A luminescent scimitar
cleaves the obsidian
firmament,
An ethereal calligraphy
traced upon the cosmic
element.
Suspended in quiet majesty,
a vestige of celestial grace,
Shedding a shimmering,
iridescent glow across time
and space.
This iridescent sickle cradles
the penumbral sphere,
As whispering constellations
gather softly from far and
near.
A mesmerizing emblem of
the twilight's quiet, transient
art,
Stirring a melancholic
wonder deep within the
dreamer's heart.
Through the subterranean
expanse of the everlasting
night,
She glides with incandescent
elegance, a beacon of pure
light.
An ephemeral,
phosphorescent crescent,
beautifully designed,
Casting a captivating,
tranquil spell upon all
humankind.
I entered the game…
And was confronted with Wraith
It was my job to avoid the Death Shriek
Which I did
But next came the Gargoyle
Which was elemental
I slid from his tactics
An undead Ghoul approached me
Must look out for his bites and claws
Then with an attack of +7
Came the Rat Swarm
I fought for the experience points
Oh no vermin! Spider
The web is the worst
Can you even believe an undead Zombie
Armor class is 11
Reptile; Kobold Skirmisher
Damage only one
My greatest fear…
The Blazing Skeleton
But my dice tops well
The skeleton only though
Has scimitar and slice
Yielding two experience points!
And lastly is the wolf
With bite or pounce
It’s okay. I’ll defeat him too.
And win this game.
Dreams that seem to make no sense
bits and pieces of suspense
dissolve and vanish before my eyes
blackmail-spirals, howling skies
All exits blocked, no escape
ghastly images, scimitar-shaped
horrors dredged-up, long suppressed
drown in light once awake
Soon, I'll appear. You'll have much to fear.
I'll be going on a tear to scare.
'Cuz, Halloween is growing near, I hear.
As Voldemort with a bizarre scar,
I'll place an ugly no-hair head, so bare...
and dead, in a jar, sliced by my scimitar.
Blood and gore will chill you to the core.
So, say a prayer, but I would not despair.
Joe, just give me more sweets from the store.
Do We Bleed Not, In That We Love
As Blades, As Roses, Time Is As Fleeting As A Dove
And As The Sand Sifts The Moments Out The Hourglass
And Love Finds It's Way, Just As The Blade Swinging In Inertial Mass
F=m a , This The Sword Knows
For Passionate Lovers, In War, In Crowns With Thorns
Where The Sweet Scents Of Affection Serenade The Soul
Just As Battle Scars From Pangs Of War,
Yet, Nothing Truly Is Ever Lost
When You Turn Pain To Bards,
Whether Battlefields Or Romance, Matters Not
Wounded By The Cold Piercing Steel Tip Of Fraught,
And The Mists Of Time Take It's Course
And The Memories Are Stained With Pricks And Bones,
With Life Comes Lessons, Regressions And Discourse
In Symphonies Of Valor And Heartbreak And Remorse,
Nothing Unfettered, Nothing Gained, In Devotion, In Lament With Swords
Through Friendships, Through Amours
So Bend the Will Of Hatred And Anger Like A Scimitar, Lay Down The Glaive
And Plant The Seed For Better Days
Muse
===================
Just an un-thought thought.
The least touch of a feather or
draught from
the beating wing of a bird;
A telescope taking focus on
Saturn's rings,
resolved in image,
cut and colour.
The idea gestating in a crate
sealed shut under a slatted grate
asking to be prised apart with a
number nine tyre iron as
the gyrating stars gazed down
upon nothing,
rounding Earth's scimitar sharp crescent
with an ineffable and total
cosmic indifference.
Calm like a mountain brooding o'er the sea,
I stood at the edge of the bridge hoping to end this fight,
Choked by the thorns and brambles of early adversity,
My thoughts scattered over the world like ant-hills,
I’ve been shielding this feeling,
It brute terrors like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic.
I long to be loved, accepted, heard and pampered,
Memorable moments standing the test of time,
Clenched little hands like rumpled roses, dimpled and dear,
But I’m companionless,
As the last cloud of an expiring storm whose thunder is its knell,
Who knows if I’m living to die or dying to live?
I am ready to deal with this pain cruelly and squarely,
It can only take a bullet in the mind to hold me back,
But my effort is creeping like a snail, unwillingly to actuate,
Tears and heart breaks gather like foul birds,
Run and surge fiercely to and fro my delicate soul,
Like the red harbor-buoy.
