Category: Writers Block
Mírr-eth – Just your basic war-torn city…
This is subject to an update (namely some stanza juggling), but, for now, it is what it is.
Mírr-eth, discourse from folk far and wide;
of your gilded walls and charms inside:
chicest inns, to fill a barren night,
spacious pubs, in which to drown your plight:
Looming fort, where sovereign hones her reign,
Seething mote, for foes bearing disdain,
flowers dance, in meadow's warm embrace;
whilst through sun-bathed skies wing'd fowl race.
Your stalin gates, by men were frayed;
per command from whither glade:
On dark night, they came in scores;
to pillage souls and forge their wars:
Stalin few, to shield this boon;
by deft brands each one were hewn:
Sentry's blood, to fall as rain,
ravages in woven skein.
Weary pace, down once proud streets;
bearing prints of builders' feats:
The dwellings, cloaked in sorrow dark,
once rich woods lie rived and stark:
Sundered trees, creatures dying;
white hot ash from camps flying:
Bastard spawn, who rule Mírr-eth;
per bids of badge'd lords for death.
Mírr-eth, I singeth praise of thee,
these scrawls, a cairn to memory,
lyre strummed, in luscious harmony;
for Mírr-eth, a fable naught to be:
Ever buoyant, as baneful men torched;
ever silent, as sanguine flames scorched:
Hummed air, wrought with haunting melody;
for Mírr-eth, whose charms were sights to see.
Sweet domicile, in choking ash to drown
your pave'd roads, transformed to killing ground
your few oddments, speaking of grim despair
your last torn souls, to mourn this city fair:
their hands entwined, beset by warmth of fire,
up-lifting song, escaping from the mire,
sweet tunes abound, shadows dance in flame's light;
thus Mírr-eth stands, remembered on this night.
Nigh draweth morn, in camp of bless'd song,
approaching steps, shadows of brutal throng,
natives' lips part, in warnings never said;
for hence begins, the hellish rain of lead:
void of weapons, hands raised to morning skies
Mírr-eth's last few, to meet their grim demise
nary a cry, as rounds set folk askew
Mírr-eth's soil, to bear the blood of its last few.
Amid volley, of sure and certain death;
didst I bethink, the plight of sweet Mírr-eth:
treasure finest, destine for funeral pyre,
drowning body, in treacherous mire:
soon life I'll leave, and with pen of great age,
I scrawl these words,on living leaves of sage:
ahead in time, a pair of eyes will see;
this withered fable, and bringeth life in memory.
I write, for those who lost their lives;
gaffed and torn with guns and knives:
pen moves, for earthen paradise;
governed now by souls of ice:
words formed, for years of toil and might;
homeland born by day and night:
wrist limp, I layeth, strength bereft,
dying plea: Remember sweet Mírr-eth.
Jim
I like the poem, it's well structured and quite a tribute to Mírr-eth.
I have a couple of questions. Firstly, I don't know about Mírr-eth and would like to know more. Is there such a place, and, if so, what is its story.
Secondly, I have a technical question. How did you get the accented i in the name?
Thanks,
Bob
No bob, Mírr-eth is entirely fictional.
In regards to your technical question: The jfw "select symbol to print" dialog is your best friend.
Grat poem, jim.
Well, it's a really good poem.
Ah yes, the select symbol dialog, I may have used that once a couple of years ago.
Thanks.
Bob
Stunning and the imagrey is breathtaking.Smile
Excellent! Hey Jim, I was wondering if you'd accept a request from me to write a poem about graffiti artists. One of the things I remember seeing a lot out here in the ghetto before I lost my sight was the wars and battles these vandals had to become the most famous graffiti crews in the city. The last stanza of your poem reminded me of this subject and I just thought you'd find it a rich topic to write a poem on. I've been working on one about this topic myself but I'd never capture it in the kind of imagery you use. But again, I think it was excellent!
Oh yeah: to get the accent sign above any vowel or letter, just hit control + apostrophe + the letter you want to accentuate. I think this command only works when you're working in microsoft word.
Raskolnikov:
Not my work, but
try this.
hehehehe. Awesome Jim. However, I notice it bears a few similarities to my Echoes of Merithryn poem... You bloody thief! LoL.
Still, Jim, I wanna see your poetry touch upon this topic. But if not, then that's alright.
On this, if on nothing else, I agree with Goblin completely. I especially like the second and fifth stanza/verse/thinggies.
I don't like you, I hope you know.
You're writing...
'Twas amazingly well compacted and you didn't use those annoying clutter words. Enough of my chritiquing. :P