"claymore" poems
I once almost cursed
the final performance
of a wonderful play I
had the fortune of being
a part of it
The play was Romeo and Juliet on Verona Street
Set in the 1930’s
I didn’t do anything important
Carried two bodies
Got in a fight
Smuggled some beer
Called a mob boss
Delivered a package
and
Investigated two dead bodies in
mime
but waiting on my final role
during the final performance
of this oh so wonderful
production I reached out to
a friend of mine (his name was
Paul but he played the Prince)
and told him
“I’d love to direct
MacBeth”
He did a double-take
Asked me what I said
I said again
“I’d love to direct
MacBeth”
“You mean the Scottish
Tragedy?”
I held my mouth in shock
I knew better
That name was cursed
Paul told me all was not lost
there was a way to reverse the curse
just listen close he said
Take your fingers in a peace sign
Spit between them
Swear (I said “son of a *****
Turn around one,
two,
three times
Then leave the dressing room
And come back
I did all
and Paul was relieved
but Romeo chimed in
“well you know we have to circumcise you right?”
Paul added
“Yeah, with a Claymore!”
Don’t ever wish me luck,
I might break my leg!
I still want to direct MacBeth
and to show I’m serious I even
bought the script!
All that’s left is to get a stage,
and some money, and some
actors and maybe some talent
to go with my almost obnoxious
amount of luck
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
*Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.
'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.
He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."
Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.
By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.
Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.*
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
They chase them down
through field and town
intending then to eat em'
with plastic forks
and champagne corks
they wallop and they beat em'
They chase by day
and most the night
though I can't understand em'
through thistle grass
and snowy pass
with knives they roughly brand em'
With Caber tossed
and y-fronts lost
these skirted men assault em'
big burly men
with beards yer ken
you really cannot fault em'
With claymore sharp
and Scottish harp
they catch and set to roast em'
with whiskey ryes
And blood shot eyes
these hunters fair do toast em'
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
Och! Airn an' Thwndir!
An' Urquhart's Wae Verra Hel!
Great Warlike Glamis' Firey,
An' Hwmyd Loch Doon's Orrah!
Downe! Downe! tae thad howch owre miserable!
Ye a' swithe hame, hame! wae ma Airn ***
An' weile 'yont yondir Suthron!
Waefu', waefu' heyre Ah! War-Ironclad heyne Ȝell,
Wae burr-thistle’s Gowlin’ Storne Micht!
Frae ma verra, verra! Ah ageyne!
Tae the Cauld Enraged Wynde
Unco! intae Æternall Battle Scorchin'
Towardis Moorlan Chain Mail-Bosom o' mine!
O'er an' o'er IT! increasingly thro' Force returnin',
Wae ma verra Blacklyn Tartan o' War heyne,
An' Silvery Brooch, wi'in yondir Lone Sceadewe!
Unco! wae the Rubye Stane deep-shimmerin'
Naixt tae Carham's Gory Landis, an' the Targe-Hell,
Thro’ nowe Tune Martial, stick-an-stowe Ȝell!
Airn-Curse Core-Firey, Hye-Flamin' IT!
Heyne unco rychte Airn-Moorlan o'er ye a'!
Ah, bye nowe the FEUDAL OWAR-MANN!
'Yont thad Auld Whunstane Tower-Shrine
Togider wae Lang Titanium-Claymore, Airn-Dazzlin'
An' ne'er, ne'er, IT! stick-an-stowe tae wane!
Wi'in theis Bluish Fyre syne! Verra War-Swaird Rairan IT,
Intae Thae Hringiren Æternall, Thwndir-Devastatin' o' mine!
QVOAD FEODALE MEA CVM RVBRA SPATHA
ET RELVCENTE HOC SCVTO AC FVLMINE NIVEO
SCOTORVM INTRA HANC TEMPESTATEM MAGNAM
QVÆ FLOS IGNEVS EST TONITRVO NOMINE ALTO
NEMO GELIDO HOC LOCO IMPVNE ME LACESSIT.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
night
under jungle canopy
was dark as a cave.
at twilight
you crept
two hundred meters out
from the perimeter.
you and another.
the radio,
two claymore mines,
M-16s-three clips each-
half a dozen grenades,
pop-up flares,
and four canteens of water.
fear fed thirst.
you opened two packets
of instant coffee,
spilled them into your mouth,
washed them down,
and felt your head jitter
all night long.
there was always sound.
jungle rats or snakes,
maybe even tigers,
or NVA probing the lines.
if there were many of them,
you sent up the flares,
fired into the dark,
detonated the claymores,
and were the first to die.