I think it’s time to put a stop to all these,
My heart is about to turn cold,
I still wonder how to move unto uncertain future,
But I hear voices and words;
Every phrase is like the flash of a scimitar,
And it says fight; win, ready or not, now or never.
Collective consciousness
Folded over into a square
Wrapped around a tree trunk
Etched with a scimitar
Another guidepost
To the morning star
Ad nauseam
Barba tenus sapientes
7/13/17
Cowabunga
I'm coming in with a hunga munga
Near and far from any rotunda
Going in and out the umbra
While close and beyond yucca
Across desert, grassland, forest and tundra
Yargh!
Now I'm wielding a katar
And scimitar
On par
Ready to spar
Time I raise the bar
Hallelujah
Next I'll use the zhua
Above and below plants and fruit trees such as satsuma
Regarding any terrain with or without puma and vicuna
As well as waters that do or don't have tuna, beluga and barracuda
If that doesn't work, then surely will the bazooka
~Glows Like Golden Grain ~
( Bragi )
Beautiful first spring day
Bountiful sun but then may rain
Enticing spring is here again at last
Each ray of sun illuminates so fast
Bright sunshine glows like golden grain
Glad spring shines bright this day.
Butterfly dance here and there fast
Most beautiful springs here again
The airs so mild today
The sky is blue and clouds hide and play
So lovely the sun rays sustain
And to all its beams of warm light it cast.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2017
June.01.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
~Author's Notes:
The 'Bragi' is said to be suited for scenic beauty and “the elfin”. Created by Thelma Allinder, it became popular through a 1950’s publication,Scimitar and Song.
The Bragi is stanzaic, written in 2 sixains. (12 lines)
syllabic,6/8/10/10/8/6/10/8/6/6/8/10 syllables per line.
Rhymed, rhyme scheme abccba cbaabc. (abccbacbaabc)
The eyes blazed with fire bright
Hair black as space unknown
Skin smooth like satin touch
In seductive voices she lets her scriptures flow
And that’s the devil I know
Better the devil I know
Blood warm lips that taste like wine
Long tapered fingers that entwine
My soul for her to keep
That’s the devil I know
Better the devil I know
Her chest heaves in play
As she makes my body sway
Her grey hound thin waist
Delight my tastes with the slightest brush
Curved like a scimitar blade
Her back ripples like dragon scales
With unholy grace such that’s only seen to be believed
She wraps her legs around me
Her scent of passion surrounds me
All I can do is try to breathe
Spent and wasted I lie
Next to the devil I know
Better the devil I know
I wake in days to hide
My nights spent to cry
Hoping, wishing, dying
Yearning her return
Better the devil I know
That’s the devil I used to know
Oh I am a little metaphor
I love to play a word,
today I am a fortress on
Tuesday I’m a bird
On Wednesday I’m a simile
cos I’m like a train, storming
into history,to play this wordy game
On Thursday’s I push the boat out,
ploughing through the waves, then
Fridays I’m like a scimitar, slicing
through the raves
And if you catch me weekend, I
won’t hold a grudge, just take me
as you find me, wink, wink,
nudge, nudge, nudge.
Im a dot,
A small black powerful dot,
I can spoil a celebrity autograph
I make void a bank cheque signature
I can spoil a sentence, a tiny story:
“A man walked along the. road”
With my friends, we make something mysterious:
“then the door closed………………….”
I highjack a comma
;
I meet up with another dot
:
I question myself with a scimitar shape
?
We dots, team up with our friends, the dashes to make the well known Morse code
. - .. - - .
a hollow shell
of tangled synapses
sparked into gradual madness
which drowns out the truths of the day
as the mind reeks of the rotten sad moments
that swirl in the rancid soup of forgotten dreams
dreams that once traced a gentle path of innocence
dreams that reached for pure love’s tender touch
dreams now paralysed but once vivaciously alive
what became of those fresh dreams and hopes
as they lie mustily on dusty bookshelves
torn into shreds by time’s fine scimitar
devoid of the touch of raw passion
when all that remains of love is
a hollow shell
Culling
Back in the ancient long ago,
We had the great Crusades,
Men with red crosses on their chest,
Used swords against scimitar blades,
Todays evil ones would murder all,
Is death a disease,
Does hatred of mankind, bitter gall,
Create such misery?
It is in man to cull the crop,
To trim the numbers there,
With 6 billion on the planet, stop,
Another, world slaughter, so unfair?
Murder is in the heart of some,
It festers, and the deed is done,
It’s enough to get you on the rum,
The bitter harvest there…
Don Johnson 23-aug-11
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.