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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 21, 2017 20:59:11 GMT -5
good one
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Jan 22, 2017 11:11:04 GMT -5
This horror poem is about Zamboula. After Conan's adventure, other related Cannibals moved into the hills south-west of the city. Some Turanian patrols have been lost in those bush covered hills, and the soldiers keep well away from that area now. The evil man-eaters ambush unwary travellers and small caravans. But they are a bigger menace at night, on roads, and mainly in the city outskirts. ... ~~~ Chant of the flesh ~~~ We come creeping when you snore and sleep We won't steal your best camels or sheep. We don't want your precious gems or gold, silks or spices or carpets, unsold. We won't steal your hat or cloak or shoe For all we really want is just you. Our hate faces are painted and wild Our eyes burn red our teeth are sharp filed. --[ verse 3 ] We like ears and fingers toes and eyes We taste fears and lick your sweaty thighs. From north and south we catch human meat And stuff our drooling mouths with your feet. Impale you along our pole meat spit Roast your flesh over a fire coals pit. Or sometimes with our long nailed black claw Rip you open and eat you red raw. Turanian skulls stare at our pits, our cavorting legs and dancing tits. At Hanuman's mighty Temple yards we leave entrails for the big ape guards. --[ v 6 ] At the main Palace, above the door we leave the head of the Satrap's Whore. At Black Temple where Priests fret and sweat we feed fresh hearts to a Son of Set. In secret canyon sacred quicksands a Demon tendril of Yog demands sacrifice every full ghoul moon. The blood time is coming very soon. We can hide and thrive here where we are More blood brothers come from far Darfar. And when we catch that Barbar sinner we will roast him slow for our big dinner. ~~~~~ [ by Buxom Sorceress c.2017 ] Imagine the drooling vile Cannibals chanting this poem while dancing around their slow roasting victims? -- Howard's dark Zamboula should be a good source to inspire more tales and rhymes? It is 1 of my top fave Conan tales. -- So, did you enjoy chewing on this grisly feast? Are you still salivating and hungry for more? Cannibals are such a grisly plot point - a point I have used myself in a couple of stories. Well done - Egads your lyric rhymes remind me of classic Slayer lyrics circa Hell Awaits & Reign in Blood for sheer visceral brutality. It causes me to wish to set aside this story I'm finishing and get back on my latest poetic work which I hope to post soon!
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Jan 27, 2017 8:55:41 GMT -5
Dear Chris and Mirrorthief, thanks very much for your nice comments about my 'chant of the flesh' poem. Glad you enjoyed it. [ i put a lot of effort into that vivid grim poem, trying to capture the essence of savage horror from Howard's Zamboula masterpiece ] ==== > Looking forward to any more new poems from our very talented 'bards of the pit'?
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Jan 27, 2017 11:44:47 GMT -5
Looking forward to any more new poems from our very talented 'bards of the pit'? Sorceress, I hope to post a new one soon! I've written it all out in short story format, done some research to add an element of realism, and have written a few stanzas to work out the flow of the rhyme. It's another story-poem, but I promise to write a short one next! I think this new one has a really cool theme and can't wait to share... Best, Chris
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Jan 27, 2017 18:37:20 GMT -5
Looking forward to any more new poems from our very talented 'bards of the pit'? Sorceress, I hope to post a new one soon! I've written it all out in short story format, done some research to add an element of realism, and have written a few stanzas to work out the flow of the rhyme. It's another story-poem, but I promise to write a short one next! I think this new one has a really cool theme and can't wait to share... Best,Chris There are few things that excite me more than the enthusiasm of a confident poet [ word-master, bard ] planning his next rhyming masterpiece. Rock on ! ==== ==== > my verses from my vault... Welcome Barbarians one and all to our great Hyborian 'feasting-hall'. Swig down your frothy Amra-ales and tell us YOUR adventure tales... The dancing Sorceress who legends mention will enchant and stand you to attention. Then many gasps and chill portents of doom as a huge grim Cimmerian strides into the room. He puts the willing Sorceress across his knee and shouts "By Crom, the drinks are on me !" ====
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 9, 2017 19:11:35 GMT -5
My latest grim tale in poem form. I've been busy finishing my latest story, a rather dark tale I hope to publish shortly entitled The Cosmos of Despair. But that aside, I have snared some time to finish this very dark poem the ever-mysterious muse brought me awhile back. Should ye yearn for happy endings - seek ye elsewhere...