(I was M-60 machine gunner with the Ninth Marines in South
Vietnam, 1968. LP is a military acronym for ’listening post.’ )
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 5:20 AM UTC
Once across a Caledonia dreary, whose Echo,
Amid the Jötnar, was MAN, I wandered hurt and weary,
Until yon Glare, with deadly Rage flaming,
Lo! I beheld, next to the Iron Gates
Of a long-forgotten Ruin named still
After incorruptible Titanium.
A noble, finely engraved feudal Vest,
Under a Luminary invisible, implacable,
Shone thither with a Glare fiercer, methought,
Than that of the rubies at warlike Valhalla,
Amid Walls time-eaten, kingly Banners, and proud Towers,
And dwelt there in melting Titanium.
Deep memories of martial Woe
Like an arrow piercing my ***** and aimed
Thro' the Night with lethal Glare,
No barrier was there to be found
Between my Past yielding and this conquering Robe
With Runes marked deep in Titanium.
Thus I remembered having once graved,
In revered silence and solitary anger,
Into the Glare, within the Hills, upon the Dust,
The Emblem of the OVERMAN,
Which thou may again now see gleaming,
With pride Superhuman, o'er this garb of Titanium.
My Enemy Wraith haunting me no more,
Into a most profane dying hour,
I walked forth, to wear of the Armour of the Glare the worth,
And felt, intensely, from the Zenith of a most fiery Heaven,
The Rays from the Stars imbuing my Very Gore
With blinding, rageful Titanium.
Hereupon, with Cuirass thus worn, I bethought me of boldly ascending,
With heavy Claymore drawn, in a Guard of the Hawk,
At Ultima Thule, of the Bluish Glare, the Hidden Rock,
And at its scorching Crest, with Blade o'er me flashing, widened my gathering Breast,
The Largest Mirror, the Highest Beacon, aye,
Before the wild Blaze molten down in Titanium.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 3:12 AM UTC
For many years we have stood side by side
Unthinkable to contemplate your loss
If you should leave, bereft we would abide
And both of us must count the heavy cost
We have not always been the best of friends
I know you feel our union was forced
But all those ****** battles had to end
Since then do our achievements count for nought?
The whole is better than the sum of parts
Oh Caledonia, it's up to you
Is our historic partnership to last
Or do we have to bid a friend adieu
By voting, not by battle you decide
Remain, or by the claymore sever ties
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
The second hand a rapier
The hour hand, a longsword
And the minutes are my claymore
Armored with the twelve as I push forward
The face is the shield
The gears inside by my command spin or yield
My arsenal is time itself, ticking as I walk
Slaying all of my fears with each sound of a tock
The seconds are my soldiers, loyal and true
The hours are my guardians, great, but few
The moments are precious, hold them dear
Time is the ultimate force, weild it to control eternity
Take control of your destiny
Reinforceing dreams considerably
There is a person and future for which I weild tick and tock
And I have the aid and power of an ever revolving clock
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
1. If the enemy is in range, so are you.
2. Incoming fire has the right of way.
3. Don't look conspicuous, it draws fire.
4. There is always a way.
5. The easy way is always mined.
6. Try to look unimportant, they may be low on ammo.
7. Professionals are predictable, it's the amateurs that are
dangerous.
8. The enemy invariably attacks on two occasions:
a. When you're ready for them.
b. When you're not ready for them.
9. Teamwork is essential, it gives them someone else to shoot at.
10. If you can't remember, the claymore is pointed at you.
11. The enemy diversion you have been ignoring will be the main
attack.
12. A ******* chest wound" is natures way of telling you to slow
down.
13. If your attack is going well, you have walked into an ambush.
14. Never draw fire, it irritates everyone around you.
15. Anything you do can get you shot, including nothing.
16. Make it tough enough for the enemy to get in and you won't be
able to get out.
17. Never share a foxhole with anyone braver than yourself.
18. If you are short of everything but the enemy, you are in a
combat zone.
19. When you have secured an area, don't forget to tell the enemy.
20. Never forget that your weapon is made by the lowest bidder.
21. Friendly Fire Isn't.
And Mike's Three Corollaries:
1, Keep your head down.
2. Never pick up anything off the ground.
3. Never, ever, trust the locals, especially children.
Compiled by mce
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
Emotions I feel are just like clumsy words,
And my brain smells like a bookstore.
My dreams are like one-winged birds,
Like expert detectives with nothing to look for.
.-. --- .... .--. .- - . --
My opinions, unbiased and unheard,
Are heavy yet biting, like the strike of a claymore.
My comforts aren't all empty words,
Understanding and kindness are all I aim for.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Feel my breath blowing like a gale , the gael without fail,
I inhale and exhale the flames of hell,
Born hellbent-repent!
you’re scurrying in gullies while I seek your Scent...
SNIFFFF-grrrrrrrr! -that’s the sound of doom,
You’re better off digging in a pharoh’s tomb,
No room to escape the breath that melts cold steel
You’re a rabbit in my headlights fear my moulten hot claws of steel,
I breathe oxygen and nitrogen to exhale the red hot blast to seal your fate,
Best debate, best berate, get your estate in order one blast of rhyme its all over.
You’re a scorchmark against a granite wall,
Been burnt to a crisp by the firestorm from hell,
Well welcome to hell do you feel the heat?
Sandman slim-dragon never fears defeat,
20 years here spittin’ in the underground,
Now its time to take place in the sound that’s found,
In an Irish no go area, the gates of Mordor,
The Irish Dragon - draggin you to a state of ******
grrrr!-claws like claymore’s rake across your face
as I prepare to ignite,take flight,seal your fate...
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
Oh yes ...
no its true,
******* & dancin' at Studio 54,
just like a jungle patrol with ever present
chance of immediate death
or dreadful injury
from claymore mines
or shit-smeared
bunji sticks,
or a bullet from nowhere
that shatters your head
and leaves your brains
all over
the man
behind you.
Oh yes ...
no really,
seducing an upcoming starlet
in his luxury pad,
well its just like
coming across
the charred
remains of
napalmed children,
weeping mothers
shell-shocked granmas,
no! ... it is!
Oh yes ...
seriously,
dining on rare steaks,
lobster & caviar
in his effort to
impress and
get a piece,
is just like
cold rations,
wet clothes,
leeches,
& festering
oozing wounds.
Oh yes ...
uh huh fa sure,
Trump's New York days
compare so well
to 58,000 U.S dead
and oh yes,
several million Vietnamese,
bombed,
shot,
obliterated,
incinerated.
Oh yes.
Donald J. Trump,
had it hard,
by God
he did.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
In the year 1332, at auld Dupplin Moor,
Wi' a shimmering Dagger of War,
Ah pierced the Looking Glass,
And amid so wild a Fire Mass,
Ironclad and devastating,
Mine awn Wraith cam.
Owre He beheld me!
His Claymore gleaming, unsheathed,
Into a darkness no one could see,
Ghaist, I winna yield to thee!
Across yon shield wa, quo' He,
In tyme of war ah threw myself,
Wi' gilded Targe and unforgiving Fury,
High flames falling athwart my iron wame,
While thoosan times boiling wapin fell
O'er that clan of skellums (Wundor Sceawian!)
Frae the white barbican, before the black well,
While thoosan times rising nae fellow-mortal
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts
Ironclad frae the Fire;
But now man, to my warlike whisper do listen:
Ere the rust, in robes of Time,
Shall curse thy blade,
Airn fist ye maun ay wear,
To hold the Firestorm,
To avenge yon star shining still,
And auld Duntulm's stane,
Sae ah shall be strolling forth
In battle ahead of thee!
And when before Dirleton's Wa,
Wi' Colour of Hell reddening,
And next to auld South Ruin,
Yell warlike, enraged Wha Daur!
To thy enemies, and to thy consumed flesh
Doomed I say no longer
Within a forerunning Shade of Death;
And now advance! thy lane, and faithfu'
To thy auld Emblem of Steel,
Whar moorlan winds gaed,
Whar Immortality gleamingly dwells.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC
The castle was smaller than I’d thought
In the Scottish countryside,
It sat in a hollow called Claymore Court
Where all the defenders died,
The signs of cannon, pounding the towers
Were there in the crumbled walls,
And shrubs grew out of the rubbled bowers
While trees took root in the halls.
I sensed a touch of hostility
The moment I reached the gate,
For Angus’s friendability
Came on just a little late,
We’d both attended the Priory School
But that had been way back then,
And I, in parting, called him a fool,
He wouldn’t remember when.
But he did us proud with a suckling pig
And a quart of **** o’ the North’,
Marie, who knew him, was ever so big
And sat with me, holding forth.
I had no mind that he felt so strong,
I’d have left the woman at home,
He had this feeling I’d done him wrong
When I coaxed Marie to roam.
And there she sat with a month to go
Way out in front with our bairn,
I didn’t know it would crease him so
But there, you live and you learn.
He coaxed her drink, with a dreadful leer
Pressed on her **** o’ the North,
It wasn’t as if she was drinking beer
Or water, for all that it’s worth.
We went to bed in a tower room
When the moon rose over the glen,
It felt to me like a Highland tomb
As it was to my clan back then,
Marie began to moan in the night
That the bairn was coming forth,
It had a skinful, thanks to Marie
Of that liquor, **** o’ the North.
