Clok Poetry

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Clok Poetry

Postby Lysse » Fri Apr 26, 2013 3:22 pm

This is just something I wrote, inspired a bit by Skaldic poetry. I'd intended to write it in true Skaldic form (Dróttkvætt), but that's a very complicated way of writing. This is mostly just me trying to think up my own sort of kennings(sort of like figures of speech) and follow an easier meter. I hope it wasn't too terrible to read, for those that did read it through.

I'd also like to invite anyone else that has poetry they've written to share it on this thread as well. =)





Ember and ash,
Smoke and wrath.
The blood-gull feasts,
battle metal strewn amongst
bodies of war coin.
The Bear Shirt and
Shield Maiden cut
down in their prime.

Enemy of the Wilds
rests near his Wind Steed,
the deed done, and deed
collected. Wild fury,
untamed mourning.
An uncut thread lies
before her eyes,
Far from the Honielund.

Vodr cannot shake
the world as it
was this day. Metal
drawn, slender and
shining severs
the grasping greed.
Once of the farm,
A Walking Wolf now.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Solaje » Thu Jul 09, 2015 1:58 pm

All the technical seriousness on the BBS is making me tired of reading it, so I thought I'd post something here. This isn't something I wrote. I read it this morning in "SIx Centuries of Great Poetry" and it vaguely reminded me of my character's backstory. It would be fun if people posted poetry that reminded them of their characters here, even if they didn't write it. (And for people who dislike poetry, this is the thread to skip!)

The Twa Corbies

Traditional Ballads (Anonymous)

As I was walking all alane,
I heard two corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’ other say,
“Where sall we gang and dine to-day?”

“In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

“His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s ta’en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

“Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Jaster » Fri Jul 10, 2015 5:14 am

Only the greatest poem known to mankind...

JABBERWOCKY

Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Solaje » Fri Jul 10, 2015 8:09 am

(You can even rename it "Jasterwocky")

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Jaster » Fri Jul 10, 2015 10:36 am

Solaje wrote:(You can even rename it "Jasterwocky")

Only when I'm drunk.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Dorn » Wed Aug 12, 2015 3:58 pm

Not really related to my character, but I love the poem. "I have a rendezvous with Death" by Alan Seeger.

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear ...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
~Dorn
Uyoku takes a bite of her smelly skunk poop.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Solaje » Thu Aug 13, 2015 5:17 am

Love that poem! The lost generation had some of the best authors/poets.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Ahelis » Thu Aug 13, 2015 9:37 am

Dorn's poem reminded me of another poem I'd stumbled across not too long ago, by Patrick Shaw Stewart. It's not exactly Clok-related (I'm sure some parallel could be drawn!) but I thought I'd share because I found it very powerful and haunting. 'Achilles in the Trench' was written by Stewart while he was waiting to be sent back to fight in WW1. He died in battle upon his return.

ACHILLES IN THE TRENCH

I saw a man this morning
Who did not wish to die;
I ask, and cannot answer,
if otherwise wish I.

Fair broke the day this morning
Upon the Dardanelles:
The breeze blew soft, the morn's cheeks
Were cold as cold sea-shells.

But other shells are waiting
Across the Aegean Sea;
Shrapnel and high explosives,
Shells and hells for me.

Oh Hell of ships and cities,
Hell of men like me,
Fatal second Helen,
Why must I follow thee?

Achilles came to Troyland
And I to Chersonese;
He turned from wrath to battle,
And I from three days' peace.

Was it so hard, Achilles,
So very hard to die?
Thou knowest, and I know not;
So much the happier am I.

I will go back this morning
From Imbros o'er the sea.
Stand in the trench, Achilles,
Flame-capped, and shout for me.

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Kierae » Fri Aug 21, 2015 3:10 am

<3 this

“The Law for the Wolves” by Rudyard Kipling

Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back—
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.

The jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a hunter—go forth and get food of thine own.

Keep peace with the Lords of the Jungle—the Tiger, the Panther, the Bear;
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken—it may be fair words shall prevail.

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crops, and the brothers go empty away.

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man.

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will,
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.

Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.

Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.

Cave-Right is the right of the Father—to hunt by himself for his own.
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.

Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of the Head Wolf is Law.

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is—Obey!

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Re: Clok Poetry

Postby Rias » Fri Aug 21, 2015 6:32 am

I'm all for awesome real-world poetry, but maybe we could get this thread moved out of the "IC / Character Stories & Histories" section of the forum.

Except the first post, which is an IC work about a CLOK character's story.
The lore compels me!

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