Best Swordsman Poems
As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
She stands all alone in a court full of men
An innocent woman condemned
The charges are great, she's resigned to her fate
She knows she will die in the end
Though she is in despair she's standing tall there
She knows she has committed no sin
But these cowards, these men will find her guilty and then
Seal the fate of Queen Anne Boleyn
On the 19th of May that terrible day
From her room in the tower she's taken
If they thought she cry and plead not to die
They were very mistaken
With words clear and strong she denies any wrong
With no quiver or break in her voice
The swordsman stands by with a tear in his eye
But he knows that he has no choice
One swing of the sword as she praises the Lord
And she's gone in the middle of prayer
The King is away he is hunting that day
Its clear that he doesn't care
That sword gave her peace it gave her release
It finished the fear and the pain
“Death rocked her to sleep and her memory we keep
Each May again and again
Anne's death wasn't in vain though she suffered great pain
Her daughter went on to be
A wonderful Queen, the best there has been
That was her great legacy.
To return home that was at a walking distance.
She used to stop at a bar to freshen up a bit
One day she noticed a man staring at her.
As days passed, he befriended and bonded her.
It became a daily routine to talk over a drink.
When one day, she went to the rest room,
He poured a tasteless powder into her drink.
Next morning, she found herself in his bed.
When she was about to shout for any help
He showed her pictures of the last night
She was victimized for months silently
Till she committed suicide because of
Date Rape drug, known as Predator drug.
Come by the sword, die by the sword
Didn’t work, in this case of the woman.
Good people are passive, not aggressive
They believe in, “If a man slaps on your left cheek,
Offer your right cheek for him to slap”
A swordsman fights his opponent of equal strength
Who has sword in one hand and chili powder in another
Throws into his eyes and overpowers or kills him
Theory works but in the war or duel situation.
Jesus didn’t say “All who live with sword, Die by sword”
**He told Peter to put his sword away, and said
“All who draw the sword will die by the sword”**
**Matt. 26:52.
++++++++
Date :2-28-14
Woot Woot Personal Memories
Monorhyme Form
Jeremy, a teen, is baby sitting
his siblings. They swallow him up playing.
Berry sits on big brothers lap giggling
in the big comfy chair sinking feeling,
while tightly squeezing, Ella’s enjoying.
Admiration of big brother’s loving.
Frankie and Joey, watching, role-playing,
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles winning.
Michelangelo’s, stealth bomber punching,
Donatello’s, Chi Gong skill in slamming,
Leonardo’s master swordsman slashing.
Ninjutsu skills, arms swinging, feet kicking
Following every skilled move they’re making.
Heartbeat of siblings bonding, like breathing.
Big brother is always encouraging,
Never giving up on our life squabbling,
protective, understanding, still willing
to play, do fun things, smiling, ensuring.
5/25/2016
5/25/2016
Poetry Contest ; Personal Memories Monorhyme II -
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Sweet as honey from the hive
Warm as the hearth on cold winters night
Bright as the sun of a new day
Cheerful as the song of a bird in flight
Strong as the blade of a swordsman posed to strike
Steady as the north star at night
Soft as a kitten's coat
Beautiful as the northern light
Gentle as a babbling brook
Playful as a puppy at her best
Pure as the new fallen snow
Peaceful as a babe at mother's breast
It can comfort when your in pain
It can make you happy when you are gray
It can tell the tale of 1000 words
It can be the perfect end to a long stressful day
He was a cowboy problem child
rescued by a mendicant sage brush sorcerer
resulting in his remembering everything
flawlessly insolently permanantly
birth death life things in space have a beer
owner of his own head at last
thanks to whiskey tainted improvisations
and the use of springs and levers
in order to bring the Almighty down to earth
for a patch job on his many severed limbs
he slept on a bed of maguey spines
combed his tumbleweed hair over the burn spots
and tattooed his many and fecund scars into
the outlines of zippers and pockets
Tex Lester was a lariat twirling minstrel
and undefeated Popsicle stick swordsman
subject to a chronic howling for pootang
Tex took me under his leathery wings
together we praised the pop up toaster
and often spoke of mechanics and luck
taught me to look at girls all anew
in the little red school house by the cactus patch
Miss LobowskI beat off my attempts
at humping her leg during her class in ethics
as if a description of total damnation
could repair the broken mosaic of attention
Tex would implore with the tact of a scorpion
madam cover your eyes in the name of decency
what could I do but wake the dead
and digress distressingly in the dirt
a heartfelt rain making non-sequitir
well kids are full of surprises
uninhibited by mystery or murderous rage
complete they are in a different way
but the more Miss Lobowski's convex mariachis
bucked and danced under her wet serape
the more it popped into Tex's ten gallon head
to teach her an old cowboy rope trick
round and round went his cowboy lariat
the desire to repeat pleasure unfortunately
is the desire to repeat it exactly endlessly
and that's the problem the big problem
at the museum of horrible deaths
you grab their ears and whisper
rest your head on a cloud angel
and hope they don't end up on top
of a truckload of flattened automobiles
he went crazy on her flesh
let loose his gila monster on her blazing ****
and together they began robbing banks
this is going to cost me my diploma
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The art gallery,
Was inspiring and exciting,
A portrait consuming,
Sir Lancelot,
King Arthur’s closest companion,
The greatest swordsman of his time,
A knight of the round table,
Her eyes were drawn to him,
Staring at his picture,
He seemingly stared back,
Handsome were her thoughts,
If only!