And Angus heard and he came to gloat
When he heard that she couldn’t hold,
I dropped him there, head first in the moat
To a grave both wet and cold.
Marie and I, we sit in the barn
And the blame swings back and forth,
What price my friend, and a helpless bairn
To a jar of **** o’ the North?
David Lewis Paget
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
I can disassemble
an automatic weapon
in the dark,
pull a pin on a grenade,
set a claymore mine,
drive a twelve-ton tracked
& Humvee vehicle.
I can also use my hands
to ****
Thanks Mister Government
for these great life skills,
unnecessary things
I'll never use
on the outside
to make a clean living.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Beyond the gaze of gold,
Sterile fangs reign.
Overpowering the human inside.
Hungering for revenge,
You awaken into a being.
More powerful than any soul.
Yoma,
Born to ****
Claymore,
The hybrid witch of our world..
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Jed charged forth with a mighty roar
Karadain was first to fight
Thunder ripped and skies they tore
The clash of swords was an awesome sight
Karadain, he moved with grace
Jedediah stood his ground
Every slash and ****** a waste
Parried with a ringing sound
Jed's claymore soon made it's mark
Silence played a simple song
He ****** it through Karadain's heart
To take a life was never wrong
Solotris bowed his head in shame
Friend or not he didn't care
Life was gone as soon it came
It seemed the fight was hardly fair
Drawing faith in many spades
Solotris began to march
Courage was what courage made
He raised his sword in a deadly arch
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
One night a very young man sat in a jungle foxhole, an M-16 cradled in his arms and all his nerves twitching outside his skin. First night in Indian Country.
The darkness was octopus inky and his heart fluttered doom. Roots pained his *** and ants nipped his body. His lust for daylight was a ********* in a kindergarten. Nothing moved, continuously and at once. He inhaled fear, exhaled terror and knew despair.
Beside him, a comrade slept the agitated, concentration camp slumber of the ****** but he was more awake than he would ever be again.
He felt it before he saw it, felt it gliding there where nothing could possibly be.
Before him, a spider web of death awaited its prey. Claymore mines, strung from bush to branch, waited for the gentle caress that would explode their lethal lead fruit in a shit-storm of destruction.
Nothing could pass through it alive, yet something loomed in the murk.
A sudden hairline fracture broke the clouds and a single moon ray defined the big cat's sleek body, reflected its yellow feline eye. A panther black as nightmare walked untouched through this garden of death and then vanished.
His heart surged hope. The slithering dreads departed. That cat had walked where nothing could and silently survived. So might he.
- mce
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Awaken o' youth of legend
It is time to bring evil the end
On your own accord
you will raise your sword
-Oh, wait is that a rapier?
I'm sorry things got hazier
over on the scri-what? It's a claymore
now? This is getting really sore
Excuse me? It's apparently an estoc
Those aren't very easy to block
with but-wait nevermind, I think it's a katana?
Ok, whatever, do you just wanna
"cut" to the chase?
Woah wait it's not a mace
Dont expect me to rhyme
every line... all the time
Sorry this has gotten out of hand
But, I hope you understand
That it doesn't matter what it is
You are our hero who will finish this
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
Our pentarchy has fallen, and
a monarchy sits, lonely, in its place
We was always five
We is now I
Us is me
Scepter and Crown
Laurels and Claymore
I the Judge
I the Jester
I the Confessor
I the Standard Bearer
I the Knight
You—deserters every One
Before, we ruled together
Queens, we all,
In a kingdom without Kings
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
Skellums! Intae doomed countra
Ironclad ah dwell,
Claymore flashing in yon mirror,
And o'er the dreary muir.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 12:09 PM UTC
Stick your head above the trench
smell the stench
clench your cheeks,
I've got 20/20
plenty of time to dodge
the bullets that seek to
destroy me but
having read the rules of warfare where there's
nothing fair, I no longer care
there's a Claymore with my name on it and
one day I'll be hit and blown apart,pulled off the
battlefield,as dead as God, in the ambulance cart.
Until that time I shall spend some time in the mud and grime talking to
Harry who's last name is not Lime although he's heard of him,
sometimes in the trench the humour's grim but we grin and bear because we no longer care.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
Neither Happy Nor Sad..
Neither happy nor sad, not anymore
To be either is like embracing a claymore,
It's but a trance and one must endure
Laughter or dismay is not the answer,
To be immune to such upheavals
Is key to the eternal elements,
Shun these robes and become transparent
Embrace Serenity, the only relevant.
(Khan, BA)
12/06/2018
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC