Best Archers Poems
(The Merry Adventures of Robin Good)
Sherwood's Forest legendary, leading man
up, down, tricking eggs between branches
slender, slander, his voice is growing thinner
twisting, turning heads 50 shades of green
Master of disguise reaching for the top archers spot,
A bard, with uncanny precision, ROBIN nonstop
Splitting his opponent LIKE A BOSS!
Aiming arrows, where broken women sit
Creating fantasies, for his band of hypocrites
A serenade, of jealousy and mayhem
A poetic outlaw, generously taking what others earn
Wearing black tights, the hottest profile, sipping wine
A lust beyond Dorthy's Rainbow, a venomous poem
Somewhere, covered in leprechaun's gold
His chest is cold
- Yet warm from all the hands caressing this bard,
He is the best, gravity has no weight on his pen,
A soundless soldier having his way with his sword,
Executing those who challenge him,
Breathing life into many empty accounts
Giving voices and self-encouragement
With no time to drop down this bard from cloud nine
A dissipation of air fresheners and hello's
Painting pain just to pretend it hurts the person
A fragile voice whispering in the shadows
Slithering Secrets;
From this hooded bard who carries no face,
A mask of lies, taking what belongs to others.
Robin of honor, graveled by his peasants
MISUNDERSTOOD in every fashion, yet he preys
Pipping dreams away, down an infested rat's path
Shoving Little Johns hopes down the list
Robin is no common criminal, just a bard
Wearing a dark cloak, when in disguise
taking from the greedy --- giving to the needy
Thank you for enjoying my story
Robin Good and his network of Merry Men
2-3-16
The Fall of The Winter King
He had risen to power
fueled by a vicious and ruthless determination
to reclaim a lost throne.
His tactics had stunned the unsuspecting,
laid barren the fields,
blanketed the forest,
silenced the sounds of life itself.
A dictator, seeking no counsel,
accepting no offers of surrender,
driven by the desire to destroy
the kingdom that had usurped his throne.
Rumors spread of a daring bud – sprouting -
a tune hummed by the imprisoned trees
adrift on the whipping winds of war
in defiance of the heartless king.
A call to arms sounded
by the most gentle, the most delicate.
The first acts of open rebellion,
The resounding crack of the ice jamb
the aching roar of the river’s rage
surging over its banks
awakening those still held captive.
Slowly the insurrection took root
buds gathered in hidden clusters,
trees quietly bloomed
muffling the screeching gales,
offering safety to bands of rebels.
Flocks of warblers met -
feathered archers - hurling their
darting arrows against the glare
of a cold king’s horror.
Sweet grasses spread across
the brown, despoiled fields -
a verdant gauntlet tossed in the face of dread.
Flowers crept from thawing dungeons
waving their colors,
swarms of banished pollinators
followed the call to duty.
The ebb and flow of battle -
frosted retreats,
clandestine sunrise maneuvers.
The resurgence of heart,
the growing hope of warmth.
As memory of the chilled repression
faded preparation was made
to receive the beauty and bounty
of a new and peaceful King.
John G. Lawless
1/11/2015
For SKAT’s Winter’s End – Poetry Contest
Image: Cloud Fantasy, by Susan Lawrence
On spring's green carpet I repose, revitalizing the soul
passing slow minutes pondering the sky
The lake whispers a morning meditation
as memories abound of cloud fantasies
a thousand ships of condensation dreams
Assorted sizes, shifting shapes
capriciously changing contours and colors
white, dun, pewter gray, dusky purple
magically mirroring my many moods
Fleecy, flitting, tiny, quiet, wispy cirrus all alone
like first day of school in a new town
Thunderheads colliding with cold fronts
hurling lightning in angry retribution
resolute battleships storming towards war
Stratus clouds, flat and unruffled
soothing, like grandma holding a cookie sheet
embracing landscapes like a comforting blanket
hugging hilltops in a friendly fog
Misting up at a feel good story
spilling tears on the gloomiest of days
A nimbostratus orchestra performing
a symphony of snow for mountain dwellers
a reverie of rain for desert denizens
Bouffant hairdo like a 60's prom queen
strutting across the sky adjusting her tiara
cotton ball cumulus, billowy like a verbose uncle
enhancing sunsets with colorful stories
.....