~Chris
A Gallows Tree
Crouching in the darkness · Jon watched his Jenniflore- He’d shadowed her through alleys · to Josué’s back door;
Josué bragged that day · he’d make Jenniflore his own- Jon Toussaint had laughed · like most, he must be shown;
Now his wide eyes watched · sweet Jenniflore was nude- Her gyrating body · performing acts beyond lewd;
Jon caught a ragged whimper · swallowed it with pride- Then girt his loins with fury · to face his future bride;
The door turned to splinters · and was quickly laid to waste- Jenniflore faced him square · no pretense at being chaste;
I done told you, Josué flared, your girl would be with me- A powerful vodou spell · spun by old Nadège;
Jenniflore, Jon cried · Girl, you must come with me- Then he told her of dark magic · older than New Orlean’;
Her smile was beyond bewitched · her eyes a cloudy haze- I belong to Josué now – he saw her mind was in a daze;
He fled Josué’s hut · his heart filled with reddened rage- And sought the shack of Anton – an old man, and sage;
Jon’d heard of Nadège – a Haïtian mambo witch- Whose heart was stained by Shaitan’s Hell - whose skin was black as pitch;
Jon’d never seen the hag · never a need to seek her out- But now she’d stole his Jenniflore · so he must find her dark redoubt;
Jon asked Anton what he knew · who believed in that old lore- He told Jon the path to take · how to find that Hell spawn’s door;
Some hour hence found Jon a-rowin’ · a flat bottom boat he stole- Twixt cypress trees and coco plums · a witch’s hut his goal;
Look for a gumbo limbo tree · with a black arm hangin’ down- He moored his craft ‘n took his gat · his face a graven frown;
His fiancé belonged to Josué · his fury knew no bounds- He’d bury the witch in her own backyard · in the filth of unhallowed ground;
This old hag was no match for him · he’d kill her ‘n send her to Hell- He’d cut off her head ‘n burn her shack · that’d end foul Josué’s spell;
He fought his way thru slime ‘n mud · with gators at his back- And flailed thru’ poison ivy vines · in the nighttime, marshy tract;
He stumbled on it all at once · that mambo’s skull-shaped hut- And squeezed his pistol’s grip real tight · ‘twas vengeance-time to glut;
Thru’ tepid crick and willow boughs· squeaky stair of twisted board- He’d level his gun and fire · then hide her body in the sward;
C’mon in, Jon Toussaint, I just knowed you’d ‘ventually come- A hemlock voice! Fears assailed · Jon flinched and shot his gun;
Yet bullet zipped thru’ empty air · a fog as cold as ice- That shack of wicked, evil reeked · so thick it might be sliced;
You done took my Jenniflore! Yelled courage, finding strength- And raised his gun to shoot again · clutching death at his arm’s length;
But that ole hag - she ne’er flinched · but stopped him with a word- Jenni coulda stayed yours, ya know · in one hand she held a cord;
If you’d a come and not Josué · I’d give you the charm, not he- But yer too cheap, Jon Toussaint · n’ Josué paid, not ye;
The girl was mine, Jon Toussaint railed · I didn’t have to pay your price- A heart’s a fickle beast, she said · and vodou’s a pow’rful device;
The crone she did a mutter · and many candles sprang to light- And the moment came and went · when poor Jon could stand and fight;
In a trice his mind was snared · and a path ordained to take- He had no will t’ fight the spell · of blackened vodou make;
Mumbo jumbo, St John’s Root · Giyon Kreyòl Simitye! In the govi - burning hair · now you do just as I say;
Think ye yer the first to come – to seek old Nadège to slay? Fool! Now go, by my command · hang yourself, Jon Toussaint!
