(Note from writers: the following is an extracted 'off the cuff ' writing played out on Forum on 22/2/09) . EP: Emancipation Planz and HN: Herbert Nehrlich
Tonight… (I not sit on the fence… I put up a signal.. want to play…? ? ?)
There is a game,
tis called ‘On Guard’
as actions make it highly charged
with poke, kissed spoke and steaming smoke …
no fighter may be a barrel of lard
yet, what if he barged
and ran into the bloke
would something be broke......
Butt yes, crush iced and sorbet that melts
buckets of ice cream and heavy metal pelts
and over the fence all warm movements are sought
by sounds of Olay! Olay! where gloves are caught
I see down yonder well armed Celts
wearing white crossbones on their belts,
until they arrive let us lie near this drum
and let me make love to your beautiful bum.
What sort of sport is that called.. de Grope of Foible?
would knights bring archers and jesters swear libel
can jousting weapons be worn over armour so bright
will the queen wave a hanky and cheer her delight?
The sport is called HOPE
not of libel or grope,
the queen wears a hanky
and loves hanky panky
Does she wear foils in her hair or just uses foils in duels?
For thrust and cut or hit and rust, all colours every rules
and sometimes within hope there maybe set match love
as I know within fencing there are knickers, mask and glove
She wears flowers and fern in her hair
tiny braids decorate her true cave
there was talk of a beaver or bear
superseded by one thorough shave.
Tell me indeed of these medieval times,
are there dungeon rack to punish crimes,
castle moats, and princely toasts over mulberry wines
perhaps a round table, where wizards conjure happy signs?
I must show you the dungeons, come reach for my hand
grasp my fingers for comfort, come closer to me
there are thumbscrews and hooks and a huge rubber band
let me tie you with chains to the juniper tree.
butt what of the poor people left out in the village
making bread, shoeing horses, and crops need tillage
perhaps, you just take my hand and guide me out the gate
those torture tings in the dungeons, must surely just wait
Yes, these folks who are truly the salt of the earth
and by chance they were thrust, through a fluke of their birth
into poverty, strife, even pestilence too
come dear girl, I shall show you a way to renew.
We shall stand with our swords to protect and to serve
near the bridge where the road makes that dangerous curve.
Not a single strange villain, not a mental retard
will succeed with their plans as we honour On Guard.
Well thank you kind sir, I desire that the most
when fencing is sturdy and protection serves host
and all characters that glittered as this fable was spoken
was straight off the cuff, but, alas the fairytale woken
… must now say goodnight and fade like a ghost.
HN: It has been soo much fun again. Haven't enjoyed m'self this much since Helmut sat in the stinging nettles, jumped up, tripped and fell into a warm cow pie.
This is of much higher class of course and I know two people who enjoyed doing it and smile at the finished product.
Good enough? You betcha.
Thank you EP for your time again, much appreciated. Hxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.