Poem: The Pirate’s Rusty Sword
The Pirate’s Rust Sword
A lass on a lark sat strumming a harp on the edge of a sea of strangers.
A man sauntered near, hooded in fear and cloaked in an air of danger.
With steel and a word he forced her to turn and coaxed her unwilling, away.
And the crowd unwise, turned blind eyes, to a woman’s terrible fate.
Our lass loved her freedom and abandoning reason leapt into the briny deep.
But the rascal pursued her, and soon subdued her, binding her hands and feet.
With a rope round her neck the lady was in check, his prize ready to claim.
End over end, he bound her and grinned, more than lust — he loved the game.
They sailed the sea, lady at his knee, retching with the motion of the waves.
And once in his chamber, her unease turned to anger and the lady began to rave.
He laughed and kissed her, squeezed and bit her, and tore at her linen and lace.
She called him a sinner, a blackguard offender, and spit in his handsome face.
He boasted and preened, made much of the scene and the size of his manly sword.
But when he wielded his cutlass he found it lustless and less-than-ready for war.
She begged him be done, let her be or be gone, but he growled and cursed up a storm.
With a yell and kick, he brandished his whip, and took out his fury on her form.
She shivered and wept, but her freedom she kept, and challenge never left her eyes.
The lady lay bleeding, the pirate stood seething and still his sword wouldn’t rise.
Crestfallen at last he unbound the lass and ordered her abandon ship.
Naked and proud she stood at the bow and let triumph curl her lip.
The sun slipped from the clouds and painted her mounds a sweet, honey-gold tint.
With a graceful leap she fled to the deep, her laughter sweet in the wind.
The rogue’s knees went weak, he couldn’t speak, his staff was finally full mast!
The pirate was done. Our Lady had won. Damn rusty sword and honey-sweet ass!
~Sage
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Poem: Ode to a Mighty Huntress
This is a satire. You have to know culture and animals to get some of the humor.
——————
Ode to a Mighty Huntress
A fierce captor of fragile souls,
my Huntress has be-spelled me.
Her fiery hair, red as a larl’s tail
and smelling as sweet.
Her eyes, keen as a vart’s,
sparkle when she laughs.
Her smile, toothy and wide
but serene as a kaiila.
Her lusty hips draw the eye,
sleek as a kailiauk.
Her fair temper, mild as a verr,
is known far and wide.
She stalks streets, forests and fields.
Her footsteps, like distant thunder.
Oaks quake in awe as she passes.
Their girth no match for her thighs.
~Sage
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Poem: Hunger
Hunger
She wraps herself in remnants of freedom
Cast-off ribbons and a tattered veil
Broken heart empty as her stomach
Her once-lush form now thin and pale
She watches the crowd flow past her
their eyes pay her no heed
In linen and leather they move onward
no care for her ache or her need
Across the square she sees a north man
axe slung across his broad back
at his knee a red-haired kajira
whom he treats with a rare, sweet snack
His hands hold a candy ‘tween his fingers
those hands so calloused and hard
Tenderly on her lips they linger
Possessively her body they guard
Such a marvel the hands of warrior
Dealing death or pleasure with a touch
If her hunger was heavy upon her
she might trade freedom for such
Across the square the man’s eyes catch hers
and she blushes caught in her yearning
She wraps herself in pride and freedom
and walks onward, her hunger still burning
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Poem: The angel and the cat
The angel and the cat
Storm-blue eyes
And raven-wing hair
Haunt his sleeping mind
Her impish grin,
sharp nails, soft skin
He’d drift of each night to find
With a hiss
Before even a kiss
Our dreamer is rudely roused
Furs thrown back
Bleary eyes go black
Damn larl again in the house
And so it is
when most men dream
they chase but rarely trap
That dream girl
Angelic companion
And Hellcat in the sack
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Poem: Fried vulo eggs and a side of chaos
Fried vulo eggs and a side of chaos
Bandit stalked to the kitchen fire
determination in her eyes
She was gonna have some vulo eggs
hot and salty and fried
She stoaked the fire and cracked the eggs
and quickly smoke did churn
And Bandit ran from the firey scene
and screamed “The Sleen does burn!
… um, again.”
~Sage
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Gorean Lymrics
There once was a merchant of fleece
Quite smitten with a Lady of Samris
When his hands roamed unbeckoned
She swayed his affections
With a graceful knee to his cod piece
—————————
There once was a Lady from Tharna
Who most enjoyed her ka-la-na
Her beauty was envied
And one day for pennies
Her cup was laced with kanda
————————-
There once was a slave named Sandy
Who tasted like honey-dipped candy
with lips like cherries
and nips like berries
A warrior can’t help but be randy
————————
There once was a Slaver with gout
Who enjoyed a long evening out
After roast tarsk and paga
Our Slaver’s life saga
Ends with the old man passed out
———————–
An official, pompous dick
Threatens a gal with a stick
Running away, she lives another day
With only her pride being pricked”
———————–
There once was a chief of a port
who chased a lowly urt
She slipped by him twice
and like the luck of the dice
he never hit her once with his quirt”
———————–
There once was a drunk named Cutter
Who kicked and cursed like no other
With a mean appetite
He feasted every night
And now he’s a big bowl of blubber”
———————–
The baker lass woke at dawn
and cursed the endless kneeding
by midmorn her fire burned hot
her buns sticky and steaming”
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