Best Dirk Poems
Tradition and dress
A nations finesse
Symbolic in style
By a country mile
The drone of the pipes
Tartan clad
Bonnie on the girls
Proud on the lads
Highland dancers
In kilted skirts
Grooms at weddings
Kilt and dirk
But our Tartan and Pipes
Go back many years
Led soldiers into battles
See the enemy fear
After Culloden
Both were banned
A country naked
At the English hand
Our clans of many
In colours so grand
Woven by weavers
Our women's hands
All over the world
Scots are spread
Taking their Tartans
Of green, blue and red
It's a welcome reminder
To the kin of their past
Never forgotten
Designed to last
This plaid of cloth
History enriched
Scottish pride
In every stitch
And like our pipes
From centuries past
This Scottish of Scots
Are here to last
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
I`VE BEEN READINGS LIMERICKS BY JAN,
TO EMULATE THE BEST THAT I CAN.
SHE CAN WRITE ABOUT POOH,
STICKY STUFF AND GOO.
WITH THE SAME SENSE OF HUMOUR AS A MAN.
NOW I WILL HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT DIRK,
ALWAYS ACTING AND BEING A JERK.
HE WOULD GET OUT HIS WEENUS,
SAYS IT LOOKS LIKE A P*N*S.
YOU CANT HELP BUT LAUGH AT THE BIG BERK.
SO THAT WAS MY LIMERICK FOR JAN,
I EMULATED THE BEST THAT I CAN.
BUT SHES THE LIMERICK QUEEN,
YOU ALL KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
KEEP MAKING US ALL SMILE, PLEASE JAN.
There once was a man from Dunkirk
Who always was late for his work.
This man was so lazy,
He drove his wife crazy.
She stabbed him awake with a dirk.
For Deborah Guzzi's limerick contest 9th place
Impossible to stifle
the firing of a 7 foot
German Rifle
the Heat couldn't stop Dirk
from putting
in work
Congratulations to the 2011 NBA Champions
Dallas Mavericks
Yo-Ho-Ho And Shiver Me Timbers
Shiver me timbers and loosen me limbers
I sail me sloop until it lin’ers
And drop anchor in t’ nearest lagoon
Bury me treasure chest full o’ doubloons
Then set off durin t’ next full moon
~
“Aarrr!” I’m happy go-lucky sea piratin Cap’n
With a short wooden leg and a limp, earrin’s, and rin’s on every fin’er
Metal silver hook for me left hand
Me cutlass, dagger, and dirk o’ me belt
Not a landlubber at all
~
Not a thin’ scares me that stand in my way
Especially when I’ve had a few grogs in me belly
Aye, I carry around me Ahoy! bucko Polly me parrot on me shoulder
That keeps me on t’ straight and narrow
~
They call me a barbaric and thief I don’t know why
A great insult t’ me, I just laugh into my handkerchief in disbelief
~
Don’t insult me temper because it gets carried away
Sarcasm, rudeness, and insults I cannot help
When swashbucklin’ scallywag get in me way
~
Me hearty weigh anchor
Or I’ll give ye a taste o’ walkin t’ plank
T’ Davy Jones’ Locker you will go and feed t’ fishes for mutinous
Dead men tell no tales!
~
Aye, aye, mates, pull anchor and set sail
I be Silver Hook a feared pirate that sails t’ seas
9/5/2015
Contest Name :A Pirate's Life For Me
Sponsor Name: Kelly Deschler
.
This nubile soul
so ripe
Her sparkling green eyes
her
her
I musn't say it
were
bursting with energy
before me
oh yes before me
do I dare
YIKES
I dove
off of that train with rapid movement
for her
gallant's dirk
glistened
out of thin air
Standing at the tavern door,eyes dark and brooding
Neath his floppy hat, stared into the crowded room,
A Raven flew from his shoulder settling in rafters high,
He smiled a sardonic smile and ordered a mug of ale.
All turned to look at this dark eyed traveller tall,
His leather boots dusty ,cloak trimmed with mud,
And from his belt around his coat hung a dirk long
No one thought to say a word they tried to look small.
Around the smoke filled room his gaze did wander
Settled on a crowd of rowdy sea going lads noisly
Drinking ale and rum and telling bawdy tales,
Just back from foreign voyage across the seven seas.
Within their midst a vision sat with a smirk on ruby lips
Long hair framed her face like waves of swelling sea,
Like kelpie mane, ran that hair ,her eyes like deep sea green,
And at once his dark eyes shone beneath that floppy hat.
