[Brightfire]

Here are a few poems from my friends and I. They asked me to put theirs in to get more opinions on them, so here they are, including some of my own works.

Our Urban World
Towering obelisks of cemented grey
Ascending like monoliths above the fray
Of our urban world, so very fast
Modern mirrors of mountains past
Cars, buses, bikes and trains
Thread their way through countless lanes
A continuous flow of vehicular madness
Rivers of carbon, streams of sadness
Endless crowds of bobbing heads
Marching like the living dead
Tired and hungry, yet machines they be
Surviving on coffee and sleeping no sleep
An endless mass of silhouettes
Like mountains against the sun as it sets
Yet luminous, it’s lights releasing a resplendent glow
Even at night, our cities still go and go
An urban spread of gunmetal grey
Horizon and beyond, stretching far away
Blanketing the lush green with a gut-wrenching dullness
Destroying the nature, immortal and ageless

St. Patrick's Day
There is a day, every year
That fills our hearts with glee
The day we dress from head to toe
In a brilliant Irish Green!
We set out, upon the town
To celebrate and cheer
For good old Saint Patrick
And to down a bit o’ beer!
Why paint the town red?
Today she dons the colour
Of vast and rolling clover fields
In a truly Irish manner!
Beer, Lager
And a hell of a lot of Guinness
The day-long party, everywhere worldwide!
Except for Scotland of course!
Ah, good ole St. Paddy’s day
Where everyone has fun
So grab something green, maybe a shamrock
Hurry up, before the day’s done!

The following poem is currently untitled, but the working title is: War - A Regret.
A newborn babe in the hands of a nurse
Such an innocent child, carrying a terrible curse
For this young life would grow up to be a man
A man of war, others dying at his hand
Throughout his schooling he did read stories
Of wartimes past, events of glory
He learnt the ways of artillery and guns
In this respect, he was second to none
Eight years later, the time was nigh
The Eleventh Hour, his spirits were high
He and his friends were off to war
To defend the King and Country he did stand for
Yet in his moment of trigger glee
The reality of war he did see
His comrades’ lives were promptly snuffed out
Never to hear their friend’s terrified shouts
Lines of men, each with their story
Turned down by bullets, offered no mercy
Pointless deaths over petty fights
Fought by men with no future in sight
The glorious image of war he sought
Was not to be found in the battle he fought
He did eventually settle down
In a small, yet happy country town
In this town he did grow old
With a lass who found him bold
Even though years have passed
That picture still forms behind eyes glassed

Today, his end is nigh
Yet still he sees, in his mind’s eye
The bloodstained image of glorious war
It destroyed him; it was what he lived for
Perhaps it was by fate’s own hand
That he should survive the war-torn land
To live out his life in misery and regret
That image of hell he could never forget.

Silent Death
A cruel and devious entity
Of no heart, mind or soul
An empty shell of espionage and subterfuge
Born to kill and maim, that’s all
An invisible wildfire, it wields death
Like a blade forged in hell
Spreading through water, animals and people alike
Tales of punishment and torture it tells
It would plant its seed, and allow it to spread
Its roots bringing despair and misery
The unseen killer, the obliterator
Leaving families torn and weary
That is the plague, of disease and illness
That set its heartless eyes upon London
Destroying it, punishing it, for no reason at all
Devastating its prosperity and abundance

Legacy (also "A Tale of Life After Death")
A dead man
Is a shell
A shell of rotten flesh encasing crumpled bones
And a story to tell
Graveyards and cemeteries
Spook those of the weak mind
But to those who are optimistic
They are libraries with books in line
Like soldiers
They stand tall and proud
The blurb of the story
They tower over like clouds
The heart and soul of each tale
However epic or bold
Must be repeated and told by the family
Of the great yet gone soul
A dead man
Is a story
A story that must be told
Not as legend, but legacy.

So there they are. There are some more I might edit in, but until then, that's all for now!

[Saphruikan]

I absolutely loved these poems! You and your friends definitely have a lot of talent. I liked how you gave poems of several diferent kinds - non-rhyming, rhyming every second verse, etc. Please, by all means, continue.

I can't believe it, September 19 you posted those, and no reviews?

[Brightfire]

Yeah, haha, I've been checking every few days. And thanks, by the way. I tend to vary my styles sometimes, from dark stuff, to deep stuff. The St. Patrick's Day one was from my friend, they tend to be a happier writer than me

[Saphruikan]

I'm definitely recommending you.

Love the avvy, BTW.