The Poetry Game

[Malchik]

The End of the World?

 

The light dimmed first to indigo, then deeper purple shade.

The elven sentries shuffled, chilled, within their sacred glade

While Elrond and Galadriel sipped gin and lemonade

Lamenting what had been.

 

Gandalf had come as messenger. The threat of was was rife.

The lordly one dismissed his words. "We'll hear no talk of strife."

And called a bard to serenade the wond'rous elven life

and all that he had seen.

 

"War does not threaten us," they said. "'Tis others face the grave."

The whole world fell to Sauron's sword. None had the power to save.

Though men and hobbits fought as one so fearless and so so brave.

Fate laid them all to rest.

 

The navel-gazing elves fell last. Too late they saw their ends.

Through isolation they had lost the hope of help from friends.

When all are dead there is no chance to try to make amends.

How will we face our test?

[ThetaOrionis01]

purple, lemonade, messenger, bard

 

 

The bard at a tavern sought rest,

To the innkeeper's wife he did cry.

"Lemonade, goodwife! And only the best,

For Apollo's messenger I.

 

Quickly, ere I take sick

For you must hear this, and be amazed

The muse has gifted me a new limerick

My eloquence has left even titans dazed."

 

Elaborately he strung his harp

Cleared his throat and began to sing

In a voice loud and sharp

Through the whole the inn it did ring

 

"There once was a queen named Helen the Coy

Deserted Sparta and followed true love to Troy

The King's revenge was swift

Beware of Greeks bearing a gift

After ten years of war did Troy he destroy"

 

The patrons did midly applaud

The landlady returned with his drink

She also his poem did laud

But upon her words his heart did sink.

 

"We don't serve lemonade, alas

But our wine is the best you will find

Thus I have brought you a glass

Trusting that perhaps you won't mind

 

 

Glumly the bard looked at the purple wine

Dionysos he did not follow

But sipped his drink, and liked it just fine

And soon the entire contents did swallow

 

One cup after the other did he drain

Loudly praising Dionysos' gift

The strong wine befuddled his brain

It's effect was rather swift

 

Once again the bard burst into song

Out came verse after verse

The words began to flow along

Each line beautiful yet terse

 

Of heroes he sang, valiant and brave

Of the fortunes of battle and war

Of the many the war left in the grave

Of the heroes that came to Troy from afar

 

On his song went through the night

Fuelled by wine till the morn

When finally he slept the day was bright

And an epic had been born.

 

 

 

:shifty:

[Tiel]

He's back: Its me :D

 

 

golden, sky, fear, soft

 

Sky of white,

Street of gold,

Perfect fulfillment

Of joy untold

 

All is fine,

No trace

Of fear,

Wonderful palace

Home is here

 

Filled with treasures,

I cannot believe,

Softly I realize,

What I have come to recieve

 

 

Lol, where on earth did that come from? If anyone can work out what thats a discription of i'll give them a prize.... Well lets face it I won't, but i'll be darn impressed. Not bad 4 3.5 mins tho!

[AdamNeko]

purple, lemonade, messenger, bard

 

Whilest I sat, sipping a drink

of lemonade, or so I think,

I, by chance, met with a bard

who had come to learn, quite hard,

of many seasons come and gone,

all of which he told in song.

 

"A messenger," he sang to me,

"has travelled far, over land and sea,

to fight against a some villany,

(supposedly) a monster of such tyranny.

Its skin was purple, evil and vile,

and it smelled quite bad, perhaps of bile.

Perhaps he'd won, or maybe not,

but at least we'd heard of how he'd fought."

 

B) How's that one?

[Caveatar]

He's back: Its me :D

 

 

golden, sky, fear, soft

 

Sky of white,

Street of gold,

Perfect fulfillment

Of joy untold

 

All is fine,

No trace

Of fear,

Wonderful palace

Home is here

 

Filled with treasures,

I cannot believe,

Softly I realize,

What I have come to recieve

 

 

Lol, where on earth did that come from? If anyone can work out what thats a discription of i'll give them a prize.... Well lets face it I won't, but i'll be darn impressed. Not bad 4 3.5 mins tho!

Apparently the generally accepted Protestant Christian idea of heaven.

[AdamNeko]

I'm apt to believe Cav, but I wouldn't know in the first place. The description in the poem could be the author's ideal utopia, for all I know. Needless, I don't believe it's too critical to be precise in this case. For reference, I think we're on a new set of words, as given by Theta.

