Author Topic: Andalus' poetry  (Read 62297 times)

Cuddly Khan

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #135 on: August 27, 2012, 12:40:39 PM »
Could I please post some of your poems on a forum with appropriate links back to here and credit to you? I've got Jubals poems but with your awesomeness added to that we'll reel those new members in. ;)
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Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #136 on: August 28, 2012, 12:05:34 PM »
I'd rather you didn't.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Cuddly Khan

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #137 on: September 05, 2012, 11:27:11 AM »
Have you ever though of publishing these....
I haven't got nearly enough to be worth publishing,
Well guess what? You do now. I definitely would buy it!
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Jubal

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #138 on: September 05, 2012, 01:11:27 PM »
Exilian shop, anyone?  :P
The duke, the wanderer, the philosopher, the mariner, the warrior, the strategist, the storyteller, the wizard, the wayfarer...

Cuddly Khan

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #139 on: September 05, 2012, 09:32:06 PM »
HELL YEAH! A shop and a Donate button! I'd be jealous of how much money Exilian would reel in.
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kaleidoscopicmind

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #140 on: September 12, 2012, 05:34:18 PM »
I very much enjoyed Clawing Silver, I can see it being read with a wry smile.
Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.

Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #141 on: October 08, 2012, 04:01:00 PM »
À Votre Sanité

A glass of lemon I shall raise -
here's to the rodent in my brain
who eats away what's left of sane
imagination and devours
beloved seconds and the hours
holding memory that now sours,
once bitten, to bitterness all
that may escape the vermin's gnaw.
« Last Edit: October 08, 2012, 04:59:53 PM by Andalus »
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #142 on: October 22, 2012, 04:30:09 PM »
The Spearman's Vow

A man stood at the crown of a mountain,
Holding an old ash spear in his hand.
He bent the weapon against his knee
And broke it so it would not mend.
Into three shards he snapped the thing
And cursed it with his wind-cut breath:
"Too much life this blade has taken
And sent down to bitter, broken death."

"My warring days are over, and this I vow,
Since I am grey in mane and eye and bone,
This blade shall never draw blood again,
Or where I stand may I turn to stone."
He threw the three pieces from the peak,
And they flew apart and far and wide,
And where each broken fragment landed
Burned like a beacon in his weak eyes.

The base of the spear fell nearest,
Only halfway down the rocky slope.
No further than the border of the trees,
Caught in the root of a knotted oak.
There it stuck fast and fell no more,
As around its place, the forest grew.
And that the broken spear was hidden
In this grove, no man ever knew.

The middle of the shaft fell further,
To rest at the high mountain's feet,
And lay there in the valley's grass
Among flocks of grazing sheep.
The herder soon came by that spot,
Gathering fuel to feed his flame,
And so the ancient ashwood shaft
A draught of softer ash became.

The third part of the broken spear,
That held the battered steel head,
Flew furthest yet and far beyond
Its brothers - on the wind it fled,
And fell at last into the current
Of the valley-carving river's water,
Then carried away downstream to sea
And washed up on the shore there.

Sand-grains of many colours itched
In the edge of still-sharp steel.
A child came dancing by the waves
And found it glinting by his heel.
As innocent fingers reached to grasp
This shining prize, a child's new toy,
Too late rang out a mother's warning;
A cry of pain sprang from the boy.

The stinging blade fell to the sand,
This time the colours only red.
Tears were splashed into the salt,
As mother bound the hand that bled.
And far away, upon a mountain's crown,
There stood a granite pillar all alone,
Where the spear-breaker had made his vow,
A six-foot cairn of forlorn red stone.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #143 on: November 05, 2012, 04:30:40 PM »
Garden Centre Gods

I

In the tangles of a roman jungle,
wilderness at a turning from the A44,
with pale carven gods arrayed among
creeping vines and flowering flora,
the faun sits alone, trapped in stone,
playing his pipes with a windless tune,
his lips pursed on the note forever.

II

Great decorated urns give birth to massive palms,
as giants sprung from the wombs of demure goddesses,
whose busts too are standing erect, their dresses
askew, trying to hide a nip-slip behind a fern's tresses.

III

A lonesome head of Buddha lies on the ground,
an eastern conquest brought west and graven
into this shape to pollute the budding enclave
and entertain the garden's enslaved gods.
Pruned from his body, Siddhartha's smiling head
lies misunderstood, a toe-stubber among the shrubs.

IV

In the field over the next gate,
the dark ghost of Bucephalus
gently trims the weeds and scrub.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Cuddly Khan

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #144 on: November 05, 2012, 09:01:56 PM »
An interesting one that one is. :) Always enjoy reading them.
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Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #145 on: November 12, 2012, 04:31:14 PM »
Don't read this if you just had dinner.

Purgatorium

In the misconceived mosaicked chamber
like a side-chapel to decadence,
I vomited out my brains for Old Pliny's ink,
the stench of myself rising to my nostrils
and bone hooks heaving out the rest -
a sneezing mouth to purge the stink
and sweeten the lining of my skull
and stomach. Bowing to decorum,
chest over knees, soul in the sink,
retching out what wretched me was left
before returning to the revel
to pretend I could remember how to think.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Cuddly Khan

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #146 on: November 12, 2012, 07:40:57 PM »
That was... creative. :P I wouldn't have ever thought to write such a poem. So it's about vomiting right?
Most effective elected official. Ever. (not counting Jubal)

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Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #147 on: November 13, 2012, 04:36:08 PM »
On one level, yes.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Andalus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #148 on: January 09, 2013, 04:10:42 PM »
Naked in the thunderstorm,

arms lifted cloudward to draw closer
the falling silver to my fingertips,
muscles frail beneath the roaring sky,
a pale canvas framed in electric exposure,

sears of light across crumbling grey walls,
their shining dust running down my nakedness,
seeking channels through golden forests
of beard and lock and over skeleton hills,

ribs that refuse to shiver in the storm,
as though they ribbed the keel of a dragon
that writhes under the shattering waves,
offered to the whim of Thor and Njord,

battling the tempest on its home seas,
stalwart until the away shore is reached.
Du bist kein Schmetterling! Du bist nur eine kleine Raupe in Verkleidung!

Pentagathus

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Re: Andalus' poetry
« Reply #149 on: January 09, 2013, 11:04:01 PM »
I'd get naked for your thunderstorm  ;)