NationStates Jolt Archive

This Sunday morning I felt inspired to work with words and this is what has come out of it.

Feel free to comment on it - all I ask of you in return is to deliver some poetry of your own (or cleverly "borrowed" from someone else if you tell from whom).

DA LOOTAS GOT SHOOTAS, AN' DA RED ONEZ GO FASTA
DA BIGGA DA ORK, DA MOAR LIKELY DA MASTA

IT'S DA ORK GODS GORK AN' MORK TA SATISFY
SPREAD YER DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA BEFORE YA DIE

KRUSH'EM AN' SHOOT'EM AN' ENJOY DA TERROR
AN' IF YA SHOOT AT DA GITS - WHO CARES FOR YA ERROR?

WE'Z HERE TA MAKE WAAAGH ON AN UNKNOWN SKALE
AND SEND ALL DAT'S NOT GREEN TO A FIERY HELL!

WE'Z GOT TRUKKS AN' BIKES AN' BIG GUNS IN OUR ROWS
WHO NEEDS TA SHOOT GOOD WHEN YA TRADE DA BLOWS?

WE'Z HERE WIZZ A VENGEANCE AND LIKELY TA STAY
'COZ DA ORKISH SPORES NEVA GO AWAY

DA MOBS ARE STRONG, AN' ANGRY, AN' GREEN
PLANETARY INVAZION LIKE YOU NEVA SEEN

DA WILD ONEZ FROM WOODS AND ROKKS FROM DA SKY
LITTLE HUMIE REALLY THINK DAT HE'LL LIVE AND NOT DIE?

'ERE WE GO! WE IZ BACK AN' ABOUT TA ATTACK -
AN' ALL YA CAN HEAR NOW IS SHOOTIN' AN' WAAAAAAAGH! :gundge:

Play warhammer do you?

Leslie Fish (c) 1986

Two men walked on the beach in the sun.
One left footprints, the other left none.
One was a man who no man obeys;
The other a god from the ancient days.

"Look," said the man, "how my kind make war.
I summonned you here to ask what for."
"For wealth or land," the god replies,
"For life, or freedom, or some king's lies."

"The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy."

"Four of those five," the first one said,
Are not enough to appease the dead.
To save my world all this strife must cease,
So now I bid you to conjure peace."

The god said "Yes. Though it grieves me sore,
For I was also a god of war,
And I remember what you forget,
Four of those five you may still regret."

He raised his voice and he raised his hand.
All strife stopped at the god's command.
No voice ventured an angry word,
No hand struck and no weapon stirred.

In time, the man called the old god back.
"Look," he cried, "what my people lack!
One lord rules over all the earth,
And we're all his slaves from the hour of birth."

"The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy."

"Look, he owns all wealth, and he owns all land,
We starve and die under his command.
He speaks the truth and he gives us peace,
But all that I hope for is our release."

The old god said, "This is what you willed.
For only thus is your wish fulfilled.
War's five sources I took away,
Yet I will give four of them back today."

"The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy."

He raised his hand and his voice once more,
And all the world overturned in war.
And when the last of those fires let fall,
There was no lord in the world at all.

"Go rebuild now," the old god said,
"Feed the living and bury the dead,
And remember this when you speak of war,
And think upon what is worth fighting for."

"The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy."


(one of my favorite Filk songs. )

This Sunday morning I felt inspired to work with words and this is what has come out of it.

Feel free to comment on it - all I ask of you in return is to deliver some poetry of your own (or cleverly "borrowed" from someone else if you tell from whom).


That was freakin' awesome!

... and I don't even play orks.

My all time favorite poem:

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

-William Butler Yeats

I Speak Being

I told myself today
that this cannot be all
that this is too bland
that I should start
to live

So I told myself
'Try something new
get out and see the world!
Just don't sit inside!'
But I could not
Would not
Should not

Because I have it all
right here
next to me, inside me
it is all me
I speak being
I bring light and dark
Work the stars
like a spaceman through time
maniuplate worlds
I speak being

I stretch time
transcend sense
reach out and touch the impossible
find nothing and everything
hinging on words
that I speak

I speak being.

---

Fields of Green

On fields that once were green
Two armies not yet seen
Lie sleeping in their trenches

While grieving mothers
And pining lovers
Sit crying on their benches

They sat and thought
Of nigh and naught
Of all the things that troubled ‘em

That time of innocence
Oh what a pittance
And how the captain conned ‘em

Come join us now!
Put down that plow!
Yelled out the Captain’s fall

To help those French fous
And our brit boys too
To heed the Belgian call

While sleeping in those trenches
Overcome by mindless stenches
The time had come to pass

These greenhorn men
Not eight years past ten
Would charge straight o’er the grass

Go on my boys!
Charge on My Boys!
Have your brothers died in Vain?

Or did they die
A glorious high
On this once grand grassy plain?

The whistlers’ blow o’er
The guns they roar
And they go over the top

To fight the Huns
Back to their mums
Fight them till they drop!

You jump the rim
Above the din
You hear the Sarge “Keep Going!”

But then, a flash
A sudden blast
And time sat simply slowing

Laying there, deep in mud
Relief at such a horrible dud
But with a growing knowing

Of people not liked
With a helmet spike
Have taken your legs an’ ran with ‘em

That no only them
But the service men
Have taken your life an’ run with it

Of all this pain
For that much gain
All that you are fighting for

Was simply a ruse
Covered up in a Bluse
That some things aren’t worth dying for.

---

I dabble.

"Better Not Take My Gun"

You can take away my home if you want,
but you'd better not take my gun.
If I don't have it, how will I hunt?
so you'd better not take my gun.
You can sell my daughter into slavery,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can do anything that you want to me,
but you'd better not take my gun.

You can rape my wife, fuck her in the ass,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can start a war over the price of gas,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can tie me up and then burn me alive,
but you'd better not take my gun.
But there's a chance that I might survive,
so you'd better not take my gun.

You can take away my freedom of speech,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can put happiness out of my reach,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can draft my son, make him die for a lie,
but you'd better not take my gun.
You can rip the sun and the moon from the sky,
but you'd better not take my gun.

(I think this needs a chorus of some kind.)

Kill some orkies with your axe,
if they flee, pelt their backs

Use your zeal, drill a gobo with your steel
make it squeal, every single blow you deal

Laser bolters to burn green hide, *
space marines riddling orks worldwide


...meh, this stuff takes me way too much time for every line...

* Yeah, I just realised you were probably talkin' 40k