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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The hordedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: DaleP
    ASL Info:    57/M/TX
    Elite Ratio:    6.21 - 629/553/330
    Words: 359
    Class/Type: Poetry/
    Total Views: 647
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2200



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe hordedots
    -------------------------------------------


    What lurks in shade, what hunger drives the horde?
    The forest trembles, rattled snakes bare fangs,
    night drools malcontent, witches weave a ward.
    The dead are restless, fear a stench that hangs

    in shrouds covering glen and cobbled field.
    Doors are barred, windows latched with shutters drawn.
    The horde moves on, bones creaking, red eyes peeled.
    The night wears thin and blood streaks mark the dawn.

    The breaking day contains no heat, the din
    of warning bells is fading, muted, gone.
    A roiling plague of locust feeds on men,
    feeds on souls, feeds on hate, the horde moves on.

    The king with eyes worldly and worn, surveys
    a mighty army forged in hells own depths;
    and what pray tell should such a scene convey?
    A vision bleak of axe and shield of clefts

    in skulls and souls lost to feed the evil
    Khan whose name invoked from hard blackstone;
    brings legend home to die in red-upheaval.
    And thus like time the horde will spare no throne.

    No hero rides to save this day, no cry,
    no plea to God will stay deaths cold-grim-hands,
    nothing will be found, for no mercy lies
    in coal black eyes, this the king understands.

    The ravens wait to reap their feast-of-eyes;
    just as now a blight awaits, one command.
    The sun stands high, a trumpet lofts its cry,
    crossed banners wave, held fast by iron hand.

    The earth trembles as hellions ride to war.
    Fire rains from cold clear sky, thunder booms
    as boulders crack the castle gates. A roar
    of maddened fury flails the air and gloom

    snakes its tendrils deep inside stout menís hearts.
    The courtyard has become a crimson lake
    where heads flop on pikes and souls depart.
    All are dead, not one life is left to take.

    The horde moves on.


























    Submitted on 2007-01-05 22:21:05     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      

    What lurks in shade, what hunger drives the horde?
    The forest trembles
    rattled snakes bare fangs,
    night drools malcontent
    witches weave a ward.

    The dead are restless, fear a stench that hangs

    in shrouds covering glen and cobbled field.
    Doors are barred, windows latched
    with shutters drawn.

    The horde moves on

    bones creaking, red eyes peeled.
    The night wears thin and blood streaks mark the dawn.

    The breaking day contains no heat, the din
    of warning bells is fading,
    muted,
    gone.

    A roiling plague of locust feeds on men,
    feeds on souls, feeds on hate,

    the horde moves on.

    The king with eyes worldly and worn, surveys
    a mighty army forged in hells' own depths;
    and what pray tell should such a scene convey?
    A vision bleak of axe and shield of clefts

    in skulls and souls lost to feed the evil
    Khan whose name invoked from hard black stone;
    brings legend home to die in red-upheaval.
    And thus like time the horde will spare no throne.

    No hero rides to save this day,
    no cry,
    no plea to God
    will stay death's cold-grim-hands,
    nothing will be found,
    for no mercy lies in coal black eyes;

    this the king understands.

    The ravens wait to reap their feast-of-eyes;
    just as now a blight awaits one command.
    The sun stands high, a trumpet lofts its cry,
    crossed banners wave, held fast by iron hand.

    The earth trembles as hellions ride to war.
    Fire rains from cold clear sky, thunder booms
    as boulders crack the castle gates. A roar
    of maddened fury flails the air and gloom

    snakes its tendrils deep inside stout menís hearts.
    The courtyard has become a crimson lake
    where heads flop on pikes and souls depart.
    All are dead, not one life is left to take.

    The horde moves on.



    I started to play with the lineation but got bogged down half way...changing it would likely work better with a shorter poem.....your pentameter works well, but like I said, I was just fiddling with it. I find the poem a bit heavy going about where I got bogged down with the lineation. As usual you rhyme skilfully, at end of line as well as internally.

    I've read it over several times, and I like the feel of the language. I especially like the line "the horde moves on, and would even like it repeated more often. I like "rattled snakes bare fangs" but then you use "snakes" again as a verb near the end...I'd like to see a different one...maybe "trails its tendrils"...that'd give you some more alliteration too.

    I tried very hard to go through and see if I could find better ways to say things, but I could find only one line that I would change...I think it would make it less passive and hopefully more interesting, but I know there's a good chance you may not agree.

    The night wears thin and blood streaks mark the dawn.

    consider:
    The night wears blood streaks thinly marking dawn.


    This reviewer moves on....

    ~chris

    | Posted on 2007-01-06 00:00:00 | by ponykeeper | [ Reply to This ]


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