My turn again I think......
Walked through the gate
Around quarter past eight
To see a blacksmith working.
On a wheel with a bar of steel,
To which she was grinding.
A sword that shone so bright.
My eyes, the blade was blinding…
A mightily blade the damsel said
“Could you take it to my father?”
“He works in Dragonsreach,
Walk past the temple and further”.
Along the path I trod and tread
To pass an empty house.
Not a soul lived inside,
No Skeever or a mouse.
I came across a market
With meats and fruit they sell.
My eye on the fruit seller,
I nearly fell into the well….
Stepping inside the trade store,
To disappear from the street.
“Everything’s for sale”
A strange man said.
“My prices can’t be beat”.
I then entered an herbalist’s shop
Or ‘Alchemy’ I should say.
“I’ve a potion to cure that”.
Unaware of any deception, gold to Arcadia I pay...
Now disease fee am I
I head to the Inn.
The maids asked for ten gold,
To commit cardinal sin.
Heading up a flight of stairs,
A Temple to my left.
“The tree is dead, a crying shame”.
Said the priestess of Kynareth.
To my right an upturned boat
Used as a roof no doubt.
A fight with fists and fearsome cries.
I heard the Companions shout.
“Hold your ground”. One man said,
I think his side was beaten.
He cursed and pushed the poor sod back,
Despite him being blooden
The Huntress seemed far happier,
Her side was winning sure.
Although the member’s face
Needed more than a simple cure.
Heading out lest I get involved,
In a matter of what? Pride?
I climbed and climbed some mighty steps
In my search for somewhere to hide.
I ended up in Dragonsreach,
The home of the Jarl.
“Jarl Balgruuf’s my name.
From whence do you came?”
He asked with me, a simple mer.
“You look like you could help”.
“Where that mage? Fareng’r?”
"The poxy little Whelp".
So I’m now off to a Barrow.
Bleak I think they said.
It’s full of draugr and monsters.
I've to face the walking undead….
With a sword and shield, and my trusty bow,
Arrows in my quiver.
I ascend the mountains, cold
My nerves, they start to shiver!
My turn again I think......
Walked through the gate
Around quarter past eight
To see a blacksmith working.
On a wheel with a bar of steel,
To which she was grinding.
A sword that shone so bright.
My eyes, the blade was blinding…
A mightily blade the damsel said
“Could you take it to my father?”
“He works in Dragonsreach,
Walk past the temple and further”.
Along the path I trod and tread
To pass an empty house.
Not a soul lived inside,
No Skeever or a mouse.
I came across a market
With meats and fruit they sell.
My eye on the fruit seller,
I nearly fell into the well….
Stepping inside the trade store,
To disappear from the street.
“Everything’s for sale”
A strange man said.
“My prices can’t be beat”.
I then entered an herbalist’s shop
Or ‘Alchemy’ I should say.
“I’ve a potion to cure that”.
Unaware of any deception, gold to Arcadia I pay...
Now disease fee am I
I head to the Inn.
The maids asked for ten gold,
To commit cardinal sin.
Heading up a flight of stairs,
A Temple to my left.
“The tree is dead, a crying shame”.
Said the priestess of Kynareth.
To my right an upturned boat
Used as a roof no doubt.
A fight with fists and fearsome cries.
I heard the Companions shout.
“Hold your ground”. One man said,
I think his side was beaten.
He cursed and pushed the poor sod back,
Despite him being blooden
The Huntress seemed far happier,
Her side was winning sure.
Although the member’s face
Needed more than a simple cure.
Heading out lest I get involved,
In a matter of what? Pride?
I climbed and climbed some mighty steps
In my search for somewhere to hide.
I ended up in Dragonsreach,
The home of the Jarl.
“Jarl Balgruuf’s my name.
From whence do you came?”
He asked with me, a simple mer.
“You look like you could help”.
“Where that mage? Fareng’r?”
"The poxy little Whelp".
So I’m now off to a Barrow.
Bleak I think they said.
It’s full of draugr and monsters.
I've to face the walking undead….
