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Thread: Travian poetry corner

  1. #1

    Meherrin's Avatar
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    Default Travian poetry corner

    The warrior stands on dusk-dark hillside,
    Her mind cast back to better times, and
    Memories of games and glories,
    Friends and foes, and battles both of words and wars,
    Still rich in meaning, years of a lifetime spent -
    And sees the glory fading, the friends departed,
    The world turned cold and empty.
    And now I'll tell you what's against us, an art that's lived for centuries. Go through the years and you will find what's blackened all of history. Against us is the law with its immensity of strength and power - against us is the law! Police know how to make a man a guilty or an innocent. Against us is the power of police! The shameless lies that men have told will ever more be paid in gold - against us is the power of the gold! Against us is racial hatred and the simple fact that we are poor.
    - The Ballad of Sacco and Vanzetti, Joan Baez

  2. #2

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    June 27, 2008 - Friday


    Broken

    Another long drive-
    three days in a row.
    Blue Montana sky dominates
    the desolate landscape.
    No rain yet.
    Another barren summer.

    Empty white farmhouse,
    housing nature now,
    sits in the shadow
    cast by the red barn.

    Death has lured us here.
    City folk drawn to remove the past.
    Nothing must be left behind,
    except the specter of Death.

    Peeling white paint litters the flower bed.
    A lone nest - perched on the
    back porch crossbeam inspires us.
    "What a beautiful bird. Do you
    know what kind it is?"

    "No, but it has an egg."
    Crooked gray sticks and yellow grass,
    woven and intertwined, hold this treasure.
    A seeming miracle-
    a glimpse of birth amidst the consuming,
    encompassing sense of loss.

    Other birds: swallows, barn owls, and robins
    join our chorus of jubilation. Instantly there is
    Hope, a purpose. One small egg of Beauty.
    The future has purpose. Sleep now.
    Work tomorrow. The past lingers one more day.

    Morning arrives coolly. Rain is coming.
    Gray skies cast an ominous pall of foreboding.
    "Good weather for working indoors."

    "We can start cleaning the attic today. Won't
    be so hot." Old wooden steps creak under our weight.
    Closer to heaven, we rise.
    Windows are opened for the first time in decades.
    "What's that on the ground?"

    "Oh God, no." Quickly descending to search, I confirm
    the reality. Cruel wind, blowing in the storm, has
    wrecked the holy nest. Broken shell,
    glued to the cement steps by dried yolk
    silently flaps like angel wings in the breeze.

    "Nothing you could have done, grandson.
    It was meant to be."

    Slashing rain pelts the porch steps.
    Washing the last signs of life from me.
    Fragile Hope shattered again.

  3. #3

    Meherrin's Avatar
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    Default

    2007

    Guenevere

    In springtime
    the young girl runs wild, wind child,
    on the green hills.

    Guenevere
    wears a ring of solid gold on the third finger of her right hand,
    a plain, simple band without adornment.
    And on her bracelet,
    she keeps a silver charm of a tangled lover's knot.

    Arthur
    is plain, and simple, and solid, like the ring he gave her.
    All he wants is to be a good king,
    and leave a legacy of honest work behind him.
    He talks of the mechanics of kingscraft,
    and he loves her as he loves his castle, his horse,
    his hunting dog, and his hawk.

    Lancelot
    found the charm in a wild forest glen,
    and thinks the fairies left it for him as a token to give to her.
    He talks of honour, and courage, and the never-ending quest,
    and he cherishes her as he cherishes a dream that is beautiful,
    and safe, because it will not come to life.

    Guenevere
    plays with her ring, twisting it around her finger
    when she is frightened or lonely.
    She looks with bright eyes at the charm
    when her spirit wants to fly.
    She can speak to Arthur, but he does not hear her.
    She can reach for Lancelot, but he is not there.

    In winter,
    the nights are long and cold, the wind is harsh,
    the woman waits by the fire.
    And now I'll tell you what's against us, an art that's lived for centuries. Go through the years and you will find what's blackened all of history. Against us is the law with its immensity of strength and power - against us is the law! Police know how to make a man a guilty or an innocent. Against us is the power of police! The shameless lies that men have told will ever more be paid in gold - against us is the power of the gold! Against us is racial hatred and the simple fact that we are poor.
    - The Ballad of Sacco and Vanzetti, Joan Baez

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