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11-27-2006, 12:29 PM | #1 |
Elven Warrior
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: Free, happy, drunk and sincere
Posts: 346
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Poet's corner
Perhaps we should have a section for aspiring poets to discuss poetry, look at form and style, and above all submit poetry for criticism and analysis.
Well, I think it's a good idea.
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Audaces fortuna juvat |
11-27-2006, 12:32 PM | #2 |
Elven Warrior
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: Free, happy, drunk and sincere
Posts: 346
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I'll start.
This is one I wrote a few years ago; its about a very remote football team. The Quambatook Football Club. Dusty fields from eye to eye, dead trees too weary to die or care that we pass heading north, amongst battered fences of stone. A smile. A worn hand to take yours in embrace; worn and weary, but strong; welcomes you to the field. A field of green in defiance of the dust, in memory of the great trees. Roots run deep around here. "Pull on your boots Lads, here they come!" "Don't forget to limber up, charge the foe and raise those colours high." A worn hand smiles, hands you a cold beer. A slap on the back and a good laugh, makes the miles seem like a pleasant jaunt. And the rain, finally reaching the fields of dust in the shadow of the great trees, sounds the requiem, falling on tin roofs. Worn and weary, but strong. Well? What do we think?
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Audaces fortuna juvat |
12-13-2006, 02:43 PM | #3 |
Elven Warrior
Join Date: Apr 2005
Location: Montreal
Posts: 118
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Allright, I'll bite
Winter Winter is a cold mistress, her beauty hidden in the night. Her daily presence brings most chills, and colour to each cheek in sight. It's not her language that offends, and turns away the people's faces. It’s just her brazen way of showing, that she can put them in their places. Her love is stifling in it's candour, Much like a woman in great need. Her grip on you is like a vice, cold and hard, a bitter deed. She's prone to tell you not to worry, to stay inside in your own warm homes. She’d rather be alone, than with you. A chaste beauty living on her own. To love her is a madman's calling, It’s usage in its perfect form. Each man and woman must fight her, to enter in her chilling storm. Their arms get chills when they embrace her their lips grow cold with every kiss. It's not that they desire torture, for all they want is to bring her bliss. Should they succeed in their endeavour, to make her smile for just one moment. Then all her anger will just vanish, and all her chillness will be spent. Soon she'll change her solemn colours, to a verdant green of spring's delight. Then she'll dance and sing from morning until the last moments of the night. deBish The Truth "The truth is overrated," the men in white say. It lives with the rich, while the poor die each day. To dream of not doing what others have done and place blame on shouldres of many, not one. The judge says the truth, is balanced and weighed by laws that were written by others in stead. The truth is, the truth is no more than lies more cleverly hidden like a well worn disguise. In everyday life the truth has no place It helps hide contempt too well seen on it's face and innocence, a game played well by the rich. That's the truth now, my friend. Ain't life a bitch deBish Last edited by MrBishop : 12-13-2006 at 02:45 PM. |
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