With a sword and shield, and my trusty bow,
Arrows in my quiver.
I ascend the mountains, cold
My nerves, they start to shiver!
There's been many good poems today, I see :D Nice, love that. Sotek you're on a role mate!
Karver, what a great surprise to see you take part! Less surprised by your skill, though. I have read your literature, always poetic :)
Kaiser, that was great!
There's been many good poems today, I see :D Nice, love that. Sotek you're on a role mate!
Karver, what a great surprise to see you take part! Less surprised by your skill, though. I have read your literature, always poetic :)
Kaiser, that was great!
My Lady, whose mantle is starlight
Whose crown is the Secunda moon
May your spirit warm me on the coldest night
And your presence illuminate the gloom.
My Lady, whose robes are the firmament's field
Whose voice is the celestial chord
May your courage lend strength to my shield
And your might inspire my sword.
My Lady, whose eyes are an empyreal veil
Whose feet tread the moonbeams of dream
May your love protect me like shimmering mail
And my soul rally to your crystalline theme.
My Lady, whose impeccable touch shapes the Tower
Whose splendid hands hold the soul-infused Stone
May your vision lend my spells their power
And guide me when I'm lost and alone.
My Lady, whose mantle is starlight
Whose crown is the Secunda moon
May your spirit warm me on the coldest night
And your presence illuminate the gloom.
My Lady, whose robes are the firmament's field
Whose voice is the celestial chord
May your courage lend strength to my shield
And your might inspire my sword.
My Lady, whose eyes are an empyreal veil
Whose feet tread the moonbeams of dream
May your love protect me like shimmering mail
And my soul rally to your crystalline theme.
My Lady, whose impeccable touch shapes the Tower
Whose splendid hands hold the soul-infused Stone
May your vision lend my spells their power
And guide me when I'm lost and alone.
Are there no eyes to see the warning?
Are there no ears to hear what's sung?
Is this the celestial mourning?
The Wizard's incantation takes not to his tongue.
The heavens belong now to the Snake
The song has become a Misruled refrain
The Thief has found a lock he cannot break
The Eight favor the only righteous, but too few of you remain.
The Warrior finds a foe that cannot fall
The Guardians have been cast down
Oblivion's darkness hangs like a pall
The land weeps from the loss of its crown.
The Interplay is one flea of assertion on a wolf of naught
It is by these heresies that you fall from grace
Where now are those of magnificent thought?
Prepare for Destruction's embrace.
The gate, once open, cares not who passeth through
Is there anyone left who can repair the song?
I looked on as the roosting birds flew
You looked away when the fires flickered, and now act lost that they are gone!
Are there no eyes to see the warning?
Are there no ears to hear what's sung?
Is this the celestial mourning?
The Wizard's incantation takes not to his tongue.
The heavens belong now to the Snake
The song has become a Misruled refrain
The Thief has found a lock he cannot break
The Eight favor the only righteous, but too few of you remain.
The Warrior finds a foe that cannot fall
The Guardians have been cast down
Oblivion's darkness hangs like a pall
The land weeps from the loss of its crown.
The Interplay is one flea of assertion on a wolf of naught
It is by these heresies that you fall from grace
Where now are those of magnificent thought?
Prepare for Destruction's embrace.
The gate, once open, cares not who passeth through
Is there anyone left who can repair the song?
I looked on as the roosting birds flew
You looked away when the fires flickered, and now act lost that they are gone!
I have a burning passion which cannot be quenched
And need a beautiful sage
Balls deep in the stars like a wench
I'd be to the hilt in a slooty mage!
I have a burning passion which cannot be quenched
And need a beautiful sage
Balls deep in the stars like a wench
I'd be to the hilt in a slooty mage!
Mirric said:OoooOOooooOOOoooo
I will think something up
Please do, Scamp :)
Lissette Long-Chapper said:More poems! Wish I had a gift for it. I don't Takes me forever to write the ditty I wrote.
You don't think you have a gift for poetry? What is a poem, Lis?
a piece of writing in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by particular attention to diction (sometimes involving rhyme), rhythm, and imagery.