For many have come to seek revenge - to sound that deathly knell- But it ain’t time to take my leave · tho’ they’s a place for me in Hell;
Out the shack and down the stair · to find a certain tree- His quailing heart knew well the curse · of Shaitan’s devotee;
His feet were leaden - that witch’s voice! · her mumblings filled his head- Thru’ the swamp, to tree-high mound · in the ground, a hole of dread;
That rocky plummet, hole to hell · where a cypress stood ‘pon ledge- A hundred foot tall, ancient tree · with roots curlin’ o’er the edge;
A burial mound, charnel pit · whose depths reeked of sour decay- A dumping ground for vengeful men · who instead became her prey;
The bottom lay in nighted dark · how far down he’d never know- At his feet, a hempen rope · and a limb o’er which to throw;
That ancient, hoary cypress limb · made a perfect gallows tree- Throw the rope, cries Nadège · a knot, a body falling free!
The limb - it o’er reached · that bottomless, death-filled hole- Along the limb drooped rotting bits of rope from men untold;
Since 1592 · I been a-puttin’ men down that hole- There ain’t none yet t’ever escape · th’ gravy of that blood-stained bowl;
Ye’ll hang awhile, like all the rest · then descend unto the deep- Down to where the ghouls a moan n’ slash n’ crawl n’ creep;
They’s things down there ye ken not of · that rends meat off the bone- And the reek of ye‘ll add to the stench · ye smell comin’ off the stone;
Once Upon a Time - a nursery rhyme · I know ye heard it, Jon Toussaint- But don’t ye fear, ye won’t feel much · cuz hangin’ don’t cause much pain;
The witch’s words lanced his mind · the curse she cast so well- 'Twas Jon Toussaint, not Nadège · split wide the Gates of Hell…
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 10, 2017 10:20:52 GMT -5
Welcome Barbarians one and all to our great Hyborian 'feasting-hall'. Swig down your frothy Amra-ales and tell us YOUR adventure tales... The dancing Sorceress who legends mention will enchant and stand you to attention. Then many gasps and chill portents of doom as a huge grim Cimmerian strides into the room. He puts the willing Sorceress across his knee and shouts "By Crom, the drinks are on me !" ==== The Cimmerian drank as the barmaids danced- but 'twas the one in his lap that kept him entranced; Her full-throated laughs at his rough, bawdy japes- caused his eyes to wander from her breasts to her napes; His vision consumed with red lips and perfume- he called to the 'keep - "I'll be needin' a room!" With senses reeling from spirits Zamoran- he rifled his pouch for coin Hyperborean; Then came to his feet; eyeing drunks from his height- And with lass over shoulder he bid them goodnight; "I've traveled the lands," he swore with an oath- "and sailed the high seas," the barbarian quoth; "And yet there remains a mystery to me"- "Is why I sit here with you, and not upstairs with she!"
