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The Echani poet inside all of us


Cygnus Q'ol

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Handmaiden introduced us to a side of Echani culture rarely noticed.

...and for good reason. :)

 

Most Echani poetry is too *wacky* for others to appreciate, however, it does serve it's purpose of blending the art of warfare with the song of words.

 

Echani students are encouraged to create poetry. A student may be called upon to spit random, harmonious verse at almost anytime.

It keeps spirits sharp and others entertained.

 

If you are so inclined to jump in, then, please, share your insanity. :ears1:

 

Remember: There are no rules (except for the forum rules, of course)

...and the wackier the better.

 

(Moderator Masters: If this is a forum site violation, I apologize.

Seemed like the appropriate place for this.)

 

 

Just for starters;

 

Fallen Enemy Before Me

What is it that beats my heart so?

Must be my fallen enemy before me.

 

What brings honor to mine and my family?

Must be my fallen enemy before me.

 

What proof is there that I am ready?

Must be my fallen enemy before me.

 

What is the essence of my existence?

Must be my fallen enemy before me.

 

What gives me pleasure like I've never known?

I'd say it was the sight of my fallen enemy before me.

 

 

That was a simple, elementary version of a piece written years ago.

What can you come up with?

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I'm not sure if this is wacky enough b/c I tend to write more poetry than prose and I have a specific style but here it goes:

 

The Drums of War

Upon the winds I hear the beat

Through my soul and to my feet

I run towards the sun

My fist on chest upon

I smell the blood scent

My spirit not spent

I ready in strengthened stance

Giving myself to dueling dance

The eagles make my heart soar

When I hear the drums of war

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Sicho - A running attack

 

Midday sun breathes hot down my neck, air too still to cool me.

My stance is perfect and my mind is sharp, who will my adversary be?

 

He emerges form the water, black as iron, gleaming blade a quiver.

I blink once then twice, unsheath my sword and envision blood mixing down river.

 

A running approach, eyes searching for an opening for my blade.

As I near my enemy, my steps speed up and everything else seems to fade.

 

My blade strikes true as I run him through, and I can hear his dying wish.

Please allow me to fade away and become one with the fish.

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My Blade the Katana, My Blade the Umbrella

What is this I hold in my hand?

A handle, elongated with a band

 

The Five Rings obediently I cut

Some on the face, some on the butt

 

Ready in the middle stance

I play the eagle dance

 

My blade, fiercesome katana

My blade, the deadly umbrella

 

((This is based on a post that I wrote in another forum. I just came up with it while working on my fiction projects))

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Nemesis to the Poetic Point

 

My opponent, I feel him stalking me

My opponent, hunting ever free

 

My enemy, always searching never sleeping

My enemy, destructiveness ever reaching

 

My enemy, disconcerting yet most disturbing

My enemy, my attacks always diverting

 

My opponent, an armageddon to the end of time

My opponent, I myself and my lack of rhyme

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Nemesis to the Poetic Point

 

My opponent, I feel him stalking me

My opponent, hunting ever free

 

My enemy, always searching never sleeping

My enemy, destructiveness ever reaching

 

My enemy, disconcerting yet most disturbing

My enemy, my attacks always diverting

 

My opponent, an armageddon to the end of time

My opponent, I myself and my lack of rhyme

 

:D The Looney One has taught you well :D

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  • 3 weeks later...

The Stench of Cowardice

 

 

The thunderclap of explosions resonates behind me

my body holds rigid, I hope they don't find me

 

I squat in my lair, unwilling to fight

hands on ears, squinting, my fists are closed tight

 

The cowardice has gripped me as I sit here real still

wondering what hole in the world I must fill

 

Can't seem to stomach the pressure of it all

must ventilate the poison before I fall

 

Hope when my enemy comes, I'll finally be ready

as I sit now, not feeling so heavy

 

The dreams of one day becomming commander or pilot

drops with my lunch at the flush of the toilet.

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*Takes a bow* Thank you. What can I say? Poetry is a gift. :D

Here's another:

 

The Store of Death

Standing as the oak tree

Poised in manner is she

Strength and harmony plus two

She stands against the monsoon

Fear wiped from the mind

Light and dark intertwined

Feet of the eagle she flies

Calling out her battle cry

Her will not abate

She'll sieze by twist of fate

Defying fate of Macbeth

She charges the store of death

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