Have been meaning to have a go at something a bit more creative than drinking beer for a while so thought I'd stick stuff in here.

Here's my first effort at a poem (or is it prose?) ...

THE LION OF ENGLAND

By Masamah

The Lion lay wounded
Subdued by the crescent moon and cut by the sword
Its wounds gorged by parasites from near and far
Its breath was shallow, it dared not raise a murmur

A once proud beast
Dominant ruler of its domain and further afield
He lay listless, sabotaged by the traps laid by weak and misguided men
A shadow of his former self, riddled with the assumed guilt of others

The great beast no longer stirred
It saw and felt the pain but was numbed to its impending demise
Its tranquilised mind fought harboured thoughts of submission
But its heart stayed strong

The vultures gathered, rasping and hissing at the moon
Flocking to the wastelands defended from foes in former glories
Waiting to pick at the wounded flesh
Drawn to weakness and sickness in pact with the devil himself

But this lion would not pass, his instincts pricked
As hellfire approached directed by the pull of the crescent moon
The aroma of poppies burning in the hallowed fields stirred the beast
And the dismembered carcasses of fallen brothers and sisters have enraged his eye

Throughout his veins runs the blood of the honourable and valiant
Loyalty, honesty, justice, courage and pride sustaining his vital fluid
The very essence of the fallen yet not forgotten souls
This beast is ready to stand and be feared again

As that blood of centuries courses through his veins
His heart beats stronger and sinews strain resisted as he rises
But with the superfluous now ignored and forgotten and fears cast aside
Valour consumes his soul and he is ready to roar

…and roar he will for ENGLAND!

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Brilliant! Love it  

Masamah"]Have been meaning to have a go at something a bit more creative than drinking beer for a while so thought I'd stick stuff in here.

Here's my first effort at a poem (or is it prose?) ...

THE LION OF ENGLAND

By Masamah

The Lion lay wounded
Subdued by the crescent moon and cut by the sword
Its wounds gorged by parasites from near and far
Its breath was shallow, it dared not raise a murmur

A once proud beast
Dominant ruler of its domain and further afield
He lay listless, sabotaged by the traps laid by weak and misguided men
A shadow of his former self, riddled with the assumed guilt of others

The great beast no longer stirred
It saw and felt the pain but was numbed to its impending demise
Its tranquilised mind fought harboured thoughts of submission
But its heart stayed strong

The vultures gathered, rasping and hissing at the moon
Flocking to the wastelands defended from foes in former glories
Waiting to pick at the wounded flesh
Drawn to weakness and sickness in pact with the devil himself

But this lion would not pass, his instincts pricked
As hellfire approached directed by the pull of the crescent moon
The aroma of poppies burning in the hallowed fields stirred the beast
And the dismembered carcasses of fallen brothers and sisters have enraged his eye

Throughout his veins runs the blood of the honourable and valiant
Loyalty, honesty, justice, courage and pride sustaining his vital fluid
The very essence of the fallen yet not forgotten souls
This beast is ready to stand and be feared again

As that blood of centuries courses through his veins
His heart beats stronger and sinews strain resisted as he rises
But with the superfluous now ignored and forgotten and fears cast aside
Valour consumes his soul and he is ready to roar

…and roar he will for ENGLAND!
[/quote]Love it! Brilliant! We have some excellent poets on here. Oli, Darth, now yourself.

Thanks Kerry, not quite in their league! Might try to do some more but the creative urge has been quelled for now!

Thanks as well Oli, some of your poems are brilliant. Keep 'em coming!!

An Ode to Camoron:

Your traitorous antics are something to behold
Who would have thought you’d be so bold
Third world towns, sharia; it’s not even funny
Now London a centre for Islamic money?
You take from our middle class, the rich and poor
To lay it all out at Islams door
You appease their whims here and you help them with wars
Who’d have thought Arab money could open such doors
I fear alas we are already too late
To stop your plans for the Caliphate
The destruction of Britain and all that was great
To turn it into an Islamic state
But the trouble is Cameron it’s our country not yours
You’re master plan has numerous flaws
The British people will wake up to reason
And we have historical ways of dealing with treason.