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Feb 11, 2017 21:21:10 GMT -5
My latest grim tale in poem form. I've been busy finishing my latest story, a rather dark tale I hope to publish shortly entitled The Cosmos of Despair. But that aside, I have snared some time to finish this very dark poem the ever-mysterious muse brought me awhile back. Should ye yearn for happy endings - seek ye elsewhere... ~Chris A Gallows Tree
Crouching in the darkness · Jon watched his Jenniflore- He’d shadowed her through alleys · to Josué’s back door;
Josué bragged that day · he’d make Jenniflore his own- Jon Toussaint had laughed · like most, he must be shown;
Now his wide eyes watched · sweet Jenniflore was nude- Her gyrating body · performing acts beyond lewd;
Jon caught a ragged whimper · swallowed it with pride- Then girt his loins with fury · to face his future bride;
The door turned to splinters · and was quickly laid to waste- Jenniflore faced him square · no pretense at being chaste;
I done told you, Josué flared, your girl would be with me- A powerful vodou spell · spun by old Nadège;
Jenniflore, Jon cried · Girl, you must come with me- Then he told her of dark magic · older than New Orlean’;
Her smile was beyond bewitched · her eyes a cloudy haze- I belong to Josué now – he saw her mind was in a daze;
He fled Josué’s hut · his heart filled with reddened rage- And sought the shack of Anton – an old man, and sage;
Jon’d heard of Nadège – a Haïtian mambo witch- Whose heart was stained by Shaitan’s Hell - whose skin was black as pitch;
Jon’d never seen the hag · never a need to seek her out- But now she’d stole his Jenniflore · so he must find her dark redoubt;
Jon asked Anton what he knew · who believed in that old lore- He told Jon the path to take · how to find that Hell spawn’s door;
Some hour hence found Jon a-rowin’ · a flat bottom boat he stole- Twixt cypress trees and coco plums · a witch’s hut his goal;
Look for a gumbo limbo tree · with a black arm hangin’ down- He moored his craft ‘n took his gat · his face a graven frown;
His fiancé belonged to Josué · his fury knew no bounds- He’d bury the witch in her own backyard · in the filth of unhallowed ground;
This old hag was no match for him · he’d kill her ‘n send her to Hell- He’d cut off her head ‘n burn her shack · that’d end foul Josué’s spell;
He fought his way thru slime ‘n mud · with gators at his back- And flailed thru’ poison ivy vines · in the nighttime, marshy tract;
He stumbled on it all at once · that mambo’s skull-shaped hut- And squeezed his pistol’s grip real tight · ‘twas vengeance-time to glut;
Thru’ tepid crick and willow boughs· squeaky stair of twisted board- He’d level his gun and fire · then hide her body in the sward;
C’mon in, Jon Toussaint, I just knowed you’d ‘ventually come- A hemlock voice! Fears assailed · Jon flinched and shot his gun;
Yet bullet zipped thru’ empty air · a fog as cold as ice- That shack of wicked, evil reeked · so thick it might be sliced;
You done took my Jenniflore! Yelled courage, finding strength- And raised his gun to shoot again · clutching death at his arm’s length;
But that ole hag - she ne’er flinched · but stopped him with a word- Jenni coulda stayed yours, ya know · in one hand she held a cord;
If you’d a come and not Josué · I’d give you the charm, not he- But yer too cheap, Jon Toussaint · n’ Josué paid, not ye;
The girl was mine, Jon Toussaint railed · I didn’t have to pay your price- A heart’s a fickle beast, she said · and vodou’s a pow’rful device;
The crone she did a mutter · and many candles sprang to light- And the moment came and went · when poor Jon could stand and fight;
In a trice his mind was snared · and a path ordained to take- He had no will t’ fight the spell · of blackened vodou make;
Mumbo jumbo, St John’s Root · Giyon Kreyòl Simitye! In the govi - burning hair · now you do just as I say;
Think ye yer the first to come – to seek old Nadège to slay? Fool! Now go, by my command · hang yourself, Jon Toussaint!
For many have come to seek revenge - to sound that deathly knell- But it ain’t time to take my leave · tho’ they’s a place for me in Hell;
Out the shack and down the stair · to find a certain tree- His quailing heart knew well the curse · of Shaitan’s devotee;
His feet were leaden - that witch’s voice! · her mumblings filled his head- Thru’ the swamp, to tree-high mound · in the ground, a hole of dread;
That rocky plummet, hole to hell · where a cypress stood ‘pon ledge- A hundred foot tall, ancient tree · with roots curlin’ o’er the edge;
A burial mound, charnel pit · whose depths reeked of sour decay- A dumping ground for vengeful men · who instead became her prey;
The bottom lay in nighted dark · how far down he’d never know- At his feet, a hempen rope · and a limb o’er which to throw;
That ancient, hoary cypress limb · made a perfect gallows tree- Throw the rope, cries Nadège · a knot, a body falling free!