There are many forms of poetry, I a not trained in any and don't understand the complexities and terminologies. But I do know that I favour basic rhyme which is sometimes clumsy as fuck. But when I read passages of Straag, or pieces from Chasing Aetherius, it is for me exactly like poetry.
“I heard a noise as I cursed that monster on the road. So small. So weak. As a baby crying. At first, I thought it was a baby, for babies often mew. But when I approached the side of the road where the mother lay, I saw tracks. Her tracks.”...“She was wounded, bleeding, dying, but she carried one to safety. I followed her trail of blood. One. She carried one."
If that does not fit the definition of poetry then tell me what does? Your poems are far more complex than mine, the rythym is hidden at the end of a chapter, or in the descriptions of an emotional moment. Your writing style changes as it captures that emotion and your words become poetic in tone.
Never doubt that not only do you have a gift for it, you do it regularly and unconsciously, without effort and done under Vivec's Fire.
Here's a little something between Albee and Serana:
Those days of far-gone glory
When our bannner on high first flew
Fluttering, a celestial story
Memories from the deep blue.
Time is like a mist for me
Tendrils of fog to grasp
Images, shapes, glimpses of thee
A cloak I try to clasp.
The firmament was our home
In that time of freedom's yearn
The effluvium of amnesia's foam
Which even now I can almost discern.
I wear you like my armour
You keep me focussed, safe
Forever, Mor-Serana
You are the keeper of my faith.
Your skin, like flawless ivory
Your hair of the heaven's void
As pure as marble in a priory
I am overcome with joy.
The foosteps of chapters penned
So very long ago
Echo still in the tapestry's wend
Like splashes in a river's flow.
One by one I count the days
When we are apart
They melt into a foggy haze
But you are always in my heart.
[blockquote][b][url=/profile/Mirric]Mirric[/url] said:[/b]
OoooOOooooOOOoooo
I will think something up
[/blockquote]
Please do, Scamp :)
[blockquote][b][url=/profile/LissetteLongChapper]Lissette Long-Chapper[/url] said:[/b]
More poems! Wish I had a gift for it. I don't Takes me forever to write the ditty I wrote.
[/blockquote]
You don't think you have a gift for poetry? What is a poem, Lis?
a piece of writing in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by particular attention to diction (sometimes involving rhyme), rhythm, and imagery.
There are many forms of poetry, I a not trained in any and don't understand the complexities and terminologies. But I do know that I favour basic rhyme which is sometimes clumsy as fuck. But when I read passages of Straag, or pieces from Chasing Aetherius, it is for me exactly like poetry.
“I heard a noise as I cursed that monster on the road. So small. So weak. As a baby crying. At first, I thought it was a baby, for babies often mew. But when I approached the side of the road where the mother lay, I saw tracks. Her tracks.”...“She was wounded, bleeding, dying, but she carried one to safety. I followed her trail of blood. One. She carried one."
If that does not fit the definition of poetry then tell me what does? Your poems are far more complex than mine, the rythym is hidden at the end of a chapter, or in the descriptions of an emotional moment. Your writing style changes as it captures that emotion and your words become poetic in tone.
Never doubt that not only do you have a gift for it, you do it regularly and unconsciously, without effort and done under Vivec's Fire.
Here's a little something between Albee and Serana:
Those days of far-gone glory
When our bannner on high first flew
Fluttering, a celestial story
Memories from the deep blue.
Time is like a mist for me
Tendrils of fog to grasp
Images, shapes, glimpses of thee
A cloak I try to clasp.
The firmament was our home
In that time of freedom's yearn
The effluvium of amnesia's foam
Which even now I can almost discern.
I wear you like my armour
You keep me focussed, safe
Forever, Mor-Serana
You are the keeper of my faith.
Your skin, like flawless ivory
Your hair of the heaven's void
As pure as marble in a priory
I am overcome with joy.
The foosteps of chapters penned
So very long ago
Echo still in the tapestry's wend
Like splashes in a river's flow.
One by one I count the days
When we are apart
They melt into a foggy haze
But you are always in my heart.