Im jut wondering if anyone else has tried their hand at writing anything, poetry/songs/spoken word or such.
I do a bit myself so I thought Id start a thread.

Heres one I just wrote.

Up in the causeway,
We sit on the broken chairs,
swilling the cheap vodka,
and talking about dares.

the colours of our fingers,
are bright aerosol blues,
and the smell of the paint,
filters thru as fumes.

as the vodka takes its toll,
we talk about heaven,
and also of hell,
while we throw the empty cannons in the bin.

Our hoodies zipped tight,
and the masks sit firm,
we write,
and only think short term.

Hey random! I actually used to write poetry in college but i've kinda stopped. I'll have to dig some of them out!!!:p

I used to have a whole heap of them, but i cleaned out and deleted them all. Im now writing new ones.

Cool! We will have to swap some poems!!!:)

This is an old Norwegian drinking poem passed down in my family that was often sung during weddings back in the old viking days. It was actually banned in the late 1800's as it was believed to be the devils tune.



In the hardened days of yore

when with beer and brawn

the knives of Halling Dale

from their sheats were often drawn

when women to the feast

funeral shirts would bring

with which they would swathe

their dead husbands in

there once took place a a wedding

somewhere in Hemse Dale

where song and dance had ceased

and the men did ring the vale.

In the center of the floor

framed by broad-shouldered men

stood two with knives unsheated

and a leather belt round them



And like columns carved

unmoving, serene

stood four other men

as guardians of the scene

They lifted burning torches

toward the blackened beams

where curls of smoke collected

to a dark and brooding stream



In vain two women try

howling, to stem

the living wall of bodies

raised before them

Angrily they're thrown back

and left to despair

while the fiddler quietly sidles

towards the cellar stair.



Down he goes to tap the beer

for the winner of the fight

may have need to kiss

the rim of the bowl tonight.

Within the belt they'll duel,

blood running like sap

the vein will need refilling

from the beer casket tap.



But entering the cellar

he saw a bluish glow

someone sitting on the casket

tuning fiddle, holding bow.

But this one held backwards

tightly to his chest

and as soon as it was tuned

put his fiddle to the test.



There came a song of wonder;

It rang like angry words,

Like steel bite into wood

Like fists rammed into boards.

It jubilantly roamed

Around the darkened cellar hall

And came to a halt

At the sound of a fall



Quietly the fiddler listened

to the mighty flow

It was like the music's eddies

went down his spine and brow.

He quickly asked the other

"Where did you learn that song?"

The answer: "Don't you mind that,

But remember it - for long!"



But as the fiddler bent down

Reaching for the tap

He beheld a horny hoof

against the casket rap

He forgot to tap the beer

And ran up to the hall

Just as the men were lifting

The body from the fall



Fanitullen it is called

This wild and haunting spell

And in Halling Dale they play it

And they play it well

And when its tune is singing

to beer and feast and brawn

again knives of Halling Dale

from their sheats are quickly drawn

is it a family one, or can I try memorise it to sing loudly in the pub when Im getting drunk?

Feel free to sing it loudly and proudly...I can even get you the original version in Norwegian if you really want to be bad ass :D

hmmmm, I think Ill stick with the english. I have been told I do slip into other languages when Im drunk, so I dont want to confuse that anymore.

yeah, many years ago!:D

The elephant is a pretty bird

It flits from bough to bough

It makes it's nest in the rhubarb tree

And whistles like a cow



It was in the month of Liverpool

In the city of July

The rain was snowing heavily

And the streets were very dry



(hic)