The soul of the sky is Sol-
our daylight and warmth, essence and marrow
The stars are sky's artists painting our stories-
archers, dippers, swans, seven sisters,
scorpions, lions, hunters, heroes
The heart of the sky is Luna-
a nightlight for sleepy children
a lamppost where lovers meet
a lantern for the darkest of trails
but clouds are the personality of the sky
written 24 May, 2022
//Inspired by the wonderful art of PS member Susan Lawrence, after viewing her landscape paintings at susanlawrence.net. Each landscape is framed by a different personality of cloud; I encourage all to pay a visit to her website to enjoy her portraits and abstracts as well as landscapes ~ John//
The battle begins with an assault on the hill
Our men respond knowing my will
The white warriors continue their drill as before
My men are confident to the core
I order attack on the right white flank
The whites maintain their tightened rank
Generals continue to deploy the men
Since the White attack, this general must defend
My right bank archers saw the chance
Neutralized the left bank Archers in confidence
The trench warriors were stopped in their tracks
This stalemate will eventually end on the flanks
The White General moved to his right
Surrounded by warriors ready to fight
A squad of tanks guarded his side
The Master General needed to hide
My main power entered the fray
The enemy King cornered in the bay
The battle continued action to action
General to General, Grant and Jackson
Both sides fought to the end
The White warriors had to defend
I saw the opportunity to be great
My final maneuver delivered Checkmate!
A Chess Poem
Dawn broke
The eastern pink sky
Drew across the stars
As they faded and lost to the night
I called the eagle
To guide me
Piercing whistle
That I learnt as a boy
Running wild and free
I walked in the company of men
High above, eagles flew
The wraiths are coming from the otherworld too
Carrying the angst and pain
That has no place and name
Here at Heartstone
The screeching and wailing
Increased hideously
The tattered cloaks
Scattering the scree
I stood, with the company of men
My bow ready
Arrows drawn
Arm, steady
I have trained to defend
Truth and love
Nobility
Chivalry
The wraiths gathered
The screeching and wailings
Piercing through
To our souls
We are ready
To fight to the end
To defend
All that is true
The flight of an arrow
Unleashed
Steadied by the eagles’ feather
Of brown and gold
It flew
Straight and true
In to the non existent heart
Of a wraith bitter and cold
It was this I slew
A bundle of rags fell
For it is not the metal tip
That killed
It was the feather of a Heartstone Eagle
Truth be told
That slew
A wraith, bitter and cold
The wraiths flew
From behind the mountain
The screeching and wailing
Tattered cloaks
Scattering the scree
They came in their hundreds
To fall
For, truth and love
From a feather
Of a mighty eagle above
Slew the hearts
Bitter and cold
Brown and gold glow
Flashing by
The flight of an arrow
The archers
Standing tall
The gleam of brown and gold
That flew
Deep in to the cold bitter hearts
Of stories now told
Of men of the longbow
I reached
I pulled
Many arrows to fly
Of a star
Of a longbow
Aquila am I
The longbow of dark wood
Felt my strength
As I clasped its’ bronze inlaid feathers
And reached
And pulled
Arrows of brown and gold
Deep into wraiths
Its’ purpose understood
The sky turned black
With eagles that twisted and turned
Of wraiths, slain
Felled by the longbow
Down they fell
In to their own stinking hell
The brown and gold aglow
Darkness falling
The fires lit so bright
In a company of men
That celebrated under starlight
Remember….
This day well
When the archers
Masters of the longbow
Sent the wraiths back
To their stinking hell
Of Aquila
Who slew
More than most
The flight of an arrow
That holds true
Never again will you send my friend a frown
you will be shot down and you won't wear the crown
I as a doctor myself am ashamed to be in your presence
as far a the destroyer she is the pure slam essence
I am just a boy with the power of millions
you can't break anyone down with your billions
you don't see that your slams are not well written
and the only thing we get is nothing far from bitten
so Doc are you ready to pay all the fines?
because in the end I write the last slam line
back up the boat
you'll never cross my moat
my archers are in place
all aimed at your face
if you need me I'll be here
sharpening my sword's steel
waiting for an actual challenge
worth the fight and the balance
get back up or walk away
but in the end, I must say:
my personal display of affliction
isn't countered by your decision
I remember those times of unawareness.
The innocent circle of found trust.
Its purity and purpose voicing its strategy, before the fallen chips of caution led to tragedy.
Perhaps spotting our pursuit through these lands of grassy plains, where classy dames sip tequila and deceive the family name.
I struggle with challenge the arrow of cupids aim, in a kevlar suit burning in a sodium lithium flame.
We listen to opinions to make up our own, we hear and we think, and we urge to be grown.
A prophetic miracle some says pathetic to believe in, with an acrid bitterness and refuse what they're seeing.