The limb - it o’er reached · that bottomless, death-filled hole- Along the limb drooped rotting bits of rope from men untold;
Since 1592 · I been a-puttin’ men down that hole- There ain’t none yet t’ever escape · th’ gravy of that blood-stained bowl;
Ye’ll hang awhile, like all the rest · then descend unto the deep- Down to where the ghouls a moan n’ slash n’ crawl n’ creep;
They’s things down there ye ken not of · that rends meat off the bone- And the reek of ye‘ll add to the stench · ye smell comin’ off the stone;
Once Upon a Time - a nursery rhyme · I know ye heard it, Jon Toussaint- But don’t ye fear, ye won’t feel much · cuz hangin’ don’t cause much pain;
The witch’s words lanced his mind · the curse she cast so well- 'Twas Jon Toussaint, not Nadège · split wide the Gates of Hell…Dear Chris, 'A Gallows Tree' is yet another superb great long rhyme-tale from your grim and twisted voodoo-supernatural-bone-quill. Excellent dark feast for my macabre mind. i have read it 3 times so far to fully savour it all. I know there is a lot of hard work & time spent on such a big rhyming project. Many thanks for sharing your high quality creations. Your new verses keep inspiring me to write more poems. Best wishes, and gyrating hugs from the most buxom witch in the swamp.
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Feb 11, 2017 21:26:05 GMT -5
Welcome Barbarians one and all to our great Hyborian 'feasting-hall'. Swig down your frothy Amra-ales and tell us YOUR adventure tales... The dancing Sorceress who legends mention will enchant and stand you to attention. Then many gasps and chill portents of doom as a huge grim Cimmerian strides into the room. He puts the willing Sorceress across his knee and shouts "By Crom, the drinks are on me !" The Cimmerian drank as the barmaids danced- but 'twas the one in his lap that kept him entranced; Her full-throated laughs at his rough, bawdy japes- caused his eyes to wander from her breasts to her napes; His vision consumed with red lips and perfume- he called to the 'keep - "I'll be needin' a room!" With senses reeling from spirits Zamoran- he rifled his pouch for coin Hyperborean; Then came to his feet; eyeing drunks from his height- And with lass over shoulder he bid them goodnight; "I've traveled the lands," he swore with an oath- "and sailed the high seas," the barbarian quoth; "And yet there remains a mystery to me"- "Is why I sit here with you, and not upstairs with she!" That is lovely fun. Many thanks for your 'part 2'. >> Here is my part 3 of our little rhyming romp... ~~~~~ He swaggers back down to bring up more wine She strokes her wild passions in the passage of time [ later...after she wakes up still alone, and annoyed...] She climbs naked out the window with her dagger and purse Then rides off on his horse with a sung bawdy curse She will sneak back tomorrow and pee in his beer After he drinks all the froth, she blows in his ear Kissing him hard and bouncing on his big knee A couple with great passion for all scum to see. ~~~~~[ by Bux ] ==== Tis nice to have some more fun with Conan...in creative rhyme.
