Katzaniel Posted March 13, 2004 Report Posted March 13, 2004 I wrote this a few years ago, but I thought maybe by posting a few old poems here, I could get into the poetry style again enough to write some new ones. For anyone who saw my Writing Exchange a while back (please don't look it up) you'll know that my recent attempts have been pretty horrible. So... The Deed of Quath The sound of hoofbeats echo in the air, As the horse trods down the path. The flank of the horse is totally bare, Despite the armour worn by Quath. Quath the knight sits on his steed, Looking full of mirth. He rides into battle without any need Just to prove his worth. Many a rumour had circled the town 'Bout a dragon, big and strong. Quath, feeling bored and a little down, Jumps on his horse and sings a song. "I'm going down into the valley, Gonna hunt me down some dragon meat. I don't care that he's ugly and smelly, 'Cause I'm the knight that can't be beat!" As the pair rounds a curve in the road They spy something big and dark green. Quath jumps and rids the horse of its load, And the look on his face becomes keen. A fight enues between dragon and man, It's quite a magnificent quarrel. To get out of the way, everyone ran, Even his trustworthy sorrel. In the last moments of fighting, Quath got a lucky break. He distacts the beast by biting And makes the dragon's heart ache. The dragon spins round, Quath thrusts his sword in its heart. Its fall shakes the ground, Breaking three trees apart. Quath stands there, real proud, Looking down at his deed. His horse's sign is bowed, A fateful sign he does not heed. The horse knew more than Quath About that dragon so lean. Not about friends and their wrath But the fact this dragon wasn't mean. The creature was killed for no reason at all, It had fought only to live. Quath knew naught, standing tall and proud, Uncaring what the dragon had had to give.
Katzaniel Posted March 13, 2004 Author Report Posted March 13, 2004 As We Travel East The roar of the plane, As it goes down the runway. The zoom as it passes you, Then soars like a blue-jay. ...Take your seats, now, passengers. The plane will leave the ground shortly. Be sure to buckle up, and our first in-flight meal will be served in two hours.... The engines are functioning, The gas tank is full. Compass pointing due East, The flight is verging on dull. ...If you'll look to your right, you can see, way in the distance, Jamaica and all the islands around it. You're in for a treat today, as flight plans have changed slightly and we'll soon be passing through the infamous Bermuda Triangle.... Somewhere on the plane, A passenger sits up straight. The fateful words are a shock, There isn't any time to wait. ...We're in for a long ride, now. Eight more hours across the ocean and not much to look at. You may take off your seatbelts if you wish, and walk around, and... hey ma'am, you shouldn't be up here.... The woman is frantic, Sure that they will all die. The pilot is calm, He knows they'll be fine. The engines are working, The gas tank almost full. Compass pointing straight East, As they fly over a seagull. But the woman, she knows best. She's heard every story. She know's they're going to crash, They're going to be sorry. The engines, they're fine, There's a full tank of gas. But the compass, it's moving, Are they now going to crash? The woman, she screams, As she faints on the rug. The pilot turns to the steward, And says with a shrug: ...We're flying at 1400 feet and everything is going normally. We have just passed the Triangle and are completing a turn. We go North-East now, toward Europe....
Katzaniel Posted March 13, 2004 Author Report Posted March 13, 2004 The Unwritten Story The spirit shivers in the chill, The cold blows right through its heart. Yet what is there, no skin, no hair, A soul like an uncast part. It huddles in the corner, Trying to forget what is past. How did it die? When, and why? What made that moment its last? It looks at you, its face forlorn, Seeing beyond what can be seen. It closes its eyes, looks down and sighs, Thinking of what it had been. As the soul stops and remembers, Its eyes take on a look that could kill. They focus past you, but on what, or who? And time seems to pause and stand still. The mem'ry done, it turns to leave, Giving you one last look. What could you say, not to scare it away, But to ask 'bout the years that Time took? In the moments you pause, The wind howls and blows. The ghost, like a yawn, is away and gone, To a place of which nobody knows. Many years later you ponder, Unsure that it wasn't a dream. But not many things are, up close or afar, Quite just as much as they seem.
Katzaniel Posted March 13, 2004 Author Report Posted March 13, 2004 The Breath of a Tree The magnificence of a tree, In all its splendour... How can such a thing be? So might yet so tender. Some have been growing For hundreds of years. They are strong and all-knowing, Yet know no fears. Some trees are tiny still, When compared to their mothers. But grow up, they will, And they'll rival the others. Some are old and withered, Their barks a proof of age. Still, no one dares draw hither, Fearful of their pow'r and rage. A sick tree moans sadly, An axe in its side. It must be hurt badly - Not its trunk, but its pride. Every tree is different, Every branch unique. Of any weakness, no hint, Is it knowledge that they seek? The sun sets behind a hill, Basking the forest in night. All goes quiet, all is still. Something's wrong, yet all is right. Silently a figure Steps out from a shadow. Then out comes another, Soon the forest is full. One figure is small, His growth not yet done. But he's quicker than them all, His walk is faster than their run. Another walks with a cane, Her hair a shade of white. But while some things wane, Wisdom doesn't lose its might. A third clutches at a wound, Unable even to walk. It might seem that he is doomed, But he's not that easy to balk. Every one, as you can see, Is powerful and rare. In their manner is the key, Mighty as the eagle, humble as the hare.
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