A distant group of archers camouflaged amongst the woods.
Stood freezing there like statues like hidden busts they would,
Move if they could, but something takes a hold and the rest of us conceal ourselves in the safety of our homes.
Fearing the autonomous and the documents they grasp.
Us occupants are promised choice though its dominance they hand.
Like Romulus I'll disappear in the storm and send the tidal waves to shore like in the bible.
Roaring floods off Babylon for serving other idols.
In this basic life style riled up with rivaling sides of my minds vitals.
Brain child wildly rifling through his lifes cycle.
Once upon a times a lie you live untill the end.
Through these winters discontent hibernating waiting for the summer time again, but summer came and went without the sun, instead was wet.
Self confidence a strength which some of us pretend.
We learn as we grow older like owls grey and wise my friend
You cant take anything you own from life over into death.
It makes sense to have the things you want while you can before the call.
Yet remember when you have it it's not good to want for more.
Come hither with haste and stay with me my saviour, let us break, the ties that bind
together all animosity and hate.
Its an anomaly we face and confessions we should make.
Knowing a smart enemy hits where you surely think you're safe.
Peacefully we chose to rest setting up our camp.
I was with the troops at sun rise before the arrow storm began.
Hailing from the sky and whistling down upon our ranks.
Sprouting from our throats, from our shoulders and our backs.
Shouting our forces scattered, scrambling across the land.
In all directions to avoid the rain of missiles that advance.
When usually a small group of archers wouldn't bother us.
More of our ranks were brought down as the second volley struck.
I spotted Ian in a dream I had before our wake up call.
He draw his sword and headed into battle on his horse.
Glancing wildly about expecting bowmen to rise up out the grass.
About to shout take cover as i found that breath to be my last.
The labyrinth of love
butterflies in stomach
First touch hand in hand
spiral bound pages ready for scribbling
handwritten page by page throughout
Imagine being somewhere you don't recognise
pretty lost and clueless
how to arrive out ?
The world is complex and enchanting
Archers stand at the entrance and exit
We walk this sacred path, together
Navigates through each curve
Every now and then we need to be reminded
that stars need darkness to shine
There is a lesson to be learned in every situation
Desperately, we yearn to understand the answers
on the complicated mystery
- what is the conclusion ?
Where life and dream meet and separate
of harmonious words into eternity
The soul gets bird wings and flies freely
Castle On A Hill
Centuries ago built by hand with stones
A formidable fortress now stands alone
Sentries would guard the drawbridge and gate
Townsmen sold goods in the castle's marketplace
Legions of men camped outside to defend
Echoes of the past on a hill my friends
Old ways stand proud in a world anew
Nottingham now has nothing to prove
Arrows held steady for the Archers bow
Hiking for miles uphill on this road
Intricate labrynith no map has shown
Life lived hard behind these stone walls
Long live the King and Queen and all
04/23/2016
The archers’ line was straddled,
By many a shapely calf.
The Marshall called the nocking,
And winked at the pretty lass.
The Maiden drew the bowstring back,
To her ruddy cheek,
As she fired her fledgling flights;
They heard the fair Maid "Eek!"
Chorus
"Sing Hey Ho, best beware!
Hey Ho have a care,
If ye've any pretty parts,
Ye'll keep them out of there!"
The bowman smiled and nodded,
As the Maiden struck a pose.
"Try again M'Darlin' Dear,
"But watch out for y'er nose!"
The Maiden rubbed her forearm,
And looked back with a glare.
Nocked another arrow shaft,
And hit the bull's-eye square.
Gentles all they tipped their hats.
The Marshall cleared the field.
The Maiden went to fetch her flights.
The men trod close at heel.
Returning with a manly stride,
Yet again, she took her stance.
The bowmen's eyes all glimmered,
With mischief far in advance.
Chorus
Pulling back her bow string,
To her crimson cheek so close,
She let another arrow fly free.
The string hit her in the nose!
Tears welled in the Maiden's eyes.
All the gentlemen rushed the Dear.
Wiping the pretty lassies face,
Of every single tear.
They brushed the few stray auburn locks
From before her green-brown eyes
Handed her the fine longbow,
And heard her sorrowful sighs,
"Do try again M'Dear Mistress,
But for your form we fear,
So, be very, very, careful Maid!
Keep those nipples out of there!"
Chorus
'Twas 'pon the final flurry,
As she drew string back to cheek;
"Thwack" went the taunting bowstring,
And again the Maiden "Eekked!"
Her cheeks they blanched a deathly white,
'Pon her brow there came a frown;
Still, when the Marshall called count;
She gamely shot the round.
