Best Swords Poems
I write of two-edged swords (that tired clichè)
as though this modern boy knew hilt from blade;
as if I had been taught of true swordplay,
not learned from movies Errol Flynn had made.
But plainly put, things work more than one way:
the lake that offers joy can also drown,
the sun that melts the wax can harden clay,
the fire that heats the meal burns houses down.
A hammer is adept at building things,
though hammer's claw might tear the same apart.
The kiss that first gave freedom to love's wings,
when given to another, broke my heart.
Two-edged clichès may give the reader pause -
I know firsthand the damage they can cause.
written 30 Apr 2022
Shield Maiden
I have dreamed of the battle;
And truly I have heard,
The ring of sword upon sword;
And tasted blood between my teeth.
I have met the enemy head on;
And vanquished him.
But not before his blows;
Knocked me time and time again, to my knees.
I have defended hearth and home;
And babies dear, from large demon invaders,
Blasting at my door.
Fearsome foes, not of this world.
I have met them on the field with battle cry;
I ran toward the fray.
I have sailed upon a long-ship bold;
To fight them in their own land.
But now my arm grows weary as I hold my sword.
The place is empty where my human strength resides.
My wound is deep, my tunic stained with my own blood.
The song of battle fades to just a whisper in the wind.
It is not Odin or Valhalla that I seek;
It is another place where all good warriors go;
Where one may breathe the sacred air of peace;
And rest forever with Jehovah God.
I guess I’ll cry~
a million origami stars,
watch them form
an endless sea of unwritten poems,
of how, once upon a sunrise,
you broke my igloo heart,
left me bleeding
rustic rhymes,
oblivious to the moon that
breathes within….
Sometimes there is
not enough time,
to write all these disappointments,
when life is a constant battle
between light and dark,
while I remain the
empress of the sun,
still standing my ground,
amidst the bullet-powdered dreams,
and pentacle
of seven swords,
unfolding reversed cards of
learned deception.
Yet I still hope for rising
morning jewels,
kissed with raining jasmines,
to wipe away these onyx tears,
for I’ve long been fighting
dishonest thoughts
clouding my hollow skies,
with greyest of fogs,
merged in the blackest of storms…
These woes I scribble
in zig-zag,
wishing someday, maybe,
someone would see beyond
these hazy words,
the paper-cut pain between
eclipsed metaphors.
Maybe when swirling
sapphires crack,
and twirling topaz breaks,
this aching soul shall sing,
create my own constellations,
design a cave of chalices filled
with undying chemistry.
Back in the eighteenth century, the swords of the Polish Legion Supporting Lombardy were inscribed with an Italian phrase, translated as
Free people are brothers
We defend ourselves righteously.
And thus, free people are brothers.
Whether we fight on land or sea,
We defend ourselves righteously.
God, therefore, our support will be
From the tyranny of others.
We defend ourselves righteously.
And thus, free people are brothers.
Jan. 31, 2017 for the Contest of Julia Ward
Escape into your heart;
Where your mind can't be found;
Flee into the fleeting muscles, pumping iron;
Flow within the vessels that inhabit dew;
Liquids of scarlet drops of quarrel;
Flee from out your head;
Those hurt full pangs you dread;
Sacrifice those killing scene;
Vanquish thoughts of unpleasantness;
Words hurt more than metal, sticks or stone;
And within my last breath...
Two face swords of tongues left;
6/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
The young woman sat astride the young buffalo
Her dress was a flimsy, homemade from the cured skin of a deer.
Two cured boots, quite wide, hiding each a dagger,
Whilst on her back, crisscrossed were two swords.
One large and heavy, the other lithe, small with a green gem.
They came to a murky river, the small buffalo
Treading the depth of the bottom full of weeds.
Suddenly it stopped. Two dark hulks of a man
Were beating a poor and small old man.
It was clear they meant to kill, such was their force.
A dagger appeared from her boot and flew
It was embedded in his chest, right where his heart lay.
The other man tried to escape, but out came the small sword.
A flash hit him between his eyes, blinding him completely.
Then he fell, trembled in his death throes and lay still.
Birds flew away from the scene, and all was quiet.
The buffalo crossed the river and approached the man.
There was no fear in his eyes as he handed back her dagger.
She picked him up, not much of a weight really.
Slowly, they wended their way towards his shack.
