need Protection!

Just as he's about to exit the door,
Mikkel is held back the skald in uproar.
On his shoulder is Tuuri's arm,
How can he leave them in way of harm.

Two non-immune would be left alone,
These actions would never be condoned.
Tuuri with a look very sly,
Will not let the medic easily by.

His eyes wide, he realised his folly,
An irresponsible one he would be.
How could Mikkel be such a fool,
Tried to leave and so break the rules.

He looks around desperately,
He spies the still sleeping Lalli.
"There is your guard" Mikkel crows,
Out the door, they stare as he goes.
« Last Edit: January 07, 2016, 09:54:00 PM 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 #538 on: January 07, 2016, 09:54:15 PM »
Pg 446

She Tries To Incite, He Just Won't Bite

Walks out all alone,
The medical Dane.
Only his back shown,
As he steps out of pane.

Playing their games,
Tuuri likes not this lull.
Staying there is lame,
Unfulfilling and dull.

The radio works,
Just no-one at base.
The boredom just irks.
It's plain on her face.

Just making small talk,
The two in isolation.
Coax Reynir to chase the doc,
Give in to temptation...

If he was to go now,
She'd just go along.
Could not but allow...
(She's weak, he's strong).

Trying to provoke the man,
In her eye is a glint.
Such is her cunning plan,
But he just misses the hint.
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:

wavewright62

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #539 on: January 09, 2016, 11:19:58 PM »
From pg 444, assuming you count limericks as poems:

wavewright62
There was a young Icelandic shepherd
Who felt a bit lost among the step-herd
Finally useful for the crew
Thanked the thankless, as you do
But I don't think the poor schlep heard.


wavewright62 
There once was a farm boy named Mikkel
Whose allegiance to authority was fickle
His new captain Sigrun
Dissed him, to his chagrin
What a helluva way to earn a nickel.


corncobman 
There once was a Danish medic
His face barely changed, all stoic
Tried to keep there
The non-immune pair
Hoping that neither get sick
Always a newbie at something
Native speaker: :us:
Acquired: :nz:
Grew up speaking but now very rusty: :ee:


Ruler of Queenstown Airport (Thanks Purple Wyrm, I will wear my wings with pride)
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