"Sing Hey Ho, don't be scared,
Hey Ho just take a care,
'Tis simply a friendly warning
Not to put ye're pretty parts there!"
I’m the whispering voice of legacies long sense past, the overseer
Of generations traveling with broken wings of tribal tradition,
A vanquished chieftain, whom sheds his sacred feathers, as tears
Shame upon the white man’s winds of manifest destiny.
Clarity’s shattered warrior languishing within a river of
Crimson shoals, drowning beneath salvations suffering,
Wounded left at bending knees of mercy, abandon, with
Our archers crushed bow, and idle arrows of sorrow, upon
The battle field of ignorance and indifference.
Kindred leaves of humanities autumn,
Left torn and tossed asunder,
Tatters remnants, drifting loosely on the breeze
Of progress,
Built upon the ash pile of a nation’s people.
Many life flames flicker at the sacred fire beyond,
Hear the drumming’s roar; it is the beating heart,
The bleeding soul, crying out for revenge, but
Driven deeply is the spear of destiny, piercing
The righteous spirit, shattering it into a million
Pieces, that descends as raindrops of regret.
Treaties promises melt away as paper confetti,
Burnt embers offerings left as crisp fiery spray,
Floating in the deadened chill of winter’s forth
Coming.
Beneath the singed blankets of tribal markings,
Lie huddled the feeble of starvation, those whom
Desire to feed from the table of their ancient culture,
But these eloping breasts are drained dry.
Behold these starving cannot remember the flavor
Of her milks taste, nor the fragrance of her natural
Perfume, for they are the lost tribe of humanity,
People of the desert prairie, blown apart by the
Scorching winds of fate.
I’m the whispering voice of legacies long sense past, the overseer
Of generations traveling with broken wings of tribal tradition,
A vanquished chieftain, whom sheds his sacred feathers, as tears
Shame upon the white man’s winds of manifest destiny.
Harken my children and listen, for wind whisper walks amongst
You, and I’ll mend the bow, with prides honor, in faith’s devotion,
The ancient warrior shall ride again, against the flames of our
Sacred fire, and thus the weeping woman shall cry no more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
There once was a knight from Rocket town
Who lured and let his amour men down
But on a night not too young
Nemesis caught up with Doung
When his archers incursed Little town.
At first there was nothing in the very distant past,
Then bang! There was everything, a universe so vast;
All splendid and magnificent, terrifying and mundane.
But before we knew all this, before we could explain,
About giant, burning, swirling gas balls,
And dark vortexes that swallow worlds,
Before we knew what made the light,
Our ancestors named the stars at night.
Polaris, leiðarstjarna, Sea Star, the Great Northlode,
not 424 or 308, not numbers and codes,
But the tail of a dog, the little bear's story,
The explorer's hopeful guide towards glory.
The heavens were filled with loved ones now gone,
With archers and lions, heroes and swans.
Every star had a story long before we knew
Their weight, their size, their age, their hue.
Without imagination, would the sky draw our gaze?
Would we ever see the Northern lights, its colors all ablaze?
We can feel the ground, we know it's there,
But we have to imagine the sky and the air.
Looking up, we watch the birds in awe,
Their graceful glides and swooping soar.
We are not birds; we know we cannot fly,
But imagination makes us ask "What if we try?"
So Leonardo draws a helicopter from imagination's sight;
The Wright brothers undertake the first plane flight,
Blimps and hot air balloons take to the sky,
and now man experiences how it feels to fly.
Every scientist already knows,
Without imagination no great idea grows.
From that first humble wheel to the latest Lamborghini,
From the first hot meal to the finest shrimp linguini.
From flickering candles to a bright electric light,
From using feathered quills, to keyboards when we write,
From burning wood and coal, to nuclear fission,
From dreaming of the moon to our first manned mission...
Knowledge helps us build a ladder, but can only go so far;
It takes imagination to reach for the stars.
Raising kingdoms across time
Bringing them down round about
Serving fulfilling fast forward she said
Why are you weeping daughter ? Latter day rains
Raising up reason's child a purpose shall find it's place....
Little Ishmael, blessed from upon high an archers bow in hand
Princes as gazing unto their future: his brother Isaac's great grandchild
Bathsheba, silken pomagranate lips perfumed, fine purple linen David and Goliath ?
Crucified saying remember me: I came for this moment: turning water into wine: Nebuchadnezzar
Northern lights ? What is truth pondered Pilot puppy dog eyes: a sea of hearts love's castles in the sky.