Best Claymore Poems
The phantoms of Glen Affric call
from deep within the histosol,
where time and matter’s slow decay
of misty glen and ancient fray,
conceal Mackenzie ghosts in wait
with weapons drawn to greet their fate
of claymore blade; of Celtic cross,
to shed the blood of William Ross,
and stain the sphagnum bryophyte,
his soul to cut and extradite.
Amidst the whipping hilltop squall
is heard their eerie battle call,
where shadow soldiers groan and splay
upon the hazy, darkened brae.
As well, the loose of blood and spate,
to curse the earth and consecrate,
the peat to quench; the land emboss,
forever running red the moss.
The Highlands, our Kingdom, our many Lochs and Glens
Our beauty woos fair maidens to be at the side of Highland men
Their futures to be part of our history, Queens to our many Clans
As we stand and salute the Saltire, by the side of their Highlander man
Such a Princess exists, in a far away land from the Scot's
To our shores we'll grace her beauty, once seen, forget me not
Onclaud, by the name Nette, shall stand by her Alba man
Upon a Ben she'll stand so proud, admiring the lands of her married Clan
She'll walk through purple heathers, thickened by natures sun
Amidst ferns and ancient bracken's by burns so crisp in run
By her side he stands this man, kilted displaying his kin
Claymore at the ready to grace his enemies skin
His Queen, their Kingdom, their Castle, resting on the shores of the River Ness
Overlooking forests and greens, salmon runs in richness finesse
When the night befalls these lands, in the Kingdom of the Lochs and Glens
It's understandable as to why they be wooed, by these historic Highlander men
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-6.php
On Attack: A Rainbow Six Siege Poem
By: Jacob Wallihan
Time to prepare
The drones are on the field
Rolling right towards
The building called “Coastline”
Callouts for the position of the bomb
Not Kitchen
Not Bar
Not Billiards
It’s Penthouse
Spotted the enemies
2 Roamers
Caveira and Ela
3 Anchors
Pulse, Mira, Rook
All spotted picking up
Rook’s Armour
Drone’s all shot
Pick the spawns
Pool is mine
Let’s Go
Spawn in
3 minutes on the clock
A 5 man squad
Montagne with Blackbeard
The hard breachers;
Hibana
Thermite
For Intel: Lion
Enter the building Hibana
Through VIP window
Frag the Ela
5 v 4
Montagne
With defuser
Walks into Guitar
In doorway to Penthouse
Blackbeard watching Monty
Sees the Rook
Reacts late
4v4
Hibana places a claymore
VIP hallway
Runs back to window and vaults
Lion activated “Big Brother”
Hibana rushes past Monty
Lion
With grace
Bounds through bathroom hatch
With Hibana
Picks off Rook and Mira
4v2
Monty smokes
Goes for the plant
C4 below
Sends Monty out the window
3v2
Defuser down
Thanks to Lion
Pulse
Activating the claymore
Flies into the courtyard
3v1
Caviera
Running quietly into theatre
Downs Lion and Hibana
Throws a hail mary
Monty doesn’t react in time
Cav gets the defuser
Over the coms
“OPFOR disabled our defuser”
“Mission a failure”
I'm doing a little highland dancing
and I've gone commando under my kilt
I lay down my claymore
Then dance around the hilt .
but I slipped and did the splits
Now I'm only slightly built .
Dah, Dah, Twiddly , Dah
Twiddly Twiddly Dee
Let go of your sporran
and come and dance with me .
You have to go commando
and expose your hairy knee's
Belts off Troosers down
Let your bits dangle in the breeze
Ignore the flashing blue lights
Tell the police men to sod off
I'll come and visit you in prison
The next time I have another day off.
Dah , Dah , Twiddly , Dah
Twiddly , Twiddly , Dee
Let go of your sporran
and come and dance with me.
