Poetry.

[bob48]

Gentlemen all,

'Tis my considered opinion that we are sadly lacking in our omission of a thread in which we can rejoice in contemplation of the written word in poetic form.

I therefore invite you all to contribute a sample of the noble rhyme, in all its many guises, even if its the highbrow stuff wot don't seem to rhyme at all.

Strange haircuts and mincing walks are optional, but all reciters are obliged to assume a glassy eyed visage whilst holding forth.

And of course, last but by no means least, the muckier the better.

I shall kick the proceedings off with this sad and poignant offering;

Ahem (clears throat).

'Ding' (spits in bucket).

The girl stood on the bridge at midnight
Her lips were all a quiver
She gave a cough
Her leg fell off
And floated down the river.

I thank you.

[Longdan]

I love poetry
To read on my sh*thouse throne
But porn is better.

[besilarius]

There was a young girl from Connizes,
whose tits were two different sizes.
One was so small,
it was nothing at all.
The other so big it won prizes.

[LongBlade]

I might feel all alone,
But I have a personal drone.
It's full of great power,
Thankfully it can't follow me in the shower.

[Longdan]

I might feel all alone,
But I have a personal drone.
It's full of great power,
Thankfully it can't follow me in the shower.

Or my drone
would give me the bone

[bob48]

There was a young girl from Hitchin,
who was always scratchin' and itchin'
her mother said 'Rose
Its the pox, I suppose?'
she said 'Bollocks, get on with your knitting'.

[Jarhead0331]

I started the "Jarhead's Poetry Corner" at wargamer.  There was some really good poetry in that thread.

[LongBlade]

I started the "Jarhead's Poetry Corner" at wargamer.  There was some really good poetry in that thread.

I remember.

[Mr. Bigglesworth]

If I had a Haiku
I'd write you
Manana

[bob48]

I know I've posted this before, but its just so good I could not resist the temptation of posting it again.

The Raven

Once upon a battlefield dreary, where I cowered, spent and blearly,
Within an Imperial bunker, darkly stained with dust and gore -
As I cowered, nearly shuttering, suddenly there came a sputtering
As some weapon quickly stuttering - firing at my bunker door.
"'Tis some bolter", I murmmered, "firing at my bunker door -
                                               Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And the brightly burning bastions lit the horizion by the score.
Eagerly, on freedom drunker; - vainly had I sought to hunker
In this heavy Imperial bunker - with perhaps a tunnel in the floor -
A safe and empty fortress with perhaps a tiny tunnel in the floor -
                                               Only this and nothing more.

And the mad raving howling of each distant Space Wolf prowling
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.
So that now, to the beating of my heart, I stood entreating
"'Tis some Space Wolf there repeating, firing at my bunker door -
Some common Grey Hunter rapid-firing at my bunker door -
                                               This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
"Marine," said I, "or Scout, your attention I implore;
The bunker walls are thick - they are made of tempered brick
And your bolters do not nick the slightest scratch or tiny score -
Not a dimple, dent, depression, dip, scratch or tiny score -
                                               Away now, and fire no more."

Then in the bunker slumping, presently I heard a thumping
A pounding - rattling many times fiercer than before.
And soon I began to screech - the bunker wall grenades did breech;
The very gods I did beseech as the ceiling fell upon the floor -
Through the wounds poured streams of light which danced upon the floor -
                                               Danced amidst the sounds of war.

Then at once it stopped the violence - I was left alone with silence
Confused, I spied the reason why the shells did drop no more -
For as I began to shutter, then with many a flit and flutter
A psyber-Raven flew through the clutter to perch above the door -
Perched on the two-headed eagle just above the bunker door -
                                               Perched and sat and nothing more.

At this I grew more craven, for the talons of the psyber-Raven
Were all over covered with bright red blood and crimson gore.
"Wretch!" I cried, "Njal hath lent thee - into this fortress has he sent thee
So that remotely here he may be - and this bunker then explore -
Scry out my exact location and this bunker then explore -"
                                               Quoth the Raven, "Eversor"

Then, methought, the air grew darker, the bunker now a little starker
For the uttered word brought terror as I had never felt before.
As for weapons, I knew I had none - no bolter, sword or lasgun;
No arms to stop the war's son fated to break soon through the door -
The blood-mad crazed assassin fated to break soon through the door-
                                               Quoth the Raven, "Eversor"

"Be that word our sign of parting, machine or bird!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the fire-fight and here spy on me no more!
For as you came unbidden - I would otherwise be here hidden -
Leave my location in this midden - quit that icon above my door!
Take thy shining metal eye, and take thy form from off my door!"
                                                Quoth the Raven, "Eversor"

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting - still is sitting
On the pallid two-headed eagle just above the bunker door;
His metal eye has all the seeming of a psyker that is scheaming,
To have my guts lie steaming in a pile upon the floor;
And now all hope has left me, crouched here upon the floor
                                               I await the Eversor!

[Windigo]

And out of the night came a terrible scream,
someone put sand in the Vaseline .....

[bob48]

Last night whilst walking on the stair,
I met a man who was not there,
He was not there again today,
I wish that man would go away.

[besilarius]

I'M THE GALLOPING GHOST OF THE JAPANESE COAST
By Constantine Guiness, MOMM 1/C, USN

I'm the galloping ghost of the Japanese coast
You don't hear of me and my crew.
But just ask any man off the coast of Japan
If he knows of the Trigger Maru.

I look sleek and slender alongside my tender
With others like me at my side,
But we'll tell you a story of battle and glory,
As enemy waters we ride.

I've been stuck on a rock, felt the depth charge's shock,
Been north to a place called Attu,
and I've sunk me two freighters atop the equator
Hot work, but the sea was cold blue.

I've cruised close inshore and carried the war
to the Empire Island Honshu,
While they wire Yokahama I could see Fujiyama,
So I stayed, to admire the view.

When we rigged to run silently, deeply I dived,
And within me the heat was terrific.
My men pouring sweat, silent and yet
Cursed me and the whole damned Pacific.

Then destroyers came sounding and depth charges pounding
My submarine crew took the test.
Far in that far off land there are no friends on hand,
To answer a call of distress.

I was blasted and shaken (some damage I've taken),
my hull bleeds and pipe lines do, too
I've come in from out there for machinery repair,
And a rest for me and my crew.

I got by on cool nerve and in silence I served,
Though I took some hard knocks in return,
One propeller shaft sprung and my battery's done,
But the enemy ships I saw burn.

I'm the galloping ghost of the Japanese coast,
You don't hear of me and my crew.
But just ask any man off the coast of Japan,
If he knows of the Trigger Maru.

USS Trigger, March 26, 1945.

[bob48]

That's way cool, bes.

[besilarius]

Just happened to remember it.
Now I'll look for some of the mid watch log entries for December 31.  By tradition they are rhyming poetry.