~~~The ESB Calzaghe v. Kessler POETRY PICTORIAL~~~

His fists are flurrying about in whirling.
All the while the crowd cries for red.
The manager cares only for sterling.
So on Kessler he made his bet.

The crowd found out responded.
"You are a Judas, die ****ing ****!".
- "Thank you! My house you funded",
The manager said rather blunt.

 

I bet it will be good - you seem to have creative thinking. I am all out. I need a muse.

 

CHJ:

I am thinking<Comma> thinking in words <Fullstop>
But ideas are being blocked <exclamation mark>
Not even inspired by singing birds <Fullstop>
Where art thou <Comma> Muse <Questionmark> I am ****ed <Fullstop>

 

:rofl very good

 

Yet you find yourself using rhymes,
While producing Kessler phobia.
And aiming at his fans in chimes.
JC will only beat Kessler in Utopia.

 

Here is my effort:

On a cold autumn's night in Wales,
Early in the month of November,
A battle which lead to many tales,
About the fight all would remember.

70,000 cheered the Italian Dragon,
Whilst Danish voices sang for their Viking,
Fine ales were drunk by the Flagon,
Has their ever been a bout this exciting?

12 rounds of boxing were fought,
And both warriors battled like lions,
With the jab each chin was often caught,
But it seemed they were made of iron.

It was a shame there had to be a decision,
But in their hearts all knew the reality,
That the "slaps" had the day won,
And the undisputed champ was Calzaghe.

 

****ing excellent stuff :yep

 

Cheers!

 

Very well done, Matthew.

 

On a cold winters day, the icy storm came from the east.
In the horizon, through fogs of snow, a foreign ship made way.
Breaking through thick layers of ice, slowly gain day by day.
Aboard this foreign ship, hardened men prepared the feast.
Yet another hunger was in their eyes, those of a beast.

The morning of 2nd day of November, they landed all ashore.
Scouting ravens were sent in three directions seeking prey.
Battleready men prepared for promise of death by end of day.
High noon reached its peak, quivering by icy touch in core,
two ravens returned to the fold; thralls was in store.

Splitting group in two, they trodded west and south.
The day reached its end, outline of a village drew near.
Battlelust turned to craze, as potions removed all fear.
Drugged with no subtlety they stormed foaming from mouth.
Slaying farmers and soldiers alike, women wondering howeth?

Corpses laid scatted and broken, yet men never changed course.
Women were shamed, village of joy became one of sorrow.
Fear in eyes, boys defended sisters, hope empty and hollow.
Snapped like twigs, from force of axe, souls returned to source.
How could they know, what they saw, was the way of the Norse.

 

The Blocky prediction comes true.
Calzaghe thrashes Kessler into oblivion
JC fans laugh and unite in glory
The end.

 

Blocky stop hacking other peoples accounts.