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My Poetry

Discussion in 'Literary Arts' started by Bjørn of Helgåfjord, Aug 25, 2013.

  1. Bjørn of Helgåfjord

    Bjørn of Helgåfjord Himintelgja - Heaven Scraper

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    Along with visual arts, I'm also interested in literary arts. I have written a few poems before. Only a small number, but poems nonetheless.

    The first is a fan-made poem of mine for the video game Ace Combat 6. I found the story to be very intriguing, touching, and all around good. So unless you've played it through, you won't really get it quite as much. Just to clarify, by "bird" or "birds" I'm using the term to describe airplanes, albeit a little more poetically. The poem is from the POV of a wingman of a pilot who's a father, in a fictitious war.


    Dancing With Angels:


    Each and every day,
    She would say the words;
    Those her father would say
    Before climbing like a bird

    Onboard airworthy steel.
    "Dance with the angels!" says she
    Piously at home while she kneels,
    But today's reality even strikes me.

    As her father climbed higher
    Into the paradisal blue,
    The enemy birds spat fire,
    And that fire, he couldn't loose.

    My wing-man now prances;
    Forever with angels he dances.


     
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  2. Kyzie

    Kyzie Keeper of the peace

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    That's amazing Bjørn :)
     
  3. Bjørn of Helgåfjord

    Bjørn of Helgåfjord Himintelgja - Heaven Scraper

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    Okay last dour one, a Limerick I did on St. Patrick's Day, relating to the Irish who fought on both sides of the Civil War. The poem was inspired by a tragic scene in the movie "Gods and Generals" where two Irish units, one Northern and the other Southern, realize that they're shooting at fellow Irishmen. However the poem could go for really the war in general.

    I write you this letter, mother,
    To tell you I think I shot me brother.
    Twas down in Fredericksburg,
    I now sing a dirge,
    and pray to God it was some other.


    And now for wacky ones!

    "The Lad With the Whistle:"

    There once was a lad from Galway,
    and his name be Patrick Conaway.
    He sailed to Boston,
    Cared not for Jane Austen,
    But played a devilish Tin Whistle, I say!


    "New York's West Mate, Not East!"

    There once was a man from County Cork,
    Who finally got a ticket to New York.
    He started northwest,
    Along the coastal crest,
    But took the bloody wrong turn at the fork!


    "A Man's House Is His Castle:"

    This portly Englishman approaches my castle,
    Trying to make me his vassal!
    "Wot?!" I cry,
    "Surely you lie,
    Or are you lost on the way to a brothel?"




     
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