[Malchik]

Thoughts of Dracula have lead me to set words for a poem. Not about Dracula but set one that is scary please. The words are coffin, whirling, tolling and frozen. Too late in the day for me to start now so I'll catch up tomorrow!

[Caveatar]

I was waiting to see just what you were intending but

probably there is no need to wait.

 

 

 

coffin, whirling, tolling, frozen

 

 

 

 

My last stand in the wild country

 

 

Through the dark woods by the dank mere

surrounded by fog and smothered by fear

 

desperately fleeing, frantic to escape

the fangs of the redeyed slavering shape

 

that followed behind me close on my track

I sensed the presence of the Beast at my back

 

as terrifying forms took shape in the fog

tortured souls shrieked from the dark bog

 

whirling I drew steel but lost the brand

as sharp teeth tore at my bloodied hand

 

then I knew I was lost and lost was my race

when I felt fetid breath and fangs at my face

--------

 

I arose in the morning finding I was alone

all trace of the beast and demons was gone

 

then over the frozen landscape rolling

came the sound of a dead-bell tolling

 

I walked to a church of dark moldy stone

to pay last respects to one who was gone

 

at the funeral sat mourners who shed no tear

and noticed me not as I moved to the bier

 

an icy blade pierced my heart and spine

the face of the corpse in the coffin was mine!

 

--

[ThetaOrionis01]

coffin whirling tolling frozen

 

Danse Macabre?

 

Drawn by the music. Enraptured.

I approach. Another victim captured.

I step onto the floor in a trance.

Caught up in a whirling dance.

Faster the rhythm. More frenzied the beat.

I can only follow. It, not I, controls my feet.

I cannot stop. I cannot get away.

The danse macabre holds me in its sway.

 

A new sound. A mournful tolling bell

Others join in. Dance from hell

Out of coffin. Out of crypt underground

The undead rise. Join this merry round

Rotten flesh. Ancient splintered bone

Faster I whirl. To get away. To be alone.

But the music slows. They follow.

Grinning skulls leer. Eyesockets hollow.

 

A door stands open. My escape I see.

But the music won't stop. Won't release me.

Past hope. The dance draws me in.

Is there no end? How did it begin?

Suddenly it stops. The undead draw near.

Frozen I stand. No sound to hear.

Can't move without music. Standing still.

The sacrifice presented. Ready for the kill.

[Malchik]

Somewhat hastily written but still in time I think.

 

Who's there?

 

An early morning jog, the sky rain-washed and red

A wispy sylph-shaped fog tugging my clothes and hair

A fast-crushed, sneaking wish I could have stayed in bed

Warmth, comfort, certainty - all these can be found there.

 

From greyish, dew-soaked grass cold drops splash on my calves

While empty marshland spreads before me and beside

If I must do a task it's never done by halves

The daily exercise - push on until I cried.

 

Then from afar I hear the sound of tolling bells.

I stop, amazed. There is no church so near at hand.

And it approaces too, the deep boom louder swells.

What sonic trick is this? I cannot understand.

 

But further on within a patch of swirling mist

A church or church-like shape emerges through the gloom

My whirling thoughts are chilled. No church here can exist

And yet it does. My heart misgives and warns of doom.

 

I quash the doubts and cross to see if it is what

it seems - a village church, small, square and built of stone.

No sun shines through the fog. It is a cheerless spot.

There is a door. I push. It opens with a groan.

 

A simple limestone plinth alone is found within

On it a plain black coffin, its heavy lid locked fast.

I feel compelled to touch it, although it seems a sin.

This takes a moment only. I dream that aeons passed.

 

Or time had frozen? I shrug, turn, relieved to go

But, as I do so, catch a sound my mind dismayed.

I spin to stare. All's still. Yet, in myheart I know

This is no normal bier. None for this corpse has prayed.

 

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch! I freeze til from the site I speed

Back to the household fire, warm rooms and family

What lay within that tomb, whatever it did need

It should stay far away, get nowhere close to me.

 

Back in my room I see that fear has brought the noise

Making me quake in fright at self-imagined sound

Like children who find ghosts or see real eyes in toys

When they are left to play, no adults then around.

 

Easy to laugh at home at manufactured fears

Everyday objects by and in the full day's light

Yet as the evening falls and midnight blackness nears

From my own door I hear, echoing through the night

 

Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch .............