Tag Archives: POETRY

THE WANDERER POEM

I discovered a very deep Anglo-Saxon poem called The Wanderer. It talks about a warrior who lived a happy life before being exiled. J. R. R. Tolkein drew inspiration from this poem while writing the culture of Rohan. The poem goes as such:

‘Hwaer cwom mearg, hwaer cwom mago? Hwaer cwom maþþumgyfa? Hwaer cwom symbla gesetu? Hwaer sindon seledreamas? Eala beorht bune, eala byrnwiga, eala theodnes þrym! Hu seo þrag gewat, Genap under nihthelm, swa heo no waere!’

Translates as this into modern English, with a rough approximation:

‘Whither has gone the horse, whither the man? Where now is the giver of treasure? Where are the palaces of the feast, where are the pleasures of the hall? Alas for the glittering goblet! Alas for the girt warrior! Alas for the princes power! How those days have departed, Darkened under night’s shadow, as if they had never been!’

I am thinking of following Tolkein’s lead and draw inspiration from this poem in order to better describe the mindset of the hero in my spin-off fantasy series.

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SIZZLE POEM

Great news! I just submitted one of my poems for my university’s literary magazine. I will find out if I got in or not soon and I will keep you updated.

Here is the poem I submitted:

“Chicken crackles inside a metallic bowl.

The sonic sparks send ripples across the kitchen.

Each pop makes the customer’s mouth water.

The noise intensifies as the meat fries.

 

When the meat flips into the air,

The sizzle briefly turns to a whisper.

When it falls into the pan once more,

The sizzle returns to fill my ears with bliss.

 

Upon leaving the searing wok pan,

The orange chicken slides into a bowl.

The harmonious sizzling remains,

To entertain my senses with anticipation.

 

Finally, as I bite into the crackling, fried meat

The sizzle churns in my mouth as the chicken

Is chewed before being swallowed.

Inside my bottomless stomach, the sizzling continues.”

PIT BULL POEM

Here is a poem I wrote about my pit bulls:

 

“Two innocent souls look at me with fetching brown eyes.

Their large faces display hope and undying affection

while their brindle coats glimmer in the light. Only two

ambitions compel these adorable beasts: cuddling and

kissing with the closest human. I often reflect on how I

met these loyal hounds.

 

One terrier came from the east while the other came from

the west. Before they became mine, one lived a troubled

life while the other lived in luxury. Fate smiled on these

two puppies when my kin found them. The troubled hound

took a long journey with me and my father and discovered

absolute happiness for the rest of his life upon arriving at

the Golden State.

 

The pampered pup was found in a pet store. He was wild

and undisciplined, but despite his flaws was a loving

dog. When he arrived in my den, his brother from the

east welcomed him warmly. Together, the two terriers

became like a furry Laurel and Hardy and amuse my

family with their limitless charm.

 

Hounds have come and gone in my household, but these

two cuddly beasts stood out from the pack. Every day they

leave a deep impression among the community. It is as

though a light of heavenly love illuminates in the sky

wherever the terriers go. To this very day I live happily as

two innocent souls look at me with fetching brown eyes.”

TREE POEM

For two decades I stood with pride.

With time by my side I grew towards the heavens.

Now I tower over my master’s home.

My roots reach deep into the earth’s womb

for one day this spot will be my grave.

 

I might live a century or more

with only the ground’s flesh as my door.

Looking up, I become enthralled by the sun’s light,

which I will cherish until my time is done.

 

The wind howls and birds sing through my branches.

My roots can taste the moistness of the soil.

As I loom over the house, I can see the vast world.

I can barely feel the elements while coated in my thick bark.

 

Because I am trapped in one place

I am lonely and without a companion.

The larger I grow, the more I tire

I cannot wait for when I retire.

For two decades I stood with pride.

RAVEN PARODY POEM

Once upon a midnight dreary, I flew into

a madman’s chamber and perched on top

of his door like an ancient statue.

I found the stranger to be a tedious little man

with a broken mind and shaky will.

 

Over and over this lunatic ranted to my face

and every time, my answer was “Nevermore.”

I grew bored of listening to the idiot’s irritating

voice and repeatedly said “Nevermore” to silence

him, but to no avail.

 

As the scent of the air grew denser, I could feel my

dark feathers ruffled while the strange man shrieked

at apparitions that were not there. While watching

the unfortunate soul rave, I could still taste the

blood of my last meal in my sharpened beak.

 

Finally, the madman collapsed limply before me

and my all-consuming shadow washed over him

like an angel of death. With my essence devouring

the wretch’s soul, his spirit would remain restless

and be lifted . . . Nevermore!

SWORD POEM

From the ore of the earth was I born.

The fires of the forge shaped me.

I was crafted by the hands of an artist.

I began as a weapon of war and death.

Now, I was presented as art for others to admire.

 

My master looked at me with deep attachment.

For I was a symbol of his rich heritage.

His ancestors used me to unite kingdoms and defy empires.

Perhaps my master sees me as a window into the past.

 

I existed in many forms across many centuries.

For every nation gave me a variety of names.

An obsidian blade glistened like a mirror in the light.

Ruby eyes adorned my gilded crossguard.

A beast’s polished ivory shaped my hilt.

My golden pommel had a single crimson star.

 

Now, I rested in my master’s garage.

Free am I from the horrors of war.

The atmosphere was peaceful and time was my friend.

Years eroded my shell as my soul was slowly liberated.

That was the life of the blade forged by man.

From the ore of the earth was I born.

POEM: DEATH’S HARVEST

Here is one of my poems that I called “Death’s Harvest”. Enjoy:

“I float above a great hall with my trusty scythe in hand.

Below me are the pitiful mortals wasting their lives.

They party and indulge themselves in order to find

meaning, but they are only making it easier for me to

decide their ultimate fate.

 

Banquet tables welcome gluttons with plenty.

Paramours embrace one another with lustful intent.

Proud men glare at one another with envious anger.

In the corner, a fat drunk sleeps like a soft pig.

Oh, how I will enjoy claiming them!

 

With my beloved scythe, I descend upon the hall

each swing of my dark blade fulfills my harvest.

One by one, the sinners fall as their wretched souls

become absorbed by my scythe like a leech

drinking blood.

 

In moments, my task is done with all the sinners

at my skinless feet. Satisfied with the fruit of my

labor, I take my leave. Inside my scythe, the souls

of the sinners scream!”