"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
In the Desert by Stephan Crane
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
"As I was going up the stair
I saw a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away...
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away"
Antigonish by William Hughes Mearns
"Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."
"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."
"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, thy fancy deceives;
the wind is sighing through withering leaves."
"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care
My daughters by night on the dance floor you lead,
They'll cradle and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."
"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl King is showing his daughters to me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."
"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou aren't willing, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Erl King has hurt me at last."
The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He holds in his arms the shuddering child;
He reaches his farmstead with toil and with dread,--
The child in his arms he finds motionless, dead"
The Erlking by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Orcus, Lord of Pain
I beseach thee from the Broken towers.
Inky black tendrils of this open maw,
Hungry, Let me feed thee these Souls.
- yellowdingo aka (the DM who encourages listening to his bad poetry)
'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
'Is there anybody there?' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
'Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
The Listeners, by Walter De La Mare
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Kubla Khan, by Samuel Coleridge
In my dreams, the eyes of a ghost
Of all the lights, they shine the most
Green emerald fire
Ever burning, burning higher
Burning brighter than the stars
Brighter than the star that burns the most
Brighter than the host,
Whose life was lost, and now a ghost
Lost at sea, now roams the shore
Left behind, she haunts my mind
Sea witch of another time, never hears the clock in chime
Hair of red, and burning gold
Vision of when times were old
Skin of white, and bright as day
Now takes to night, to my dismay
Heart of gold laid 'pon the shoal,
Sword of ice upon my soul
Mark on mark as dark as coal
Upon the sea in wooden ships
Jade eyes and ruby lips,
Jewelled belts 'round slender hips
Clad in orchid, silk of green
Satin gowns of reddish sheen,
Wild women in seas so mean,
Beauties as I've never seen
Timeless lady, youthful wench,
Torn from roost with grinding wrench
In pools of blood and Death's own stench
Sent to rest in wat'ry grave,
Buried under endless wave
The kindest kiss a woman ever gave
Tale of sailors dead and gone,
And ships that sailed upon the dawn
Tale of death, and tale of love,
Of water in storm, and gentle as a dove
Told by another but written for one,
Here and now this tale be done.
I SIT NO MORE ON DRAGON HEAD
I sit no more on Dragon Head,
nor wallow in the surf,
No longer climb it's rocky neck,
thrust up from the earth.
The place I sat is no longer there,
gone back to the crashing waves,
but in thought I sit there still.
Sometimes I hear it's voice, "Come!
Come follow me!" it raves, and my eyes
with tears do fill.
Fierce Triton's breath pulls me from
my reverie, and draws from me a chill.
I sit no more on Dragon Head though in
thought I sit there still.
When next it calls, "Come, follow me!"
Perhaps... perhaps I will.
I SIT ONCE MORE ON DRAGON HEAD
I sit once more on Dragon Head, having
travelled round the world,
But, how is this, you ask, when into the
sea 'twas hurled?
The answer, now, tis simple, for I'm
not a man well read.
I sit once more on Dragon Head,
Because I am now dead.
I sit once more on Dragon Head, having
travelled 'bout this earth
I've gone back now, to the sea that gave
me birth.
Now here I sit once more and watch the waves
roll in,
Now here I sit once more, to repent my life
of sin.
For, in my younger days, I took up the pirate's
ways, and lived my life by whim,
Until the day I passed away, and conscience
conquered vim.
I'd've sold my soul for two pieces gold, and
many a day I had
The English monarchy, they'd christened me a
rogue, they had, a scoundrel and a cad
From east to west and north to south, I sailed
the seven seas
From stem to stern, both fore and aft, I did just
what I pleased...
Until we came upon an injured, unarmed craft, barely
crawling on it's knees...
Up went a shout, among our pirate horde,
"Draw yer dirks 'n' sabers, mates, prepare to
go aboard!!"
I yelled to get the Captain, but no one could have heard,
The firing of the cannons drowned out every word.
I pleaded with the Captain, but it was to no avail
I was beaten soundly, and tied up to the rail
Our cannons tore apart their hull, and ripped apart
their sail...
When it all was over, and all was said and done,
The injured ship lay beneath the waves, and we, of
course, had won.
The Captain was not pleased with me, he felt himself
betrayed,
And so we stood before my shipmates, the entire crew
arrayed.
