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Author Topic: Poetry collection  (Read 240844 times)

corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #945 on: January 03, 2018, 09:21:17 PM »
Pg 839

Downward Sliding, Never Reuniting

They'll just have to rely,
On only their stealth,
Since their medic has poor eyes,
With their fighter's bad health.

"Supper now?" Mikkel inquires,
"Sure." Sigrun replied.
Walking back to the campfire,
Striding side by side.

Mikkel asks how Reynir's doing
All's fine, he says, except...
Just sitting there stewing,
On all the things to reflect.

Thinking about how he
Will never again see family.
Brooding on how he'll be
In a long line of fatalities.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #946 on: January 04, 2018, 11:48:53 PM »
Pg 840

Not Two Crises. One Per Day Please!

Reynir's no idea to prevent
The spirits from tracking.
He'll give in to the torment as
His abilities are lacking.

Resigned to his fate grim,
To keep them from his family.
The only way, let them take him,
And let the spirits kill he.

The medic then assists
- A bonk on the noggin!
To make him desist
And stop monologuing.

What was that for?
Was it needed at all?
Some sanity to restore,
Needed to get physical...

To make him think of
Something else instead,
A rain from above,
Blown to his head.

Both being traumatised
Is too much disarray.
One existential crisis
Is enough for one day.

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

Won't Go Home (based on Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face)

Stop the spirits but I cannot run
Only one thing can be done
And I'll be the one who dies
I'll be saving everyone

Beasts enslaving, but I'll hold the line
Becoming one with all the ghosts
Never could do much
But this will all, I've made the most

Won't go ho-oh-ho-ho-ho-ome
Ho-ho-oh-ho-oh-ho-home
Ho-oh-ho-ho-ho-ome
Ho-ho-oh-ho-oh-ho-home

Trip was turning to a mess
Not a game and I didn't know
Turning to a beast
There'll be nowhere else to go

All the stars are turning black
Cannot take it any more
Couldn't fight or scout
But let them know I played my part

Bonk on do-oh-oh-oh-do-ome
Do-oh-oh-oh-oh-do-ome
do-oh-oh-oh-do-ome
Do-oh-oh-oh-oh-do-ome

All my nightmares escaped my head
Bar the door, please don't let them in
Doomed, this country I'll never leave
Now the dead's invaded all my dreams
And I don't know if I can

Here, in a place far-flung
I see the skulls
Come into my mind again
« Last Edit: January 05, 2018, 11:39:23 PM by corncobman »
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #947 on: January 07, 2018, 09:48:26 PM »
Pg 841

Clearer Morn, Weary And Worn

They're all exhausted
After today's events.
Between the nauseous,
And the depression, they're spent.

When comes the morrow,
They'll be clearer of mind.
But back to the cat harrowed,
And the Swede on his grind.

Done far too much dragging,
It's enough for today.
With his reserves flagging,
Yet he cannot delay...
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #948 on: January 08, 2018, 10:02:40 PM »
Pg 842

Bright Eyed, Entry Denied

For shelter, one of those
Buildings will have to do.
That one proposed,
It has a fireplace too.

In decent condition,
What do you think?
In his eyes, the magician,
A glowing visual link.

Forward analysing,
With the magical glare.
The internal vocalising,
Suddenly "Stop." It declares.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #949 on: January 10, 2018, 09:30:52 PM »
Pg 843

'Sure' He Replied, He Lied

He saw something inside,
Keep walking and don't look.
Something that darkness hides,
Lurking in the nooks.

But he turned to his side,
By temptation thus was hooked,
Instructions did not abide,
And his very soul was shook.

"I said don't look!" Lalli cried,
Too late, his goose is cooked.
Now he stands, horrified,
One glance was all it took.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #950 on: January 11, 2018, 10:26:19 PM »
Pg 844

Dead Tide (based on Red Tide by Rush)

Nature has some new plague
Covering our streets
Plainly we are now sinking
We are doomed to defeat
Something lives on the dying gore
Shadows hide in houses and old stores
Men are ambushed frozen to the floor
And the dead tide watches once more

This is not a false alarm
This is not a test

Stay inside the sun
It burns the darkness within
Mind full of voices
And the daylight here's too thin
Bless the sun, the rain no more
Blackness turning in the open sores
Warnings falling to his deaf ears for
And the dead tide rushes once more

This is not a false alarm
This is not a test
Nowhere we can hide away
Nowhere we can rest
The buddies are disrupted by
Some uninvited guests

Deadline approaches
For the weary man
Told him to keep moving
But he let it happen as he stands
Too late for debate, too bad to ignore
Quiet whispers lead to living never more
Bring an ending to the men o' war
As the dead tide's coming once more

Now's the time to turn the tide
Now's the time to fight
Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night
Now's the time to make the time
While day is still in sight
Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night

Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night

This is not a false alarm
This is not a test
Nowhere we can hide away
Nowhere we can rest
The buddies are disrupted by
Some uninvited guests

Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night

Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night

Let us not go gently
To the endless dead of night

And the dead tide watches once more
And the dead tide rushes once more
And the dead tide's coming once more
And the dead tide rushes once more
And the dead tide's coming once more

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

"Hey!" He Pleads, But The Swede Pays No Heed

"Did you forget how walking works?"
Lalli calls, "Keep moving!" Fool.
Don't stare at ghostly visions, you berk,
Just saying, as a general rule.