A few well-chosen leaves cured his wounds.
And made him rest on his bed made of clothes.
Later, fearlessly, she fed him to regain his rest.
She cleaned her swords and prepared to leave.
The old man hobbled towards her bracelet in his hand.
“Take this. When it turns red, you’ll know.
Danger is not far away. Be prepared.”
The Swords Speak – Assasins Brotherhood
Legend says
That a killers brotherhood existed
During high Middle Ages
Fighting for people’s freedom
They were called assassins
They were persecuted and killed
They had a motto to fight for
“Nothing is true -
Everything is permitted”
Their swords speak of freedom
They had it Inscribed on their blades
“We work in the dark to serve the light,
We are assassins” or so it’s said
Their lives were for the cause
Their blood not their own
They were disposable to the society
Not considered one of their own
But the brotherhood of the assassins
Were fighting a war for peace
Their aim, assure freedom
The Templars, their nemesis
But as I said, that’s a myth
In the history, It’s just a legend
The Templars became the heroes
The Assassins were just erased
***
January 15, 2017
Free Verse
9th Place in the Contest The Swords Speak
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
When foreign breath emits oppressive reek
That wilts resplendent petals lilies grow,
And salts the pureness found in Freedom’s creek
Which runs where only thoughts enlightened know;
When threats arise against our liberty,
Be they by force or more clandestine made,
Since any strike upon the cherry tree
Exposes flesh withheld from Lincoln’s shade;
Then stand together with your fellow man
Prepared to save his life by way your own;
For blood which sheds as such is thicker than
The blood whose garden sprouts in monotone -
He fights with all his might for only “me”,
But falls where neighbors reign as brothers free.
2/6/17
While Excalibur's sword inscription
was of the sovereign Kings prediction
the majority of gentry believed its merely fiction
Whereas the Italian phrased Sword that Spoke
Instilled a diction purposely meant to provoke
for it bore the words that united all the folk
"Free people are brothers"
With each laborious clink and clang
that etched inscription sang and sang
in the place where it mattered the most
upon the brain of the patriotic wielding host
When the battle approached its ending
and the warriors went about wound tending
As they offered a victorious toast
The soldiers melodious song would boast
"Free people are brothers" 1/29/2017 106wd
*This poem was entered on 2/1/17 but mysteriously disappeared.
The swords that speak in these bitter times
are the ones that draw blood with their nibs.
Commands written and signatures scrawled
take hefty tolls at the edge of sodden graves.
We will not be enslaved by the egos of men
who arrogantly laud themselves as heroes,
who yearn for crowns placed on their heads.
What dissidence we hold for such cowards.
Winds blow free and so should we,
united in this life where evil runs rampant.
Raise our pens without apprehension
until our intention strikes its mark.
Let's bark at the haughty, the cruel, the hostile
who find all sorts of bigotry to their spurred liking.
Brand them with ink filled in weapons held high.
Defeat the bullies with bullets from our pens.
Then we will be free, all sisters and brothers
with one goal that is worth our bravery and courage.
Keep sharp our minds and pens filled with ink
so that we may drink from the cup of our victory.
February 2, 2017
The Sword Speaks Contest
Swords speak brittle metal thrusts
singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust;
blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points
deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint.
The sword speaks forged in metallic shields
shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields;
sword smith tamahagane billets delivery
quenched in fire and tempered chivalry.
Swords speak sharp yet to the death
the very depths and blood letting breaths
for love, for country, brothers of courage, fear and fires
fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires.
It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place
bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace
of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold
no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old.
Free people are all brothers
at the very start
then in some discorded word
find swords will resolve the hatred spark.
Deep the wounds cut and slicing
but words are no longer vocalized politely
only the sharpness and the glint
of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint.
"The tongue devises mischiefs
like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2
Swords of freedom
Ten old broken swords
Now hang off grandpa’s wall
Their origins lost in legends and myths
From his great grandpa’s times
Our folklore abounds with tales
Of victories of our heroes past
Of our ancestral men of great valour
Their price, the fulcrum of our freedom
Of wielders born invincible
When enemy tribes banded together
Bound by some forgotten ‘freedom’ words
Etched on their mysterious swords
“Free people are brothers”
Were the words curiously etched
On ten recently unearthed swords
From grandpa’s grandpa’s tomb
Let Our Swords Clash!
