My poems (updated 16/09)

Remove all ads!

A Merchants tale


There once were a merchant from Ponto
He declared he would own the world
So he scribed his goals onto
The bag of a cigaret pack:

Thy costummer is always right, never wrong
(If they are we do nay tell them).
Give the impression that the women art young
(Even though she's old as Shem).
'Tis naught what he can do for ye'
(Rather what he'll do for your purse)
'Tis always what can be done for he
(Thus art the salesmans curse).

Tell her the dress looks lovely on her body
(Or the fatsy'll destory you in rage)
Say that her parfume smells like a rhody**
(In your head think an elephant cage)
Always provide a full gurantee
(Though neglect to ever have done so)
Never object, no siree
(Fetch what he want so he'll go)


Work in process!

** Rhody = Rhododendron (actually don't know how this flower smells, so if it smells badly, I guess I'll have to

change that little word)

Editorial Note: Altered 'the sem' to 'shem', as I thought most people would have a bigger chance of knowing who this biblic person was than knowing who the Sems were.

**************

This is an old poem I've gotten laying around for ages. I think I made it as an english project once, though I'm not sure.

In reality, I don't think much of it myself. It is far from my usual writing style, but I thought it deserved a post anyways. Then whomever of the few who haunts the creativity Surge can judge by themselves.

This is a story told by a boy who got stabbed in a street fight (Come to think about it, I think it's inspired by a poem called 'strange fruit'. Yes that's right. I cannot remember who the author were, though). Well anyways. A street fight, where some other kid stabs him because he was on top of the fight.

Please note that I've altered the writing some, as the original poem used a so-called 'dirty' language, and would break the code of conduct here at SP

Bane of the Brigand

Son of a dead father
Brother to a dead sister
Practitioner of a dead ideal.
The hatred - transformed
How did this metamorphosis happen?
Transformed into a floating substance driving down my soul
It's the materialized hatred drifting through my veins
Why?
Why did this happen?
He got what he deserved!
A disagreement... a simple disagreement
No more, no less!
So cold. It's so cold
I feel my chest collapsing
I feel the hatred still

Bane of the brigand
Protector of the simple minded
Liberator of life
The hatred - transformed
Into a foaming monster
I told him to back off!
He had it coming
That idiot had it coming
Why stab me?
A disagreement... a simple disagreement
A slap. So what?
That's life on the streets
So cold. It's so cold
I feel my heart breaking
I feel the hatred still

The sound of the sirens
The voice of the crowd
The smell of death
Four months...
Four months in Juvenile Hall
And me! What am I?
Is this supposed to be Justice?
Then screw justice!
A disargeement
Four months in Juvenile Hall
Five years in the criminal records
Then what?

Then nothing...

**************

hymn of a Jan Jansen (silly poem)

Wirdle, Widle, Wirdle-woo
What can we gnomish heroes do
fizle, fazle, follip, FOW!
When tall-folks hits like KAPOW!

Monkey, tonkey, monkey, moo
So what if we be shorter than you
shizel,shazel, shozel, shulp
My magic'll make you gulp!

pilax, polux, paliz, poo
You need think it over twice or two
gnasku, pasku, poska, pon
before a gnomish hero you take on

Wirdle, Widle, Wirdle-woo
What can we gnomish heroes do
magi, targi, togu, ton
you died by me flash-mater gun!

Edited it to 'hymn of Jan Jansen' due to the flash-mater gun

**************
Gallow of loneliness

When the shadows lengthens,
and the light has gone cold .
When the darkness strengthen,
and the feelings grow old .
Who knows what she speaks
when none art there?
Who know of her screams,
her sobbing blare?

Her life is forfeit,
she's exiled in the darkness.
Alone in the waves,
lost in the vastness.
Who knows of the shades
that fills the void?
Who knows what she feel,
how her anger boil?

NONE! they know naught,
thus none ever cared.
So she embraces her faith,
as it has been ared.
she's lost to the world,
subdued by the shadow.
Alone now she hangs,
at the end of a gallow.

**************

The abyss


I'm what lure within
Do you fear me not?
I'm the shadow akin
Do you loathe me not?
I embrace thy soul
reject me not!


I come in thy dreams
Have you reared me not?
I feed of thy screams
Do you need me not?
I set aflame thy anger
Reject me not!


I'm a primeval howl
Do you hear me not?
I'm the precarious fowl
Do you feel me not?
I'm what lure within
Do you fear me not?


What am I?


I am what fills the abyss.

[ September 16, 2005, 03:00: Message edited by: olimikrig ]

 

Oh god! I am not one who enjoys poetry, but that was fantastic! I love it!

 

Thank you very much

 

I'm not a lover of poems, in fact I tend to hate most. But this, this is LOVELY! Good job, have you any others?

 

Might have some laying around
Mostly they're in Danish, though, and it kind of hard to translate a poem without wrecking the contents of it.

 

Gathered all my poetry in one threat, and made a minor update on the Merchants tale to complete the second verse...

New poem added: The abyss...

[ September 16, 2005, 02:51: Message edited by: olimikrig ]

 

I think the 1st three lines of Bane of the Brigand are very funky, but would be better on a different poem

 

/me ponders

Don't know. Maybe I could make something centered around those, but it probably won't be anytime soon...

 

'Gallow of loneliness' and 'The abyss' are my favorites. Solid, imaginative poems, love it! Keep 'em coming!