Poems, stories, and scraps — both new and old. [☆ = best stuff] [CLASSIC = written long ago]
Unfinished poems, both old and new
Interesting poem intro. I’m going through some old computer files, and had to confirm (through multiple searches) that this wasn’t already posted on this site.
Among the dur trees, dark forboding –
Past the kleff of Ichy Lore,
In the shadow of Mur Mountain
Stood the village of Kaborr.
All were blind within the village.
None knew what it was to see.
Another short poem intro from a handful of years ago.
If I lived a thousand years
And each one seemed a day –
Each hour would be a second.
This is an exercise in poetic cadence that I wrote a handful of years ago.
One of the things that lives
Just doesn’t give
Too much for feeling.
Each of us always knows
That nothing grows
Above the ceiling.
I want to hear the news
About your shoes –
The ones with leather.
This is — weirdly — a poem version of a story I wrote (here). Not sure which came first, the story or the poem. One theory is that I wrote the story from the poem — because I took a creative writing class when I had a HUGE class load, and was just submitting whatever to meet the obligations of the creative writing class.
He walked amidst the forest, towering
The scent of pine pervades his senses
The trees were tall and were spaced widely
The ground was flat, though slightly rising
The trees were big around their middles
Both his arms could not surround one
And there was no brush below them
Only needles twigs and pine cones
Fallen needles hushed his coming
But the birds knew of his presence
Muted singing in the branches
Flash of movement high above him
Whistled callings in the distance
Fallen pine cones big as softballs
Gave him cause to watch his footing
Other noise was from the insects
Heard but not seen, whirring, buzzing
Two mosquitos spoke of water
Listening while heading forward
Knowing of no stream behind him
Toward the setting sun he traveled
Distant bubbling toward his right hand
Toward the right his footsteps take him
Toward the sound of distant water
Drawing nearer, growing louder
Sounds of splashing, bubbling, gurgling
Told him where to find the water
Slowing as the ground turned downhill
Footing tricky, sometimes slipping
Catching hold of younger tree trunks
Halting sliding, scraping fingers
Finally, he came upon it
Saw the flowing mountain water
Icy cold from recent snowfalls
Water in his hands he’s cupping
Sees within a face familiar
Looks a while at his reflection
Eyebrows furrow in remembrance
Who is this, this wayward traveler
Cautiously, he searched his memory
Nothing there but pines and pine cones
Birds and needles, walking westward
Stopping, resting, walking westward
Many days of walking westward
I was going to post another ‘going to Hell’ poem — damn, I have a lot of them — but I decided to mix things up instead and post something entirely different.
Why are the nouns capitalized? Who knows, but it seems more dramatic, doesn’t it?
Anyone notice the structural similarity to Longfellow’s ‘Hiawatha’? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
And then the mighty Dragon spat
A Gout of Flame to sear his Foe
But on and on our Hero fought
Full safe within his Suit of Mail
The clever craft of woodland Elves
Designed to turn the sharpest Blade
And save the Wearer from the Fires
That of the Dragon burn within
…
Though unfinished, this poem tells a story of a boy coming of age. I’ve yet to decide whether he ends up accepting the role of royal heir, or whether his father ends up accepting that the boy has another path. It would be interesting if the boy grows up to be the titled magician who, late in life, goes back in time to help shape his own destiny…
Some of the phrasing is a little awkward. Unlike some of my other poems, I haven’t worked with it over the years to polish the wording — probably because the poem is unfinished.
I don’t plan for this poem to be part of my big Alice-like narrative.
Gossip spread throughout the land
By word of mouth the news had come
His services became demand
And as a fire loyally fanned
His fame had managed to expand
Encompassing the vast kingdom
He moved about the outlying farms
A few days here, a couple there
By potions, spells, and magic charms
He did his best for future harms
(He cured a couple gammied arms
And aided with a foaling mare)
When rumor finally reached the king
His advisor told him what to do
“Attempt to make an offering
The proper bit of persuading
And he might cure your mad bantling
Who, of your heir, he is in lieu”
The king knew this be wise indeed
His bastard son was all he had
And should there e’er arise the need
If no more heirs sprang from his seed
He would publicly announce the deed
If he had agreement from the lad
The trouble with the boy was that
He did not want to be a prince
Upon the finer things he spat
At royal balls, he was a brat
He did not relish growing fat
And at etiquette he’d wince
He had in mind to be a knight
To travel to a distant shore
Or even wield a mages light
Or practice with his magic sight
Or learning how to read and write
As over books he’d pore
I remember writing this. My intention was to present nonsense phrases in a serious manner so that it sounded like some deep poem. It’s easy to write verse after verse when there’s no underlying meaning (relax, I didn’t write verse after verse). I like the rhyming scheme and may someday steal it for something else.
I’ve realized that this poem (8-8-10-8-8-10), intentionally or not, has a similar structure to Billy Joel’s You May be Right (8-8-11-7-7-11) — which has been playing in my head all morning. What kicked off the mental music was me ending a line with ‘alone’ which matches how a line ends in Billy Joel’s song.
The wind the weeping willow bent
Softly, ever reverent
To lie between the earth and endless sky
Alas, the truth be never known
To wander wondering, alone
Skin deep! the cry is raised as by the by
The struggle mightily is lost
A leaf, a storm, a ship is tossed
The crow is spared the scorpion’s last sting
As one we never more shall be
Naked for eternity
The jester hastens lest he best the king
Tremulous, with head held high
The soldier bids his kids goodbye
And barren fields may one year put forth grain
Alive but living in a dream
The silence shredded by a scream
A yearling elk seeks shelter from the rain
Though unfinished, this is part of my big Alice-like narrative which I’ve mentioned that ties together my longer poems. Prior to my sabbatical, this is one of the few things that I’ve written within the past few years. I may need a new category to tag these items — ‘almost new’ or ‘classic plus’ doesn’t quite cut it.
The children from the town have come to play around the farm.
These kids are always trouble so I’m sounding the alarm.
Half the kids are astronauts, half the kids are clowns.
Half the kids are standing up and half are falling down.
The animals have gone to hide, the birds have flown away.
The donkey and the billie-goats are hiding in the hay.
Half the kids eat ham and cheese, half the kids eat cake.
Half the kids are on the shore and half are in the lake.
This, which I wrote years ago, seems related to my more-recent passage here.
Abandoned by all things divine
Surpassing death, transcending time
The House stands hungry, eager in its wait
Of life The House becomes aware
A braggart’s bet, a liar’s dare
A hand reluctant reaches for the gate
Into the inner depths of mind
Where fear and pleasure sleep entwined
The House steps soft through unfamiliar ground
A wave of joy, a burst of pain
The hand withdraws, then moves again
With hand to gate, a heart begins to pound
(NOTE TO SELF: I have more individual lines written that could be included in future verses.)
Another old snippet to which I’ve added a few lines, but I’m not sure where it’s going.
The story I now tell to you is not of hate or fear
But bravery beyond compare, and at a price too dear
‘Twas ten and seven years ago that Frederick Godsend died
And ten and seven years ‘fore that — he wed his fateful bride
Her beauty lit the evening stars. Her kindness knew no peer.
Their love, the stuff of legends; though his jealousy, severe.