[poem]Unnamed poem(s)

[TomGrenn]

Inspired by Chris Sabion’s poem (and encouraged by my own success), I wrote something that should rhyme (there’ll be at least a second try).
If you don’t know all the words, don’t be afraid to consult a dictionary – it was very helpful to me!


Liberated from the demon’s cage
Where he was doomed to rot
He showed that he was really sage
And named what we forgot.

No artefact was unavowed
For every thing a saw
This knowledge was enough to goad
Me on to see him haw.

But every thing I brought to him
Was named and classified.
Alas, he almost seemed to brim
With lore - he beamed with pride.

He knew the ancient stories well
And tried to find a hearer,
Give him an inch, he’ll take an ell,
while evil’s drawing nearer.

O Cain the elder was afraid
Of being left alone
He sought the company and aid
And babbled with anxious tone.

This is the limit, no more drivels!
While he ceaselessly prattles,
I’ll bring him out, even if he snivels,
Where evil grimly battles.




edit: maybe I should add, this is not my personal view. In fact, sometimes I even expect to hear a story, a legend or an anecdote of his eventful life, when I hear this famous “Stay a while and listen”.
But imagine an adventurer, who never ever hears “O, that’s strange. I… I really don’t know this!” and who has to interrupt the monologue of this old man because the enemy is at the gates. Not only once, not only twice, no, every time…

 

[Esme]

It is a very beautiful poem. All the rhymes sound good and the words you used are nice, as long as there is dictionary available.
And I really like the sixth stanza.

 

[FenixBlack]

Well, well Deckard, good old chatterbox...

Nice of you, Tom, to dedicate a poem to him. But you don't realy thing about showing him the door of the camp, just cause of him making your ears bleed?

Well he often talks the hind leg off a donkey, but didn't you wondered what the cancel key is for?

 

[WeedZel]

rhymes good, nice poem well done

 

[TomGrenn]

Now, another one. That’s why this thread is called “unnamed poems” and not “Deckard Cain the elder” or so.
This time it’s even something like a short story, from a point of view of a townsman…


The heroes came back from the mountain,
the world stone broken by heavenly might.
Though Baal had spread his bloody fountain,
all mankind felt a terrible fright:

The earth was shaking very strong,
no one could gaily look ahead
the birds had hushed their cheerful song
the future seemed so sorrowful, sad.

But hope is mankind’s native heir,
come, raise your glasses to the strugglers,
celebrate Baal's end now without fear,
let's sing and dance, summon the jugglers!

O Necromancer, dire fellow,
and Paladin, our hearts are lighter,
give me a smile and try to mellow!
Hail Amazon, Barbarian Fighter!

The fighting has henceforth to cease,
Assassin and ferocious Druid,
you, Sorceress, calm down and ease,
come to the feast and drink some fluid!

...

As everyone fell into slumber,
o dark Lords, hear my supplication
the venom I put in their tumbler
may bring them as my meek oblation.




edit: mistake and spoiler erased- thanks for the hint!

 

[Gyro]

Hrhr how come I didn't get to know that thread earlier
Actually an extraordinarly eloquent poem(s)

To come to the first one:

Your point of view considering Cain (the one you wrote below the poem) is just like I feel talking to him. Sometimes it's really nice to get to hear some storys, though they are boring sometimes, and just to forget about the enemies awaiting you.

Considering the second one:

No further comment. I just like it ^^


Don't give up the good job!
Cheers
HamHam

 

[Esme]

Well done again. But you spoilered by mentioning the "seemingly" harmless townsman, so the end is not as surprising as it could be.
I'm looking forward to read more of your poems.

felt into slumber - fell into slumber ("felt" comes from "to feel")

 

[TomGrenn]

... and the rhymes won’t stop.
Another short story of antagonized residents of Sanctuario.

While strolling through the alleys one night,
she felt so vivid, full of might.
All townsmen asleep,
no one there could keep
her, she almost was eager to fight.

All dressed in a black suit with a hood
she knew she was dangerous – good.
The blades on her side
and the world’s open wide
brought her into a confident mood.

He laid in the gutter with pain
and hoped it was not in vain.
The evocation he made
caused his power to fade,
he felt like completely slain.

She saw this pale man on the street
and knew it was time to defeat
this obnoxious wight
- to erase him was right! -
who spawns such a terrible breed.

No skeletons? No hidden ace?
He saw his own death in her face.
The moment of truth:
she never felt ruth,
but suddenly a fiery embrace.