Again I bend to kiss this blade
Then face the winds of Change in steadfast resolution
Whisperings of vows long made
Spin in dizzied revolution
Old and weary wrinkles fade
In face of coming restitution
Tis now my turn to face the night
and at long last to know what's right
Freedom's been a constant fight
Worth every dancing minute
To earn a living in it
It started in Stirling, English blood was shed
A hero was named, All around men lay dead
The claymore was wielded against many a foe
Ancient scores settled with every blow
We marched south to york, a city to sack
ramming down the gate it broke the men's back
Once inside we ransacked the town
English bodies dead pilled high on the ground
The kings nephew commanded, we cut of his head
We put it in a basket to London it was sent
Now on to Falkirk, we were flanked by a foe
The nobles were bought off, our country was sold
They would not commit to the battle that day
Cowards and scoundrels were Albas nobles that day
Our cowardly nobles, a Hero betrayed
On a slab in London executed he lay
He would not submit to English tyranny
Alba Gu Bragh were the words that he said
Me’ Fury
Me’ fury, ensue, inasmuch of the bullies; my halo es leaning, me’ grimace is beaming, my hand on the hilt, mahound be at awe, es me’ duty
Sheathe the’ inedible reach, lid thy albinism duress, your forehead me’ claymore to rest, snipe fell manual take topheth, down to the cove shall descend
Coffer, tricely Mankind, pending another one come, donion debar de devil, Lord with the wade, or bis mein Woden o hoard
I have long loved sailing ships, and stories and movies about them. I have even spent a few months designing and making a couple of models to erect inside bottles. Fascinated with the subject, I empathize with the men who built them and the men who sailed in them. It was a tough life on the sea, but with great craft and skill ships that could ply the waves were built and our world discovered as a result.
Sing me a song of fine old ships,
Of fine old ships and the sea,
With hulls that ply the rolling waves
Like a claymore flying free;
And bulkheads that can bear the strain
All built of wood and steel,
That rise up like a cathedral
From a massive bolted keel.
Sing me a song of hardy men,
Who toil in the shipwright’s trade,
Who bend their backs from dawn ’till dusk
By whom these ships are made.
For months on end with saws and nails,
With red hot bolts and steel,
They build a ship from bilge to deck
On a massive bolted keel.
Sing me a song of men that sail
In ships on the seven seas,
Who ride the waves in storm and gale
And laugh with the ocean’s breeze;
Who man the decks in rain or shine
In ships of wood and steel,
With hulls that rise like a great church roof
From a massive bolted keel.
From massive bolted keels they rise,
These ships of wood and steel,
Built by men who toil all day,
With muscle, sweat and zeal.
Built with the shipwright’s craft and skill
For the lads who sail the seas,
Who ply the foam in a hull for home,
And laugh with the ocean’s breeze.
Phasing between the
dick-numbing taste of
reality and a silly,
iron-wrought daydream
about **** stars smothered
in applesauce.
It takes a reliable method
to tame your oranges, and to
tuck them between your
nodes, plugging their meaty
sockets with bundles of
succulent nerve has,
mellow brass like pus.
Crops yield the children of
the sun. Solar dick stuck in
the dirt ad spewing a
sunny seedy spray. Deflower so
some flowers can grow.
Plain dirt with a little bit of
grass. Alright.
I fell into a boat on a safari
cruise in Disney World from
my latest goiter-explosion
vacation, my eyelids coated
in crushed gallstone
powder.
My eyebrows
were wintry with the crusts of
cold mashed potatoes. I
wiped them, and they
flaked.
I then stopped to watch a
man swallow a sword. He
chose the claymore, and his
throat split open. The
crowd was aghast.
Shortly afterwards, his
assistant came forth and
declared the audience
'trolled.'
The smoke machines
reminded me of the sweet
swampy stench mists of my
friends toilet.
It was right in front of his
grandfathers bedroom door.
And I have yet to see a man
With eyes the kind to see the sight
Of red that is in love.
Be it he may be deaf or dumb
He will see to me beyond the grave
And beseech my dreams at night.
He will undoubtedly be
My Untimely Lasher
With no cause of death but
The sounds of his own beloved hands.
I awoke this morning
To a brand new day
The sun was shining
Neighbourhood children played
Then i heard on the news
That made my hair stand on end
The Reapers elves
To our world they descend
Dressed in black
These creatures of death
To take earths life
It's very last breath
With them he marches
Dictating who dies
Enrolling the weak
As he casts his eyes
First Toronto and Buffalo
Near these beautiful falls
Cities, towns and villages
In darken deathly maul
They reach Albany
Near route 87
Many people are praying
As they look towards heaven
They are now in their thousands
As they walk with the dead
The discarded are left
In bloodied stained shreds
Our countries are in cry
For a saviour so strong
To turn this dark evil to right
Cast them out, to where they came from
Semaj is summoned
Once again
From his Kingdom in the Highlands
Master of, the Mountains and Glens
With Etto his droid
New York they reach
To call up the followers
In world wide preach
He summons the Knights
And hero's of old
To rise for the right
And join his fold
In Churches and Cathedrals
All throughout our nations
Burial vaults are opening
Civilisations salvation
Even the gargoyles
Leave their resting places
To join the fold
Their faces now grace us
To the North of New York
The old and the new stand
To rid this evil
From our righteous free lands
The Reaper cries
Hell is for hero's
As King Richard replies
Hell is for zero's
Both armies clash
In bloodied spoil
But there's no spill of red
On this free countries soil
Where all around
Lie fallen elves
The Reaper on his knees
For this is where he fell
Semaj stands over
This evil of the dark
With his claymore he strikes
We are now worlds apart
The clean up begins
As they are gathered en-mass
With the divine waters
This evil has passed
The very next day
All the old hero's have returned
To their place of rest
For on this day they have earned
Nations stood together
To fight all evil, as one
The corner has been turned
A new world has begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-10.php
In a kingdom called Torridon
On Scotland's west coast
Resides a warrior called Semaj
A Dragon slayer of boast
He has been called upon
To rid an ogre beast
For on his countrymen it does
Continually feast
On an outcrop of rock
Down in Argyll
This ogre of wrath
A monster so vile
On arriving there
He scouts around
Finding broken bodies
In this rocky surround
Up in the distance he hears
Noises so strange
Not from this life
As in-trepidation nears
On a rocky arch he stands
As the ogre appears
Club in his hand
As he steadily nears
Semaj advances
In the middle they meet
For below them lies
Another Dragon defeat
With club swingin
The ogre attacks
The Claymore of Semaj
In swift blow whack
In balances unsteady
On this thin strip of rock
With another glancing blow
In battle he's mocked
With a final attempt
This ogre so weak
To the sea his club falls
His afterlife he seeks
Now on his knees
Comes the fatal blow
Decapitation
To the waters below
With a mighty splash
As it's absorbed by the sea
This killer of clansmen
Is no longer be
To tumultuous cheer
From the Clan Chiefs abode
They heap praise on Semaj
To their aid he has rode
For warrior wise
This Scot of the Scot's
Battle hardened
It's the way he's been taught
Back to his kingdom he heads
With his sword stained in blood
This patriot of the Clans
And the country he loves
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-9.php
Mayday tomorrow,
but the pole has been toppled,
the good earth churned by munitions,
and then seeded with Claymore mines.
There will be no dancing on rubble ruins,
as we bury desecrated corpses,
this year’s harvest will be lean.
Among all crimes you adore
Anger is of the first cocksure!
It is so vice that it does shower
On the weaker whom they abhor.
When one encompasses, one bore
A deep profound peril in his adore.
I do, but hate me why not I deplore
Anger – my timidity – shown ashore.
The best place for it be boudoir
Where no one feels no gore.
Anger, for me, just like a claymore
Which hurts none but us before
We realize or understand or lore.
Here I stand
with my Claymore, Agony
strapped to my back
and metaphysical forearm spikes
running up my arms,
slanting towards my elbows.
Winds howl around me
filled with knives of rhetoric
tearing at me like teeth.
Unleashing my spiked chain
from its pouch on my belt
I grip my already bloodied,
reverse crescent axe
and jump off the ledge
into the fray
swinging the chain
around the closest neck
I pull them close
then sever their head
with my axe
releasing a fountain of blood
towards the heavens.
Morbid scimitars
flash before my eyes
as I lean back
narrowly escaping the attack,
a downward swing of my chain
spins the enemy
and I hack
through his spine with my axe.
A Morningstar filled with delirium
smashes into my shoulder
and I drop my axe
but retaliate
with a skull splitting slash
of my clawed hysteria glove
stopping within
the eye sockets,
shaking the carcass off
I pull out my Claymore.
Whirling my chain overhead
I release it
and it savagely
wraps up an unfortunate,
dropping him mid charge.
Snatching my sadistic,
spiked headed War hammer
I separate another
from his legs
with my sword.
At the last second
I catch the shaft
of a tainted spear
within my forearm spikes
snapping it
then bury my hammer’s head
in his chest.
Unfortunately
the body draws me down,
leaving me open
and an infected mace
smashes into my skull,
but as I fall Agony
serrates the seven mortals
with my death spin,
and as I lay there
spitting up blood
the detrimental maul
splatters my brains
upon the battlefield.