Step back for just one hour,
Time seemed to stand still,
She imagined holding hands,
Her heart melted,
The world stopped,
He swooped her off her feet,
Gliding around the hall,
His strong arms
Holding her tight,
Romance and imagination
Spoke every word,
She looked,
Dimly lit candles flickered,
Open fire with huge burning logs,
The structure of thick stone,
The battlement tower,
A fortress fortified against attacks,
She had been transported,
The wish had come true,
One hour they danced,
Or forever in his arms,
She closed her eyes,
He kissed her lips,
The candles blew out,
Into darkness,
She was back in the gallery,
Staring into his dark eyes,
Reached out to his picture,
The aroma of love,
Touching through eternities door.
25/01/2017
It’s time, the watcher has proclaimed
The Earth has been badly maimed
Mankind’s been dealt a heavy blow
It is for real, and not for show
Tears of remembrance, and tears of joy,
Tears for somebody, that soldier boy.
The all seeing eye cries out in pain
Our World has been wounded again
The swordsman taking all the knocks
Feels he’s living in a paradox
This is all in his imagination
Holds his breath in contemplation
Tears of remembrance, and tears of joy,
Tears for somebody, that soldier boy.
The all seeing eye cries out in pain
Our World has been wounded again
Now’s the time to find all the clues
Seeking out celestial news
Search for the foe, the evil raptor
Before we enter the final chapter
Kofi Amed & Dominic Amozimi
Tonal shaded selfies behind open mural walls
We were but performers in art galleried halls
Between submissive embrace and crazy calls.
We danced our way into realms of falling roses.
On sullen floors of marble and polished wood
Drenched In ambivert scents of wild orchids
Hands eloped in laughter under a yellow moon
Where smiles were unending and unrestrained
Cocooned in the warmth of your soft embrace
Amid gazes that stir our souls like boiling soup
So hot, it burns and by us tastes all beautiful
And has chained us from our souls to our visibles
Two were burnt. One product; love most enviable
One spark of fire had burnt up two people
And burnt them up like Moses’ burning bush.
No sword could hurt us when we’re nested in embrace
Nor could the swordsman sever us that have been chained
Between our arms we hold each other’s safest place.
The years wears on under star canvassed skies
And slowly I fade into you and you into me
For our love is like fine wine It only gets better and better with time !
Dressed in a red petticoat
And grey damask gown
Trimmed with fur
She walked to the scaffold
Recalling her king’s love
Denying charges against her
Thinking of her daughter
She knelt upright and prayed
The swordsman sliced her head
From her thin neck
But there was no coffin, no funeral
No grieving husband’s tears
A workman gathered her remains
Placed them in an arrow chest
And the queen was buried
In an unmarked grave.
Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII
Jack Horne for Nette’s Soul Partners contest
1: Draw your sword in your house, with your thumb over your index finger, and plunge it into the wall to test your might
2: Put on the armour of God, with the tight belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness without fright
3. Do not focus on only one object, but keep all things in your cloudless mind and in your eyes’ natural sight
4. Have a position without a position, so your sword will not be in a position confined
5. Examine your terrain, your earth of faith, water of hope, air of love, and light of gnosis. Keep these things in mind
6. Control the situation, guide your vices to a corner where they are confined and you are free
7: Have the piercing sun behind you, blinding Yaldabaoth, and giving your soul a clear-cut view of the world to see
8: When unsureness clouds your opponent, strike with lightning, without moving flesh or fixing your sight
9. Stomp his sword quickly with thunder for divine victory, when you see the pattern. Do this without any fright
10. Do this, and become one who shatters Yaldabaoth’s misty strength without raising your sword, or your might
Inspired by The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi (a Japanese swordsman and philosopher)
To some he is a myth or legend
But I am here to answer your questions
Is he real? Merely a tale to scare?
Oh he is real and you best beware!
None have seen him in decades it is said
Because he waits till your asleep in bed
Master swordsman, pirate, and sniper all true?
Only you will know when he comes for you
I suppose he cast spells on those he sees
Believe it boy he’ll bend your knees
Seems unnatural or a cheap lie at best
You will realize it when you’re a bloody mess
This interview is over you senile old fool
Take him away and serve him extra gruel
ROBIN HOOD
Skilled swordsman cum archer coming in guise,
Robbing from rich to reach poor as surprise.
Brave righteous Robin Hood
Hero of my childhood.
Fighting injustice was his exercise.
01/29/19
Third Place
'Limerick 3' Contest by Joseph May
'Early February 2019' Contest by Brian Strand.
The swordsman stood with pride and grace,
A glint of steel upon his face,
His sword, the finest ever made,
A thing of beauty, none could evade.
The blade, so sharp, it cut the air,
A sight to see, so rare and fair,
Its edge, so keen, it could slice through,
Anything that came into view.
The hilt, adorned with gems and gold,
A masterpiece, for all to behold,
Its elegance, divine and true,
A work of art, it shone anew.
The swordsman wielded it with skill,
A master of the blade, with iron will,
His sword, the envy of all around,
A treasure, so fine and renowned.
No foe could stand against his might,
For with his sword, he won the fight,
The most elegant, beautiful, divine and sharp,
A true masterpiece, the swordsman's harp.