But the fascinated and foolish Swede,
His thoughts and mind are dulled.
He paid the instructions no heed,
Lured by the call of the skulls.

"It's talking to me." Emil entranced.
Lalli shouts to him to no avail.
What an unfortunate circumstance,
"Stop listening to it!" He wails.
« Last Edit: January 12, 2018, 12:34:43 AM by corncobman »
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #951 on: January 14, 2018, 10:04:05 PM »
Pg 845

Uselessly Shouted It, Snap Out Of It!

"Help me." "Help us." "Help us."
Calling out so despairing.
The voices cry in chorus,
As Emil continues staring.

"You have to kill us", they cry,
To the Swedish, so enfeebled.
But the piteous sounds lie,
Masking a malignant evil.

It will kill as you get close.
Don't go in, snap out of it Emil!
Deep in despairing throes,
Lalli tries, all for nil.

"Emil...", disheartened pleading,
Lalli says, "Focus on me."
He raises his gun, not heeding,
And with hope fading rapidly...
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #952 on: January 15, 2018, 09:28:16 PM »
Pg 846

Magic Thunderbolt, To Stop Swedish Dolt

"No! Stop! Stop!" Emil heeds not,
"I'm just going to kill it real quick."
Can they be easily fought?
Not an ideal battle to pick.

Running in isolated,
While tired, not best policy.
Is his mind contaminated
By the ghostly monstrosities?

"Don't worry," the Swede says,
He says he'll be back in a sec.
Lalli trusts more his experiences,
To keep the cleanser in check.

Teeth gritted, hands poised,
Then bright lightning flashed.
Through his head magical noise,
To jolt the cleanser, all too brash.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #953 on: January 18, 2018, 12:45:29 AM »
Pg 847

Painful Incite, Blinding Headlight

A piercing, blinding light,
Through the Swede's eyes.
By the mage figment forthright
Actions, not words, edgewise.

Bleeding ears, the scout slight,
To stop Emil's trespass ill-advised.
Clenched teeth, gnashing bite,
His last resort agonised.

Collapsed by the smite,
Mutual pain synchronised.
Unable, thus, to fight,
Now the man immobilised.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #954 on: January 18, 2018, 09:46:58 PM »
Pg 848

Dolt Dropped Flat, Won't Stop That

Painful migraine,
On the floor lie.
Writhing in pain,
Breathing a sigh.

Tempting again,
Call to the cleaner.
The Swede strains,
Scout's mind is keener.

"Come closer." "Come back."
"Come back!" He insists.
This mental attack,
Must do all to resist.

Again Emil flops,
He must stay still.
Lalli won't stop,
In this battle of wills.
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MegaJar

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #955 on: January 19, 2018, 07:04:29 AM »
(Page 848)

Been a while since I posted a new filk!

Trolls of Summer
(based on Don Henley's Boys of Summer)

Out on the road today,
I saw a dead troll hidin' in a dirty shack.
But Lalli's voice inside my head said
"Back, come back, you had better come back."
I thought I'd save that poor guy.
What did I know?
That soul is gone forever,
I should just let it go, but,

I can see you,
The grossling hiding from the sun.
You've got your flesh peeled off and your
Hypnotic voice, baby.
I can tell you, my fear of you will still be strong
After the Trolls of Summer have gone.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #956 on: January 21, 2018, 09:46:28 PM »
Pg 849

Got In His Mind, Leave Them Behind

He wanted to play hero,
But they got into his head.
If he went inside the shadows,
Both of them would be dead.

In Lalli he needs to trust,
So turn and walk away.
You may believe it unjust,
But save yourself and the kittay.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #957 on: January 22, 2018, 09:35:24 PM »
Pg 850

Will They Abate? He Can Negate

This you'll regret,
Some parting words shot.
He was supposed to go in,
Yet he was forced to not.

No more pretence or deceit,
A mass of spiny limbs.
They reach out and retreat,
Can no longer get him.

What if it chases?
It can't, building binded.
He can still hear the traces,
In the back of his mind.

Will they perpetuate,
The voices persistent?
Lalli can insulate, once
There's greater distance.

Some promising shelter,
He sees down the way.
He says "Go there."
So they can hit the hay.
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A man left his Icelandic home
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #958 on: January 25, 2018, 07:56:15 AM »
Page 851

Fire's Aglow, Heads On Pillows

To place Lalli'd shown,
Dragging, encumbered.
To a solitary home,
Seems safe enough for slumber.

Setting up fireside,
Pillows by the hearth.
Growing heavy-eyed,
With his mental scars.

Doesn't take much to nod,
For one half of this team.
To rest his tired bod,
Again back to his dream.
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corncobman

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Re: Poetry collection
« Reply #959 on: January 25, 2018, 10:27:42 PM »
Pg 852

Friend He Can Be For The Nanny

Recovering after the spell,
His pain in the head.
All is fine, all is well.
Some aromas waft and spread.

Cakes, and other delights,
As far as the eye can see.
But in the corner of his sight,
Uh-oh, weird foreign nanny!

"Oh, hello dear!"
"Are you Emil's friend?"
"Uh..uh huh?" says the seer,
Is it real or just pretend?

He stares at the food,
For conversation prevention.
On it his eyes are glued,
Not really paying attention.
« Last Edit: January 28, 2018, 10:03:24 PM by corncobman »
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