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[birdy51]

Rook, king, queen, and knight,
With the good bishop, they rise.
But only pawns fight.

[Tomasque]

Well, I've been reading The King in Yellow lately, so my poem is based off one of the "mini-stories" within the Prophet's Paradise section. It is The Green Room:

The powdered Clown was sitting on his chair.
He turned to his mirror and asked,
"If it is true that to be fair
is to be beautiful, don't none compare
with me within my pallid mask?"

"Who can?" I asked Death, next to me, to learn
the truth of this from his reply:
"Who can to me? Paler am I."
"You are beautiful," said the Clown, then turned
away from his mirror and sighed.

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Squares white and black
Bodies to fill them they not lack
Pawn and rook and leaping knight
Endlessly clash and fight
But as the game goes on and on
More and more of the pieces are gone
And for what do they fight?
They're in the same box at the end of the night

For tomorrow: A tool

[Tomasque]

Squares white and black
Bodies to fill them they not lack
Pawn and rook and leaping knight
Endlessly clash and fight
But as the game goes on and on
More and more of the pieces are gone
And for what do they fight?
They're in the same box at the end of the night

For tomorrow: A tool

The syllable count is rough, but the ending is great! 

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Many thanks.

[TD1]

Back in business! Whoo. Okay... I have a lot to catch up with.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A mountain stands
Forbidding and grin
Two climb high on it
Their breath growing thin
One surges, forward, turns
Offers their hand
The other reaches for it
Oh, isn't it grand?
When two who are
Nothing to one another
Suddenly start acting
Like they are brothers

I really liked the message of the above, Urist.

Two strangers help each other on the road:

Dark and Light meet
In the woodland,
Both unsafe and
Neither knowing.

Darkness gives his
Hand. The rotten
Wood collapses.
Death approaches.

Lightness gives her
Hand. The growing
Wood is breathing.
Death is coming.

Dark gives hand, and
Light accepts it.
Both together;
Death is nowhere.
----

Chess:

Chivalry on a board.
The King protects the pawns,
The Queen is ready to defend
Against the marshalled might of wrong.

Wrong. King is saved by pawns
Who throw their flesh between
Imagined thrusts and parries.
The mind which watches all
Enjoys it, the macabre, the massacre.

The Queen does not defend, but sends
Herself into the fray, Angel of Death
Manoeuvring through the ranks,
Killing the loyal knight, honour-bound rooks.

Battle on a Board, the Master is not bored,
He revels in the flesh that is not flesh.
World falls away. All the world's terrors,
Made of wood, are here. And they will pay.

A poem based off of a story:

(Inspired by Beren and Luthien)

The wind blown Hemlock brings
The scent of bubbling springs,
Though many years have passed
Without you near, my life's repast.
Give me your hand of lily-white,
The mystery of your hair
And I will live, if living is to fight
To see your heart, and to be there.

I may be but a man, and you an elf
Who ne'er grows old, nor has bad health
But when the wind blows in the Hemlock sheaves
I hear your voice, the voice of Autumn leaves,
And in their cries, I see your eyes.
Though death may come for me, I'll give my hand
Nevertheless to one who never dies
With but one wish, and one demand.

Love me through all the years to come,
But when I am the moon and not the sun
Remember me as I am now, my hand
Dipped in the brook where nearby stand
Hemlock sheaves and the leaves,
The leaves I hear you in,
An elf with gold-embroidered sleeves.
Ah! Since when was to love a sin?
---
A tool:

Most work is simple as the day,
You do it fast and get your pay.
You put in work and get out gold,
And in this way you soon grow old.

But find a trusty tool to use
Along the paths of your abuse
And you will find that you can smile
Though pain may visit every mile.

Also, I just watched phantom of the opera. It has a scene in it reminiscent of the Masquerade poem I did for a prompt a page or so back: Most notably after 3:00.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Well, I've been reading The King in Yellow lately, so my poem is based off one of the "mini-stories" within the Prophet's Paradise section. It is The Green Room:

The powdered Clown was sitting on his chair.
He turned to his mirror and asked,
"If it is true that to be fair
is to be beautiful, don't none compare
with me within my pale mask?"
((pale is 2 syllables here))

"Who can?" I asked Death, next to me, to learn
the truth of this from his reply:
"Who can to me? Paler am I."
"You are beautiful," said the Clown, then turned
away from his mirror and sighed.

I really like this. I have a slight issue with using pale as two syllables, but it's small.

For tomorrow: Juletide, Christmas, Winter. You get the idea. Something seasonal.

[Tomasque]

I changed "pale" to "pallid" later, in my notes. I forgot to change it online, so thanks for reminding me.

 Also, welcome back! Do you have time for Storm again?

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Winter wind
Blowing strong
Outside my house
It's been blowing long

The fire is glowing
Even as the snow
Builds up even higher
I'm not feeling low

Because winter's my
Favorite season
December the best month
It's the time for leaving

And finding new warmth

[Tomasque]

 This needs more poetry. I'll add some later.

[TD1]

Indeed it does. I spoke too soon unfortunately in saying I was free(edited this from three. Seriously, me?). I am currently 11 pages into an essay, but once that's wrapped up I'll rejig it, don't worry.

[birdy51]

The yuletide is gone,
Her evergreen branches, fade.
Winter doth remain.

[George_Chickens]

Darkness creeps across the land
The midnight sausage is in your hand
A pain in the stomach, boiling blood
Stool sprays free, like flowing mud

[TD1]

Christmas is here.
There are candles.
Family is visiting,
Many relatives.

They bring their gifts
Of tin and foil
For our delight
This Christmas morn.

One was born on this day
Many years ago.
He stood in a manger
And greeted every stranger.

Then when they left,
He asked his mum
If he could change his birthday
To some time other
Than Christmas day,
For who would want two
Celebrations in one?

Okay, that was terrible. Shoot me

For tomorrow:a scene from a book/movie which stuck with you.

[TD1]

The oceans crash tempestuous,
The mountains pierce the skies
And all is lost, all feeling gone
But man's impassioned eyes.
Rage, rage against the falling stone,
The hurdles thrown and broken bone.
Take hold the system that's in place
And raise the master race.

There is magic here, yet none care
To sieve the light from darkness,
Harness all the mountain rage
Dichotomy of truth and song
To last until another age.
*
She died.
*
We must care for the ones who work
Who toil in mine, who work the vine
Who clean the house. The separation
Of idea from reality, the magic
Of love embodied individually
Within each person.
I was wrong. I was wrong.

The magic raises storms of death
And power kills the man.
And yet...and yet, what curses
Yet may bless, may raise a flower
In its stead and grant us life.
Love is the power we must grow
Inside our hearts, and that then sow.

Internet cookies for the one who can guess what that message comes from.

For tomorrow: Winter beauty.

[birdy51]

Fractured echoes scream.
Reality is broken.
Give me back my warmth.

---

Comes from a nifty concept in a game called Exit Fate, where the game explores a few 'What if' scenarios where some of the main characters choose to take a different course of action. Moments where certain characters respond competently turn out to be horrible, horrible decisions and said characters invariably end up dead for their mistake.