We stood before my shipmates, and he asked them what
to do,
There was some dissention, but most said "Run 'im
through!"
The first mate stood and yelled, "Hang th' bloody Yank!
No! Better yet, I say he gets the plank!"
Once more beaten soundly, and bound at hand and foot,
I was hauled up from the deck, and on the plank was put.
As I walked out, and stood upon the edge,
I turned about, and swore a solemn pledge.
I renounced my evil ways, and my sordid past,
in hopes I'd spend my coming days in the life that ever lasts.
And then myself into the sea I cast.
I don't begrudge the life I lost, the body tattered
on the shoal,
A thousand times I'd pay the cost to save my mortal soul.
Now, I beg you heed my tale, and let my words remind,
You should always look at what's ahead, and not at
what's gone behind.
It's not that last step off the plank, that I regret
the most,
But that first step on the ship that set sail from
the coast.
So please don't trod upon that wayward path, that led
me out to sea,
Don't follow down that deadly path, the path
that buried me.
Don't start upon that left-hand path, for if you look,
you'll find,
That once you take that first fatal step, it's too late
To change your mind...
All original work...
The second Dragon Head poem isn't actually the original version - I lost the only copy I had, and thus it's recreated solely from memory. There should be another verse in between the last two (and the verses themselves were probably slightly different as well). The Dragon Head poems are (were) actually a trilogy, but I can't reconstruct more than a few lines of the last one...
There once was a kobold from Nemdrucket.
He wielded a flail that was a bucket.
He battled a dragon
After he drank a whole flagon.
Now he's a scorch on a wall.
Poetry doesn't have to follow the rules.
Limericks do.
It's what makes them limericks, rather than another form of poetry. Your limerick followed the rules up until the end.
Don't cover up a mistake with pretending it was being "creative". :P
It's cool to make mistakes, but when they're pointed out, don't get defensive about them.
The limerick has potential. Just make the last line rhyme and you've got a funny little ditty.
THE EPIC TALE OF THE KOBOLD KNIGHT
There once was a kobold from Nemdrucket.
He wielded a flail that was a bucket.
He battled a dragon
After he drank a whole flagon.
Before he died he said "F*** it!"
Maybe make the last line a little longer, to go with the rhythm of the limerick (long, long, short, short, long).
He battled a dragon
after he drank a whole flagon
wading into battle screaming, "Suck It!"
hee hee, kobolds are funny...
and hold such wonderful feasts.
They'll invite you right over,
garnish you with clover,
and have you for supper at least.
I spied an elf maiden so fair
With blue eyes and auburn hair
She gave me a smile
Which I returned for a while
Till I saw she was more stallion than mare.
'The class when I was level one;'
Long ago I used to grieve,
My class seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent l'els
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.
if someone knows the real poem!Hmmm...is this better?
THE EPIC TALE OF THE KOBOLD KNIGHT
There once was a kobold from Nemdrucket.
He wielded a flail that was a bucket.
He battled a dragon
After he drank a whole flagon.Before he died he said "F*** it!"
So the dragon killed him before he struck it.
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don’t!”
AND
Gashee morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk!
Fripping lyshus wimbgunts, awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs.
Bleem miserable venchit! Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt!
Gerond withoutitude form into formless bloit, why not then? Moose!
AND
Oh blobit of dribble
Oozing from the upturned corner of my mouth
You look to me,
Like you should be,
The thing that dropeth from the cloud
A tiny bit of thee is stuck upon my lip
A little more is stuck up my nose
Some has adhered to my hip
My eyes are open and glassy
My snot is thick and green
And from my ears,
Something obscene appears,
And I think it might be me.
Somewhere, someone in saying, "All the volgons in da' house say 'ho'!"
And Coleridge, very classy call, that. Required reading in most high schools. Did he do "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner"? Liked that one a lot. Bit rusty since humanities in '94. Surprised there isn't a flood of haikus.