I admit, this poem (at least the beginning) is inspired by this lyric. In this context the rhyme scheme as a limerick seemed suitable for its unexpected and “happy” end (well, not happy for everybody ).

 

[Esme]

I am not completely sure whether I understood the end correctly. Did he evoke a fire golem who kills her in the end?

The limerick rhyme scheme is nice, I like it better than the one of the first two poems.

 

[TomGrenn]

Well, the end is really a little bit cryptic, so here's the plot of the last section without rhymes:
she sees the weakened Necromancer lying on the ground and no skeletons around. Although it's pretty unprobable to overlook such a creature, she gets suprised by...
...have you ever noticed the amount of mana you need to evoke a [color=E0C000]m[/color][Color=E0A400]a[/color][color=E08900]x[/color][color=E06D00]e[/color][color=E05200]d[/color][color=E03600] [/color][color=E01B00]f[/color][color=E00000]ir[/color][color=E01B00]e[/color][color=E03600] [/color][color=E05200]g[/color][color=E06D00]o[/color][color=E08900]l[/color][color=E0A400]e[/color][color=E0C000]m[/color] ?

 

[TomGrenn]

The next one is not as short as the first three poems, it’s rather a saga. If it appears to be a lyric, to sound like a rap – feel free to sing it .
This poem is not finished yet. Though I’ve got six (four lined) stanzas in addition (plus the last stanza), I’m stuck. Nevermind, enjoy this fragment!

He was a brawny fellow, tall like a tree,
strong as a bear and nimble as a bee,
born to be a leader, no one had a single doubt,
his skill was legendary and his voice was loud.

Yet in the boyhood he had a special thing,
his instructor said “Now fight and stop to sing!”
‘cause every moment he was singing, all along,
be it in grief, be it in joy, he sang a song.

The other lads didn’t understand his way,
while they were wild, he never searched the unthought fray.
He seemed so gentle and he never went berserk,
so even friends regarded him as a queer jerk.

He learned to fight, of course, he surely was no slacker,
great in defense and great as an adroit attacker.
But all instructors were sure and they agreed
upon his best talent, upon his skill to lead.

However he never went for leadership,
humility attended him on every trip.
Only distress could make him raise his voice -
and this voice predominated every noise.

So years went by and his pals got used to that
he deferred to them who forged ahead.
But the fate never lost track of this man,
the day arrived where he was needed by his clan.

Evil rose and showed its nasty, vicious face,
it loomed so fast you’d think it was a screwy race.
Hell broke out, led by destructive Baal, to score
the mortal’s realm and of course the angels’ gore.

The cottage where he had grown up was on the way
of the demons which were used to kill, to slay.
The holy mountain Arreat was evil’s aim
and not to fight would represent eternal blame.

Even though the residents lived for this case
and its prearrangement ruled the daily pace
of the training and the daily tasks to date,
perdition lurked and evil threatened like a spate.

“At arms!” this shout alerted forthwith everyone,
he looked up, reached for his weapon, stopped his song.
When he was pacing to his predetermined post
you could feel the coolly tension of the host.

Around the capital there was a city wall
well-fortified and more than twenty-five feet tall.
The palisade in this jerkwater town sufficed
to stop a deer but not the creatures in the mist.

Emerging from the early morning fog drew near
The hellish host, its view confirmed every fear:
this was no faction, but an army on its way
to sweep the man from patrimonial earth away.

-#-

Ten slung javelins were not enough to stop
the unleashed crowd although a dozen fiends did drop.
Nineteen demons failed at scaling up the hump
But uncountable succeeded with their jump.

Soon the battle split the warriors into groups:
four, five men were building isolated troops.
Back-to-back, anticipating cruel death,
the demons gave no chance to pause, to catch one’s breath.

The chieftain had been slain, the buildings were on fire,
still the surrogate refused to cease, to tire:
our hero heard the calling to take charge
of a troop that was a dozen warriors large.

The surrogate himself could only just convoke
a smaller group that was surrounded at a stroke.
Albeit this group did not survive this stranglehold,
the feats of them were really worth to be twice-told.

Whether Baal was impatient or in haste,
he pushed along before a triumph was to taste.
The authority devolved to an overseer
Who was unskilled and afraid of any fleer.

A group of hundred demons stayed with him to kill
everything that had survived, it was still ill:
the superiority against the residual men
changed from uncountable to hundred versus ten.

edit: as this thread is nearly dead, there's no reason to hold back the previously unreleased stanzas - even if the poem's not complete.