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 13, 2017 9:23:25 GMT -5
Dear Chris, 'A Gallows Tree' is yet another superb great long rhyme-tale from your grim and twisted voodoo-supernatural-bone-quill. Excellent dark feast for my macabre mind. i have read it 3 times so far to fully savour it all. I know there is a lot of hard work & time spent on such a big rhyming project. Many thanks for sharing your high quality creations. Your new verses keep inspiring me to write more poems. Best wishes, and gyrating hugs from the most buxom witch in the swamp. Thanks for that gyrating hug - my head is spinning! A good friend of mine who is from NoLa and w/ family/friends in Baton Rouge loved Gallows so much he printed it out and placed it in his voodoo collection! Glad you liked the story. I have no idea where it came from, it just appeared in my head - complete - like an implanted idea - very strange. Just for grins and giggles here's a few of my notes where I initially jotted down the story. It helps me when I wrote the actual poem to just jot down notes to refer back to. These aren't all of my notes, most of which would bore to tears anyone reading them, but its just a view inside my head - it's how I work. Oh by the way - I unabashedly had the voice of the witch from Pumpkinhead in my mind when writing the mambo's dialogue parts. It kinda helps to 'get in character' to have an actual voice in my head to refer to. My other good friend who reads this stuff, as soon as he started reading the mambo parts immediately quoted the witch from the movie - he knows me too well! ~Chris The story
A rage filled Jon Toussaint rows through a cypress swamp in Louisiana seeking the hovel of a witch who performed a love ceremony and spell on his fiancé at the behest of another man – a rival named Josué. Having failed to win the girl’s heart in the past Josué had sought and paid the price for the witch’s assistance. Jon’s woman now is basically the rival’s slave, hanging on his every word and command and having disavowed her previous ‘undying affection’ for Jon Toussaint. Following directions given by an old man he knows, Jon follows the awful path he must take. At last he comes upon the hovel, a ramshackle cabin built of scraps of wood and sheet metal, hauled here God alone knows how, for the place is deep in the swamp and nigh inaccessible. But as he sneaks up the crickity stair and enters the door he finds he has not caught the witch unawares. “Jon Toussaint!” a voice declares. “I knew you’d come!” He enters, raging of how Josué bragged about taking his woman and having let slip it was old Nadège to whom he’d come for aid in accomplishing his foul deed. “Ye coulda come yerself, but yer too proud and stingy to pay my price!” she says. “She was already mine!” he yells, approaching. “The heart’s a fickle beast, but vodou is forever,” replied the crone. She began some mumbling and candles suddenly sprang to light. Jon hesitates a moment, a moment he’ll never get back. Suddenly he is seized with the desire to walk a certain path where he knows he’ll find a certain tree. Coiled at its feet would be an old rope… he fights it, but cannot resist. The old crone laughs. “Ye think yer the first to come here – seeking revenge on old Nadège? Fool! Now go – I command thee – go hang yerself, Jon Toussaint! Go – and be damned!” His feet leaden, the witch’s voice yet filling his mind with her mumblings, he walks through the swamp toward a high rise of land that climbs up to tree top level. Here he finds a rocky formation, roughly circular, ringed by dead growth – and one incredibly ancient cypress that towers over a hundred feet into the air. Its gnarly roots, questing for nourishment, extend over the rocks where they climb down the precipitous fall into a dark, cavernous hole in the ground whose bottom lays covered in nighted dark.
Notes
The ‘love’ spell is not true love but magnifies an idea into an obsession. In this case, the ‘true love’ the girl felt for the protagonist was submerged and lost by the magically induced obsession she now felt for the ‘other’ man – causing her to leave her beau for the contender. ‘Erzulies’ is the deity to call upon in the ‘casting’ of the spell. Forest spirits known as ‘azzizas’ taught practitioners the use of sacred herbs. ‘Conjurer’ – the voodoo practitioner casting a spell or performing a ritual. Using ‘High John the Conqueror root’ a psychedelic effect is induced – maybe describe some ‘purple haze’ poor old Jon Toussaint experiences on his way to the gallows tree.? Perhaps Josué was asked to bring something from Jon Toussaint for supposed use in the love spell but was actually used by the witch to create a death spell to be used against Jon should he come looking for revenge. The cypress tree grows at the edge of an immense, stony hole, one great limb growing out over the precipitate drop-off. Far below rise the smells of a charnel pit – the nauseous aroma of innumerable decaying bodies. After death, they hang from the limb until the body decays to the point the head rips off from the pendulous weight depending below it, allowing the rotted flesh to fall into the damp, dark pit. Ancient rotting rope fragments adorn the tree branch where for centuries the witch’s enemies have been sent here to their demise – by their own hand. Names
