In the same domain as I released several days ago
A magpie with foot caught in wooden mouse trap
Aves my baby is a Saviour, her soul beauty a show
Freedom breadth materialised in blessed moment
Limping gives way to delivery, staid cage collapsed
River snake jaw compels ocean, propels hope that
Latitude comes upon compiled memory's sure flow
Broadsword my boy taught firm ethics keeps pride
Strength activated matures to be a bold protector
Man of moral multitude, by vital sacrifices inspired
A A B expands her brain, guards precious treasure
Chaste of spirit assists needy, heart always in tact
17th December
- descendent -
Categories:
broadsword, angel, august, baptism, birth,
Form: Rhyme
The Oil Soft Yoke
Alas, the contest sponsors do expound
on how to sail your craft, and where it’s bound
thus must the muse-less vessels get in line
wander straight and never serpentine
for hearts are frail and distant widows peak
still hear cold vagrant cries of those who seek
a passage to a new world without rules
to build their frameless houses without tools.
And yet we stand in awe at castle gates
to view the masterpieces of the greats
ignore the splintered floors that bow and creak
believe the feather strong, the broadsword weak.
Embrace the furrowed rows, the oil soft yoke
for poetry when written ain’t no joke..
©12/24/2019
STRAND SPECIAL 8
Categories:
broadsword, poetry,
Form: Sonnet
Like a broadsword through my empty chest,
Your words hurt, though said in jest.
I returned your anger with only laughter,
Your words hurt, you cared not after.
My soul I spilled but you didn’t care,
Your words hurt, my walls stripped bare.
My heart I was ready to give,
Your words hurt, too much to live.
Categories:
broadsword, anxiety, break up, girl,
Form: Rhyme
Sinking into me
This silver broadsword
Pull it from my chest
Sheathe it in your gold
Transmuted from my ash
Collected from our final clash
Lying atop a branch
Atop the mighty tree
Born from my death
Reach down, angel
Pull me from the dirt
I can't see the world
Underneath your light
The glare is far too strong
I've stared for too long
The world is born again
You've learned to fly again
I'm buried once again
Categories:
broadsword, angst, identity,
Form: Lyric
My neighbor is a pirate of fame
Who sailed and pillaged from Maine to Spain
I once heard his old parrot mimic
Phrases common to a pirate’s gimmick.
I saw his long broadsword and musket
Looking quite time-worn, used and rustic.
He has a plumed hat, spy glass, boot scraps,
Black eye patch, peg leg and treasure maps.
My neighbor cannot shiver me spine,
He is way too short and only nine.
Categories:
broadsword, imagination,
Form: Couplet
Locked in her tower our heroine sleeps alone
This beautiful flower has been kidnapped from her throne
She stares at the moonlight then drifts off to sleep
To dream of a brave knight scaling the castles keep.
Her flaxen hair frames her delicate ivory skin
Vivid dreams of her hero reveal her beauty within
Steadfast and strong and ready to fight to the death
To rescue this beauty he will forgo his last breath.
Her chivalrous knight enters the abductors domain
Soon she'll taste the sweetness of freedom again.
His shield raised high and broadsword drawn
With every step he takes, for her hope is reborn
Caught off guard with a blow he is swept of his feet
He fights blindly on until his quest is complete
To vanquish the captors is his goal and last wish
Sweep the princess off her feet with a tender kiss
He slashes the ropes that bind her to the bed
Making passionate love for hours now they are happily wed
19th May 2014
Written By Jan Allison & Darren Watson
~submitted to Dave Wood's Imagination Contest~
Awarded 1st place - am so delighted to have won this with Darren he
is my inspiration
Categories:
broadsword, fantasy, immigration,
Form: Narrative
For years the witches have gathered
Practicing their satanic rites of insanity
How many people have they butchered
Secluded, in this forested den of iniquity
Open fields surrounding the plateau
Making it hard to approach undetected
The going will be arduous, and slow
Foolishly believing they are protected
The moon always seems to be full
A shadow my only friend this night
I step over the warning ring of skulls
Easing toward the campfires light
I see four hags have selected a child
They begin branding his pale white skin
Odor of burning flesh, senses defiled
As the boy screams, my legs weaken
Pulling my broadsword free of its sheath
Slipping quietly behind the four witches
Barely feeling the sharp bite of its teeth
A just reward for practicing their fetishes
Standing beside the child I view the brands
The number 666, adorns his petite frame
Could this be the boy spoken of in legends
Born of Jackal's, heir to Satan’s domain
Gazing into his eyes, lost in the darkness
Aware I’ve saved the stealer of souls
I will not be a part of this evil madness
Raising my sword, one more head must roll
Categories:
broadsword, imagination
Form: Rhyme
In my secret heart I’ve felt
Like a blood-crazed Celt,
Scottish, Irish, either one,
Killing Britons with my gun.
Or with broadsword or with knife,
Dirk, or dagger, taking life
In an Ulster alleyway,
Or Culloden Moor that day.
Smoke and blood on heather grass,
Celtic reverie must pass,
Like a distant, dimming dream
Drowning in a dank, swift stream.
Categories:
broadsword, history
Form: Verse
The old King took to the battle
and leapt into the fencers fray.
“Noblesse oblige” his cronies cry.
“Our King will save the day!”
He was a bull to their gazelle
nae a fair fight, nae by half;
he'd fight just to see the thralls fall
he ‘d pierce those peacocks for a laugh!
His continence was so fearsome.
His two burly arms a rare threat.
Some would nae fight His Majesty
nor fight of his knightly get.
“How is this fair?” the Lord’s lament.
How well met can these odd match be?
“Unless, of course, ‘twas nae ‘bout fair
this was nae called noblesse oblige!
In heavy plate with blade and pole
with broadsword, He’d bested the field;
so, as the fencers broached this game
the wiser lads all chose to yield.
They would nae raise a blade to him
nor would they save for him a dance;
many a brave man whispered there
and the bolder looked on askance.
“Let Him have the day! We’ll nae play
Noblesse oblige, my fine backsides!”
And, so the fancy fencers fell
like pretty harp seals on the tide.
There are many a way to win
and sure, many a way to loose.
Yet ‘tis the metal of the man
shows in the way that he chooses.
Categories:
broadsword, allegory, history, introspection
Form: Rhyme
Oh death your sting will plea
rejoice cancerous vile flesh.
And scab bandages the angel's plea.
of bliss to rest from arrogant men.
Mode I do abhor the card
casting of my flesh moray.
Lipstick stains and gill vanguard
tears swift by tram alleyway.
My memories the broadsword
thing left to hold me to thane.
Womb called life resale abhorred
permeability train.
Headed in the quest of
finality.
Categories:
broadsword, introspection,
Form: Free verse