The night wore on, the air grew warm, the raven fluffed his wings
From somewhere a shot rang out lodging in rafters deep,
Laughter raucous and shrill cut across the misty room,
Silence fell heavy among the gathered crowd.
He slowly turned his head in the direction of the rowdy lads
Dark eyes flashed as stepped towards where they sat,
As one they rose and laughed in his face,swords drawn,
In his hand a wooden staff and they laughed no more.
Faces stunned into disbelief at what they had seen,
Around his feet six men lay still blood seeping from their wounds,
He turned on his heel and slowly went through the door,
The Raven cawed, spread his wings as he flew out the door.
Standing by his horse the sea going beauty waited patiently,
She smiled as he approached with a swagger and dark eyes flash
He tipped his floppy hat and beckoned with outstretched hand,
She went to him in full embrace held him like a band.
They travelled the land, the sea faring beauty and the dark eyed man,
Their tale told throughout the fair sun kissed land,
From village to village and taverns where seafaring folk met,
The legend grew of the Dark Eyed traveller and his mermaid bride.
Andrew Provan McIntyre © 2015.
Taking the Top Off the Bottom
Have a goal of taking your piece of the world apart,
Taking on, as many as you can, life’s kluges and quirks,
Buy a ticket to the reach the matter’s heart,
Aim to see how the inside works.
It takes imagination, the trajectory of a dart,
To see what is obscured, what lurks,
Shedding light on life’s gremlins’ starts,
Ending demons that drive us berserk.
But though it takes aerodynamic parts,
Be straight as an arrow or your effort won’t work,
Anything has a cause-effect mart,
Paying the asking price certainly irks.
Not paying is like swallowing a quart,
Of 100 proof liquid moonshine murk.
Getting beneath the muddy bottom is an art,
That teaches how to use a scalpel and dirk,
And to be alert, and Heaven knows we need more lerts
CULLODEN FORETOLD
A man he once said ta'e me,
You'll lay on heather, your gut will bleed.
Near Inverness you should na'e be,
Your end is there upon thee.
I paid no heed, jumped to my feet,
Charged through the Highlands, sword in sheath.
Loyalty to the Stuarts was my belief,
and to the end that will be.
The charge has stalled, and is no more.
The Duke has trained his English Score,
to stand and fight, not run as before.
This man who spoke has told me.
On this ground I now will stand,
dirk at side, sword in hand.
Bring on my foe, I now demand,
The day has come, God save me.
The volley came, smoke thick as fog.
We charged into the peat and bog,
They stood as one, and stopped our trod,
and slaughtered all that will be.
And now I lay, my gut has bled.
A man by me, still live, not dead.
A Brit comes near, thrusting as he treads,
kills him and I as foretold to me.
Graham Alexander Devenish
exclamation, which does nothing to stem dead locked high tide
proliferation of high-powered assault bazookas
manned by berserk cruel death eaters,
arch nemesis picks off life with a blip
simultaneously bipedal hominid(s) grip handily rounded dirk
as backup in case clip
misses mark, where siege mentality induces
nationwide sprinting into lockdown mode deterring by a drip
fiendish homicidal metamorphoses, where transmogrification
of generic guy wielding weapon subjugating hostages pits malignancy fill lip
mailer daemon hell bent on besieging bait (unaware
Snapchatting linkedin flickr ring beings) burst deadly quip
barrage of bullets malicious intent to spray
killing machines deliver click and rip
paying plenti deathly instagram howls amidst pandemonium,
thence funereal slip
epitaphs etched on tombstones proliferate taking souls to Hades trip.
Brutal and nasty nefarious scheme directed at humble lettered folks
(like those comprising my home town -
once evoked pastoral meme Lake Woebegone)
minding their p's and q's, when in extremis
out of the blue nightmare interrupts idyllic dream
a sudden bitta bing bitta bang rings terrorist catcall
followed by red tide and river of bloodied body where caskets
rendered veneer of dark wood within lies corpse,
pistol whipped, shredded and outkast, where mortician daubs creme.
Soundcloud boom echoes, thus occurs staccato sinister sonic strafes across
freshly fielded tombstone; pearl jam gray slate, some formerly anonymous
namesake, which underling, higgs bo son or daughter blitzkrieg cross
invisible trajectories shatter (at shutterfly speed),
democratic rubric rendered dross
disposable lives of society with senseless slaughter, whereat somber silence
pines nostalgia for Mill on the Floss
when life seemed innocent against gun metal gloss
wails of agony at another human loss.