Miriam Maistros – the witch Nadège – the witch
Nephtalie – the ‘girl’ Jenniflore – the ‘girl’
Anaïca – the ‘girl’ Josué – the rival suitor Jon Toussaint – the spurned fiancé
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 13, 2017 13:22:04 GMT -5
That is lovely fun. Many thanks for your 'part 2'. >> Here is my part 3 of our little rhyming romp... ~~~~~ He swaggers back down to bring up more wine She strokes her wild passions in the passage of time [ later...after she wakes up still alone, and annoyed...] She climbs naked out the window with her dagger and purse Then rides off on his horse with a sung bawdy curse She will sneak back tomorrow and pee in his beer After he drinks all the froth, she blows in his ear Kissing him hard and bouncing on his big knee A couple with great passion for all scum to see. ~~~~~[ by Bux ] ==== Tis nice to have some more fun with Conan...in creative rhyme. THIS is one naughty wench! She peed in his beer - Oh my gosh. Well maybe it was a Bud Light and no one could notice the difference? Surely it wasn't a Guinness or a Young's? Haha! "My ale's done skunked!" Conan swore in deep ire- Then he cast ale and tankard into the fire;
The smell of the fumes filled the room with a stench- A familiar taste conjuring last night's wench;
With mutton in fist and a scowl on his face- Although it was early he'd be leaving apace;
His head still ached from his too-festive 'eve- But he had stories to tell that none would believe;
He called to the 'keep to bring him his nag- Then reached for some coin from a pouch full o' swag;
In a burst of disgust he plopped down a bare sack- And planted his palm in his face with a smack;
"She's done robbed me blind!" he cursed once again- That Sorceress's buddies wide-faces wore grins;
"She's known to use her curves t' delight," "An' her breasts do amaze - for they are quite a sight."
"But she'll slip outta bed when you fall fast asleep," "An' leave you in debt as she slips past the 'keep."
"But you'll never forget how that wench made ya feel," "As she stoked your fires and tempered your steel,"
His heart filled with rage but bethought a new tact- A plan that would leave the 'keep's pub quite intact;
"I've a notion to crack a few skulls here this 'morn," "for this you well-knew and I could have been warned!"
"But if all of you chip-in and pay the man fair," "we can all part as friends, no worse for th' wear."
With guffaws and scoffs they mocked him right handy- Not considering that Conan was no Aquilonian dandy;
A few minutes later after he and they clashed- The room lay in shambles, the tables all smashed;
Their noggins would pound in their temples that day- By then he'd have long disappeared far away;
So he poured a fresh draught from the bartender's cask- And drinking it dry he next filled his flask;
As he saddled his horse his face split in a grin- When those rogues awoke they'd be very chagrined;
It was twenty coin purses he'd collected in all- Right more than he'd had in his previous haul;
But try as he might he just couldn't stay mad- at that Sorceress wench he'd enjoyed whilst unclad;
So his smile was wide as he rode down the road- Towards adventure and death where the River Styx flowed;
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Feb 15, 2017 6:08:29 GMT -5
...She will sneak back tomorrow and pee in his beer After he drinks all the froth, she blows in his ear Kissing him hard and bouncing on his big knee A couple with great passion for all scum to see. THIS is one naughty wench! She peed in his beer - Oh my gosh. Well maybe it was a Bud Light and no one could notice the difference? Surely it wasn't a Guinness or a Young's? Haha! "My ale's done skunked!" Conan swore in deep ire- Then he cast ale and tankard into the fire;
The smell of the fumes filled the room with a stench- A familiar taste conjuring last night's wench;
With mutton in fist and a scowl on his face- Although it was early he'd be leaving apace;
His head still ached from his too-festive 'eve- But he had stories to tell that none would believe;
He called to the 'keep to bring him his nag- Then reached for some coin from a pouch full o' swag;
In a burst of disgust he plopped down a bare sack- And planted his palm in his face with a smack;
"She's done robbed me blind!" he cursed once again- That Sorceress's buddies wide-faces wore grins;
"She's known to use her curves t' delight," "An' her breasts do amaze - for they are quite a sight."
"But she'll slip outta bed when you fall fast asleep," "An' leave you in debt as she slips past the 'keep."
