(I have read the rules however the poem that I'm submitting does contain at least one swear word. It is not an attack at anyone so I would appreciate it being left on purely as that's the way this poem has been written and I would like my poem reviewed in its current form. If someone raises a complaint then fair enough, I'll accept this poem's deletion but I refuse to paraphrase at this point or it will likely sound far too twee to keep the mood inkeeping with the rest of the poem.)

I

Take up your claymores,
Hone up your tomahawks,
These are the latter days,
In which bastards brazen stand to raze and claw.

They have grown so mighty,
A people of painful notoriety,
Their claim to infamy,
A sacrifice in morals and that of their piety.

Root and branch exchange place,
Notions of common good shall be erased.
A cold winter curse,
And the culprit flails a crushing mace.

With your name still intact,
And others watching your back,
Here we hold,
To prepare for their vitriolic attack.

It’s now been two years since then,
Fates conspire to endanger you again,
Now I’m no longer on your side,
And I’ll no longer otherwise pretend.

You don’t know what you take,
When you ravage your foe’s wife wide awake,
And now I swear,
Your heart I will crush and your eyes I shall rake.

Listen to the sound of shuffling feet,
And by the water comes my fleet,
A pincer to lock you in,
And thus administer your swift defeat.

I always had that which you lacked,
As you never thought before you’d act,
Now as it stands,
Neither your name or body remain intact.

II

In the Isle of the Mighty a new babe is born,
A new hope for redemption for the land so war torn,
Over whom I shall take care,
As of now we have few arms to bear,
It is my hope that he’ll never see a war.

There’s a sorceress hidden in the wind,
Dark incantations she weaves and spins,
As she plans to make me lay down my resolve,
As in her eyes I’ll evolve,
But it’s already been too many times I’ve sinned.

The constraints here, I’ve never seen such,
Such foul intent, it’s hard to worry overmuch,
My sword maybe gone but my shield arm is strong,
It serves to keep me from her forked tongue,
A fitting barrier against Beelzebub’s touch

Fifteen years down the line,
The young one endures as do I,
Skilled in combat, should the worst come,
The sorceress will wait till I’m undone,
Yet to the end, her will, I will defy.

And still I cling to the sea,
On a voyage leading to manifest obscurity,
Send me not from your sight,
Into the sterile, mid-winter night,
So I can avenge the heart torn from me.

I endure the curse of the father,
Amidst the encroaching lava,
A figure stands veiled in smoke,
One for whose terror many awoke,
Of devils you know and don’t, which would you rather?

Standing where obsidian castles challenge the sky,
Where festering corpses of those poorer lie,
Given to desperation,
In the face of annihilation,
It can’t be foolhardy to try.

III

The tumultuous storms carry overhead,
The quickenings of sorrows and triumphs,
Sun and moon lock together,
The sickly sight fills my heart with dread.

Morning comes as the peaks embrace the amethyst sky,
The march begins,
A malign presence flitters in the dew,
We go with our hands on our hearts, swords as sharp as our eyes.

Lo and behold, they launch the first attack,
Sinews burst, adrenaline takes hold,
Following the hacked and mutilated limbs,
They shan’t be hard to track.

We set up camp for some reprieve,
Fire crackles, we have skewered meat,
A feast fit for kings,
After our strength’s restored we prepare to leave.

We, racing, track them through the wood,
Its memories of footsteps aid us in our quest,
Alas they have ventured further than we knew,
Yet, to attack us, there’s a price to pay in blood.

We pursue as far as we dare,
Alas they are further still,
Frustrated, our quarry changed,
With fortune, better this time, I hope we fare.

Our quarry comes into sight,
A figure of sinister elegance,
Adorned in light armour, she challenges us,
Many of my men are decimated in the fight.

I attack with all my might,
She deftly parries every move I make,
Tells me to stop holding back,
I refuse to succumb to the will of such a blight.

In victory and defeat,
I lie as the breath leaves my frame,
I know to destroy the devil’s grasp,
What I’ve accomplished is no meagre feat.

I take this to be a submission to WC although it is under its own separate heading. Well you say you have read the rules Joshua and I presume you have read the earlier parts of the thread so you know what you are in for.

The Isle Of The Mighty is horrible and I am loathe even to call it a poem. This is a trite story of an Arthurian style fantasy island including blood thirsty combat with sorceresses. The stuff of low quality war game scenarios.

There is no rhythm or flow to the piece. It doesn't have any recognisable metre.

The opening seems to be a prophet type leader making a call to arms, but then it slips into a tedious third person narration of the story which switches on occasion to first person account.

The use of language is clumsy, naiive and at times pretentious.

I am not going to go through the work and make observations in detail because it would be very boring and many times longer than this over long 'poem'.

Sorry again Joshua. Scrap it. Read and listen to lots of poetry. Talk to other poets, find a worthwhile subject that really moves you and write again.

I see you don't like to break it gently. Looking at it again in light of your comments, you're right. Consider it scapped.

Was this a write club submission???