Anyway, stream of consciousness ahoi, courtesy of Nivek Ogre:
"Killing Game", Skinny Puppy (YouTube it, not bad)
Show
fallen angel head crashes dead out of control lost memories staircase
twists darker rooms lit with left out toys after playing men changes toys
into tools twisted playthings on the staircase fools whose weapons
represents the killing game
who taught the killing game who taught the killing game
awaken eyes sewn wearing glasses dripping tapping at the temple door locked inside scream inner scraping tooth and nail nowhere to go quiet retraces forcing light tears then pretend nothing blinds minds closed in
sanctuary closed in sanctuary
padded walls not quiet storms fury burned out killing time who taught the killing game time's taught the killing game herself no i taught the killing game first
passing words distant pain remember trains of thought collide no one view window pushing faces through sharp cold glass poke bloody holes exposed
i taught the killing game first i taught the killing game first
till at last you regret tortured animals wake up time beckons death upon myself eyes travelled harden strange no stronger feeling tempting motion slows to a crawl places his weaponry and it's a trap let go the springs snap shut gazes show sharper teeth giving in to the jaws of death
i taught the killing game i taught the killing game first i taught i taught i taught the game first first first
fallen angel head crashes dead out of control lost memories staircase
twists darker rooms lit with left out toys after playing men changes toys
into tools twisted playthings on the staircase fools whose weapons
represents the killing game
who taught the killing game who taught the killing game
awaken eyes sewn wearing glasses dripping tapping at the temple door locked inside scream inner scraping tooth and nail nowhere to go quiet retraces forcing light tears then pretend nothing blinds minds closed in
sanctuary closed in sanctuary
padded walls not quiet storms fury burned out killing time who taught the killing game time's taught the killing game herself no i taught the killing game first
passing words distant pain remember trains of thought collide no one view window pushing faces through sharp cold glass poke bloody holes exposed
i taught the killing game first i taught the killing game first
till at last you regret tortured animals wake up time beckons death upon myself eyes travelled harden strange no stronger feeling tempting motion slows to a crawl places his weaponry and it's a trap let go the springs snap shut gazes show sharper teeth giving in to the jaws of death
i taught the killing game i taught the killing game first i taught i taught i taught the game first first first
"Killing Game", Skinny Puppy (YouTube it, not bad)
Sweet. I like it. Like it a lot. Industrial rock ftw!
Anyhow, back on topic, my favourite poet of all times wrote what I - in my inexperience - still hold to be the quintessential fantasy poem. Accept no substitutes!
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace -
Radiant palace - reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion -
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This - all this - was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! For never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh - but smile no more.
The Haunted Palace, by Edgar Allan Poe
I'd like to post a few of my writings here, but I'm a little unsure if I'm comfortable with the policy the WoTC site seems to have regarding what is posted here. From what I understand, they can claim ownership of something I post here...does that extend to something like this thread?
Copyright law is copyright law. If you write it, and you are not under contract, you own the copyright until you surrender it. If you really want to nail the point, stick a copyright notice in your post. If you want to enforce copyright, publish it somewhere else (say on a website) prior to posting...now, without reading the fine print here, they may or may not have the right to reproduce it, but as for owning it, they can't touch it.
By posting or submitting any text, images, designs, video, sound, code, data, lists, or other materials or information (such User-submitted content, collectively, "User Content") to or through a Site, including without limitation on any User profile page, you hereby irrevocably grant to Wizards, its affiliates and sublicensees, a worldwide, perpetual, irrevocable, royalty-free, non-exclusive, and fully sub-licensable license, to use, reproduce, modify, adapt, publish, translate, create derivative works from, distribute, perform and display such User Content (in whole or in part) in any media and to incorporate the User Content into other works in any format or medium now known or later developed. The foregoing grants shall include the right to exploit any proprietary rights in such User Content, including but not limited to rights under copyright, trademark, service mark or patent laws under any relevant jurisdiction.
That's the basic legal text pertaining to your question. It says you give WotC a license (this is not the same as transferring copyright) to use and make derivative works based on your input.
Of course, I have never personally heard of a major website stealing someone's copyrighted text, and there's some good reasons for that. For one thing, although the terms of use insist you only post materials you have the right to post, they can't determine whether what you are posting is yours or plaigerized, or whatnot. So they would be liable for copyright violation if they attempt to reprint something that was posted without permission in the first place. I think clauses like this are inserted as "just in case" kind of situations, it also prevents them from being liable for quoting or adapting forum posts in other formats and context.
"A bar-maid out west
had a tattoo on her chest
listing all the bar's flavors of ale
And on her behind,
for those who were blind
was the very same thing
but in braille"
:D