Best Gyve Poems
The Scottis Generale,
Nicholas McJockstrap
Waes undefaited fu a decaid
Due to the nikkirless trap
But on thys partikul day…
Thei stud on the highelands
Withe thir kyltes flyring highe
Ase thir baggpypis pleyed
“Thes wyll gyve yu a stye in yur ey”
Thir ennemy, takin abak
By the sicht thei sawe
Thene advaunced wyth a skreyme
Saing “shou eus soum moary”
The Scottis secreet weapun
Ded nott wark
It juist creatted a frynze
Drave the ennemy berrserk
The ennemy, sailors
Adaptared thei sexeul palatiat
As thei strypped ofe thei cloath
Ty revele frokes fram a swanne laik ballatt
Thei foloued thei Captain
Byg Baud Benn
Skreyming “Kille ale the women”
“Ande raap ale the meyn”
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Translation
The Scottish General
Nicholas McJockstrap
Was undefeated for a decade
Due to his nickerless trap
But on this particular day…
They stood on the highlands
With their kilts flying high
As their bagpipes played
“This will give you a sty in your eye”
Their enemy, taken aback
By the sight they saw
Then advanced with a scream
Saying “Show us some more”
The Scottish secret weapon
Did not work
It just created a frenzy
Drove the enemy berserk
The enemy sailors
Learned to adapt their sexual palates
As they stripped off their clothes
To reveal frocks from a swan lake ballet
They followed their Captain
Big Bad Ben
Screaming “Kill all the women”
“And rape all the men.”
Don't ink me in words ...
O godly pen, dark inkpot and restless jotter
Battling with his merciless thoughts
He inscribed me on the desert of unruled 40 pages
Drops of ink rattled with hue of black and red stains
The blue ink stood on the deck of his lost vehement
There were no sunflowers face to greet the east
The black roses at Turkey were little lighter in shades than the dark west
The stubborn spirit and madness in love
All her said he gyve
He inked her in word by words
Readers read her from decade after decades
Later years mortal was he
But his gravestone and she remained immortal in the hearts ...
You know, I've been keeping count.
Of the years,
of the friends.
Those gained and lost,
the memories and the cost.
I'm not sure which
has topped the weight class -
the good, the laughs and the light,
or the pain, the loss and that sight.
Of the headstones,
the folded flags;
the mothers' cries
and brothers' eyes.
I know the count of them all.
Today a year goes to rest,
and a new cycle begins.
I beg of Life a reprieve,
a chance less to grieve.
I know not what to offer,
what you would take in trade -
be it a life, or a soul,
part of me or the whole.
Whatever it may be,
however large the demand;
take off this accursed gyve,
and leave them alive.