I found that life in my world is like fencing!
Tell me, World!
What’s on the line?
Does the loser give in?
Ready or not? Let’s begin!
For all these years I finally realise,
It was me and the world
Joints now petrified
And my mind, bind to never go outside
He is leading and I am behind
« En’ garde! »
Welcome to your first match
Welcome to the latest patch, 1.0
« Pret, thrust, intercept and slash! »
Come closer, I won’t flee and dash
Have at thee, lad! Let our swords clash!
Blade and body in space scarcity
Resolve to win is considered piety
Blow by blow and bear witness this variety
In this boundary, this cage, gelanggang is our reality
There is always worry
But ain’t never such thing as sorry
Fight me and you may win to earn some cash?
You may earn title and sash?
Our fashion whites are rash
Come closer, let’s see who is the first to gash
Let’s see who is the first to fall to the ash
Have at thee, lad! Let our swords clash!
Me against the world, this is my battle!
This is my challenge of might and mettle
This is my biggest issue to tackle
I’m the Man of Steel! Hit me, thrust me, pierce me, outta the field should you throw me
No!
My mind derives of titanium metal
My drive derives of francium petal
My sword derives weight of helium handle
Fear me and rattle
Because like the Avengers I assemble!
Come closer, and finally lash
Have at thee, lad! Let our swords clash!
I attack, forward! Took hits like a champ
Vitality decreasing as my stance start to damp
Now I realise how huge
Enormous it is... Is it? This ramp
Now I know-
I... need... AMP!
So that my name may stamp
Stamp on the history of this world!
Come closer, let’s create the greatest battle
Have at thee, lad! Let our swords clash!
Up with my mortal jihad
Here I find myself ashore on islands full of tears
And fear
And here fireworks explode and disappear
As millions of colours swallow up everything.
My presence mocks of you, mocks of everything
To the world,
Now, I am thanking!
In the future, I am reimbursing
Have at thee, lad! By then, our swords had clashed.
“Swords in My Hands”
War paths fade
when she says
Play Misty for Me
It’s so very easy
hold two swords
drop the Ball and glass slippers
The smile is full freedom
he says, do it again
Victory dance and mean it
Taken in this moment
one sword
cuts the zumanity ropes
some strange romance;
he says, do it again
I’ll watch you win
begin
Victory dance
begin
she is calling It in,
ALL in,
by Her Self
LIFE
body in full flight
against Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"Take to The Sky", Tori Amos
https://youtu.be/__i-CccPdmk
“This house is like Russia,
with eyes cold and gray.
You got me movin' in a circle.
I dyed my hair red today.
I just want a little passion
to hold me in the dark.
I know I've got some magic buried,
buried deep in my heart, yeah….
But my priest says,
You aint saving no souls…
My father says,
"You ain't making any money."
My doctor says,
"You just took it to the limit.
And here I stand,
with this sword in my hand...
You can say it one more time
What you don't like
Let me hear it one more time
Then have a seat
while I take to the sky,
take to the sky...
...
This house is like Russia
with eyes cold and gray"
LYRICS/ “Take to the Sky”, Tori Amos
https://genius.com/Tori-amos-take-to-the-sky-russia-lyrics
Swords clash and ignite the fire within
Fighters draw and strike again.
Draw! Strike! Draw again!
Strike him until he’s subdued!
Broken, bloody, torn and bruised.
Strike again, angry words this time fall
Forget the brotherhood and ties, uniting them all.
Victory is within his grasp
he can hear his enemy’s final gasp.
Menacingly he looks over the wounded, now walking dead
Grinning evilly, he picks up his sword to swing it over his head.
Victory is imminent;
He rushes on as he prepares to draw and strike the fatal blow.
Suddenly he notices the hilt with an ethereal glow.
“free people are brothers” is the gilded message of the now silent sword.
Anguish, grief and remorse are now his just reward.
An enemy he was not, but a friend,
Struck down, fatal blow, a grisly end.
Bonded they were in a battle long ago,when they fought for the same cause side by side
to be enslaved no more, was their battle cry, now by his own sword, his brother has died.
Hollow victory, blood stained hilt;
Now filled with sadness, pain and guilt.
A silenced mouth still with stories untold.
Forgotten brotherhood, a kinship now extinguished and grown cold.