Poetry

Poetry is in art isn't it? Well I think so. Post good poems here, I'll start with one by my favorite artist, Andalus. It's a little poem story really.


The Culver and the Culverin

The peaceful trees were full of culvers' song,
A cooing chorus, carried perch to perch.
A softness like the wind blowing in the calm,
A sound without a sight to meet the search.

On the wide plain there lay a quiet city,
Likewise peaceful, as the calm before the storm,
Imposing walls gathered skyward all around,
Protecting the belly of her silent sleeping form.

But sleep must always be awoken soon,
And so came the alarm to mark the morn.
Through the woods there came a rumbling din,
Shaking slumber from the grey mist of the dawn.

The peaceful trees were filled with clanking steel,
And the lumbering roll of cannon wheels.
The softness of the culvers' wind-like song,
Drowned out by the drumming of boot heels.

And a harsher wind blew through the woods;
Horses' whinny and sergeants' booming bawl.
The culvers flew up from the canopy;
Their distress, that morning's cockerel call.

The yawns of sentries on the parapets,
Fast became cries of alarm and disbelief.
First they saw the startled flock's ascent,
And then the marching columns dark, beneath.

Forth from the trees the stepping soldiers streamed,
And fanned out like the culvers' feathered wings.
For what reason they marched not one man full knew,
Only that they sung the song of dukes and kings.

And as they spread around the disturbed burg,
It was the burghers turn to bustle in alarm.
While in the once more peaceful woods,
The culvers settled back to sing in calm.

And as the city now hurried to defend,
The culvers simply accustomed to this new state.
Perched upon their branches like a theatre's balcony,
While barricades were hastened to the gate.

But one youthful bird, his interest piqued,
Followed the invaders as they prepared for siege.
He flew back and forth over the men at arms,
Like a general making inspection of them each.

As they busied themselves like worker ants,
The culver oversaw as the labour progressed.
The soldiers carried forth wicker and earth,
And seemed to construct a giant nest.

And into this nest they ushered their nestling,
A great culverin, fifteen feet in length.
The bronze of its barrel marked with many rings,
And it' bulk an emblem of its strength.

But the culver knew nothing of such things,
For birds are rarely in artillery schooled.
He flew down to perch upon a wicker basket,
For the nature of this nestling left him fooled.

The culverin's keepers returned before long,
The culver watched with keen eye in grey head,
As they stood at the mouth of the hungry beast,
And with all manner of fodder he was fed.

The culver felt pride he'd been right to inquire,
For his greed was now ignited by this sight.
He flapped over to where the cannon hulked,
Head bobbing and bowing as if to seem polite.

If so well they nourished this culverin,
Then surely it could spare crumbs for a bird?
He sang greetings warmly to the brazen beast,
But his petitions seemed to go unheard.

But no youth's curiosity is easily swayed,
And unruffled he hopped up onto the spine.
The bronze was cold to his thorn-toed feet,
And the culverin was movelessly benign.

By the lack of complaint or sharp rebuke,
The culver felt he'd made gain of a friend,
But perhaps his friend could not hear him call,
So he scuttered along to balance on the end.

The bore was barely a fifth inch across,
Not enough for a culver's stocky frame.
He called down into the barrel's darkness,
But still no reply to his greeting came.

But then as he gazed down into the gloomy duct,
The culver heard an unfamiliar sound.
With a roar, at last the culverin spoke,
And feathers fluttered gently to the ground.

 

Oh my gosh. i've never been one for poems. but this was just amazingly beautiful. whoever this Andalus guy is, i'll have to look him up.

 

He's a member of Exilian. We've got a section for poems and stories there and he has a whole 9 pages of poems.

 

I already found him digging around In your profile. :)

 

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