"But you'll never forget how that wench made ya feel," "As she stoked your fires and tempered your steel,"
His heart filled with rage but bethought a new tact- A plan that would leave the 'keep's pub quite intact;
"I've a notion to crack a few skulls here this 'morn," "for this you well-knew and I could have been warned!"
"But if all of you chip-in and pay the man fair," "we can all part as friends, no worse for th' wear."
With guffaws and scoffs they mocked him right handy- Not considering that Conan was no Aquilonian dandy;
A few minutes later after he and they clashed- The room lay in shambles, the tables all smashed;
Their noggins would pound in their temples that day- By then he'd have long disappeared far away;
So he poured a fresh draught from the bartender's cask- And drinking it dry he next filled his flask;
As he saddled his horse his face split in a grin- When those rogues awoke they'd be very chagrined;
It was twenty coin purses he'd collected in all- Right more than he'd had in his previous haul;
But try as he might he just couldn't stay mad- at that Sorceress wench he'd enjoyed whilst unclad;
So his smile was wide as he rode down the road- Towards adventure and death where the River Styx flowed;Magnificent adventure verse. And you portrayed the spirit of that busty dancing sorceress so well. Thanks very much for entertaining me so energetically. -- [ must dance away now and polish a couple of new poems. ] == quote from Chris == But you'll never forget how that wench made ya feel As she stoked your fires and tempered your steel
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Post by Von K on Feb 15, 2017 11:12:03 GMT -5
Thanks for the new verses Bux and Chris!
Chris there's a definite Bux influence in your latest stuff, not only bawdy theme but metre and rhyme too.
~:Akivasha:~
In the darkness beneath desert heat Through the pulse of the drums sombre beat, Came a sigh, and a huff, Then the skitter and scuff Of Akivasha’s velvet shod feet.
When Akivasha walked among biers Her kohl shadowed eyes held no fears. Through the tombs she had crept And her dark beauty kept For a black age of long lonely years.
For rich life-blood Akivasha craves, Yet her gruel was the thin blood of slaves, But at last she perused The iron great thews Of a man with the strength of ten braves.
And this man, he was King Conan hight. But alas, he had fled through the night, So she picked out a path O’er his corpse scattered swath To an empyrean flecked with star light.
As Akivasha walked ‘neath the skies Her dark beauty did all hypnotize. Though she must still shun The sharp light of the sun She was queen, and the world was her prize.
~:End:~
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 15, 2017 12:27:54 GMT -5
Thanks for the new verses Bux and Chris! Chris there's a definite Bux influence in your latest stuff, not only bawdy theme but metre and rhyme too. ~:Akivasha:~In the darkness beneath desert heat Through the pulse of the drums sombre beat, Came a sigh, and a huff, Then the skitter and scuff Of Akivasha’s velvet shod feet. When Akivasha walked among biers Her kohl shadowed eyes held no fears. Through the tombs she had crept And her dark beauty kept For a black age of long lonely years. For rich life-blood Akivasha craves, Yet her gruel was the thin blood of slaves, But at last she perused The iron great thews Of a man with the strength of ten braves. And this man, he was King Conan hight. But alas, he had fled through the night, So she picked out a path O’er his corpse scattered swath To an empyrean flecked with star light. As Akivasha walked ‘neath the skies Her dark beauty did all hypnotize. Though she must still shun The sharp light of the sun She was queen, and the world was her prize. ~:End:~Von - great to hear from you! Yes - it's fun to pick up where the Sorceress left off - try to continue her tale round robin as it were - and keep within the metrics as she began her rhyme. Great work on Akivasha by the way! I need to do more Hyborean stuff - had a great time continuing the Conan with Miss Bux. Did you read A Gallows Tree? I really enjoyed the work on that one. Quite a grim tale indeed, and with a dark finale Clark Ashton Smith might have enjoyed.
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Post by Von K on Feb 16, 2017 10:04:46 GMT -5
Hi Chris, yep I think your A Gallows Tree is a great piece of macabre narrative verse, though I think Bux said it best in her reply. Have you thought of writing it up in prose form and sending it in to a horror mag?
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