Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Written by John Swartz
In the dawn we come after a long wait,
Our bones stiff and sore from waiting,
As summers last mists cover the ground,
Its heat haze slowly fade we march to war,
Our war drums beat a rhythm;
Day-ah-ae-ah-ae,
We step in time our kin in arms.
As September fades and comes to past,
We remember our brothers as they step down,
Their long march back to their halls of mead and wine,
We watch their slumber come as we step towards the hall,
Mar a dtosaíonn na duilleoga ag titim muid múscail.
We fear not for ourselves because this is our time,
No mortal man, or Immortal women shall strike us down,
Our leaves are golden, our leaves are blood red,
You can see our warning as we come to our hall,
Our banners warning that something wicked this way comes,
Is é ár armúr cnámh, is iad ár claimhte amach fola,
ní mór dúinn troid a mheabhrú i gcónaí cogaidh,
ach an chuid is mó de seo go léir go bhfuil ár gcuid ama sa Chathaoir.
Our breath is a venomous poison,
Sickish and vile enough to destroy a man,
But yet we use it to help the trees,
To shed the memories of the year and die,
A sleep that has by far been neglected,
But well earned after the passing of the year,
Táimid fuaim na drumaí chogaidh ag luas contúirteacha,
mall cosúil leis an mórshiúl a dhéanann bháis,
ach go tapa agus go mear dhéanaimid stailc.Codladh a thagann chun linn ar fad,
crawling trí na duilleoga marbha mar Dragon,
tá ár lasracha na duilleoga agus an salachar,
an Maple go bhfuil seeps as an adhmad ár gcuimhne;an rud amháin chun fanacht.
As the leaves begin to fall we wake up.
Our armour is bone, our swords are out blood,
we fight to be remembered in times of war but most of all this is our time in the Chair.
We sound the war drums at a dangerous pace,
slow like the march that death makes,
but fast and rapid do we strike.
Sleep comes to us all,crawling through the dead leaves like a dragon,
our flames are the leaves and the dirt, the maple that seeps from the wood is our memory - the only thing to remain.
Haikuwrimo 1
Song of the Seasons
Autumn Leaves
Been a long time! So I thought I might show you the poem that I've been bashing away for some time at my desk at university. It's fairly interesting in the sense I made it different to nearly everything I have written - it has the similar themes to things that have come to past but in reality this is a piece of work in a style I have never done before.
Firstly, the words in Irish, I unfortunately had to use Google Translate for the words but it seems to work out how I wanted it to roughly when shown to someone who could actually read it. I got this idea originally from larping about the Court of Seasons from a fairytale stand point and went a little further with it. I like it - I think it describes itself rather well.
One verse from the whole piece kind of stuck with me in my head; "Something wicked this way comes" it kind of describes the whole piece altogether, roughly. I have to say I loved putting the last stanza, the translation together because it kind of tells the whole poem in a nutshell but in a more blunt, brutal and creepy sense.
Favourite piece so far in my opinion,
More coming soon - Kane.