Multitudes enter the venue
all know there's something Entre Nous
You Take a Friend to find your place
it's time to just Cut to the Chase
All Losing It, the lights go down
Signals a start to the Countdown
Vital Signs race to Larry, Curly, and Moe
a Distant Early Warning that starts the show
Can't Resist that sound, distinctive
while The Stars Look Down it seems instinctive
The Spirit of Radio starts (with an attitude)
up on your feet you're In the Mood
Making Memories with a Headlong Flight
and straight on into The Color of Right
Might they play The Necromancer
or maybe even Fancy Dancer
Tom Sawyer starts a wild frenzy
One Little Victory follows unrelentingly
No Ghost of a Chance they'd play Cygnus X-1
but books one AND two - they aren't even done
only Intermission
Presto - back with 2112
how far back will they delve
A Passage to Bangkok brings you to Tears
then showing four aspects of their Fears
While Mystic Rhythms start to grow
O Baterista is next, as we all know
YYZ, Working Man both kick ass
Natural Science and then The Pass
Makes The Body Electric and Time Stand Still
knowing you are Here Again of your own Freewill
They Test for Echo seeing all still alive
Red Barchetta makes sure you can drive
Trees stand tall in Cities of Gold that are Seven
swaying themselves under the starry heaven
Limelight shines in La Villa Strangiato
Wish Them Well for it is time to go
But We Hold On....
Malignant Narcissism starts the encore
Spindrifts into The Snow Dog and By-Tor
One can only Hope it's not the last tour
Closer to Your Heart than ever Before(and After)
In the End you know
you are Finding Your Way back home
endlessly rocking
endlessly rocking under starry heavens
As the Caravans travel onwards
riding out into a heartless sea
Remember what, to you, brought these words
Dirk, Lerxst, Pratt, and the lonely letter of E.
song/album titles/partial lyrics-Lee/Lifeson/Peart ©
REFLECTION
In trance I leaned on the window
Of yesterdays, overlooking the dimly
Lighted memory lane and my eyes grubbed
For those faces that groped with me through the
Hazy thorny path to heyday.
Some of them, to the passage of time, serfs had become.
Some in the fabric of futility repose, some under the
Arbor of the leafy bough of tree of fulfillment berth whilst
Some, to the dirk of mortality helplessly had fallen and to the
Ravenous scavenger fed, on the platter of their six feet allotment.
Dead though, but deathless eternally they will remain in my psyche.
Scavenger is symbolic of
the grave because it only
accepts the dead.
... The pen is mightier than the sword ...
The poet knight went off to war
To prove his valor true.
Sir Arthur Berk, the troubadour,
Knew he had much to do
For he had found a greater sword
To strike his foes down dead.
He swore to fight invading horde
And make their ink spill red.
Each lord, farm hand and tavern maid,
Had often heard him tell
The fierceness of his secret blade
And all the foes it fell.
Of dragons and of armies past
He'd read this weapon killed.
The legend of his sword was vast;
The ink would soon be spilled.
Soon rival horde had come again
All took up sword and shield.
The armies prepped for battle then
Were met upon the field.
They yelled and brandished spear and dirk
But soon were silent when
All held their breath to watch Sir Berk
As he unsheathed his ... pen?
He rushed in sure and unconcerned
But fell at the first blow,
And what new truth he might have learned
I guess we'll never know.
But if, perhaps, he'd been more keen
Sir Berk might still yet live;
Too late he learned the difference 'tween
Literal and Figurative.
9.13.18
Contest: Unsheathe Your Sword
First Adam
Two hundred thousand years before the time of this,
Surfing spirits crost the terrible, the great murky abyss,
One Amilius in command, 5 Adams he had planned,
5 colours he'd insist, before the dawn of hist,
5 hardy human bands! Where ice and snow exists,
within the swirling mists, an Adam in command!
Populated from the stars, cave men smoking big cigars.
Spirit into bodys slipt, in the suitable fellas, {homonid}
Mind expanding, brain a growing, altered forms by spirit knowing,
Mind creates, forgotten knowing, dwell a bit on this!
Negative will draw you ought,
positive forever sought,
see your path a spiritual sort,
after bodies gone, WE exist!
negative IT is evils work,
depression spikes you like a dirk,
shake it off, command desist!
Like pulling teeth might get you pist:}
YOU are in charge of this...
Don Johnson
Homonids were possessed and altered to Homosapien by mental DNA adjustment, creating a human race with intelligent spirits in command. But sometimes the animal Homonid in rage or passion takes command ...a loose cannon...
just under his kilt
slightly hanging at a tilt
from the tip to hilt
once great weapon starts to wilt
highland dirk ~ covered in silt
By David Kavanagh
highland dirk = Scottish stabbing weapon