(Written and Submitted by David Fergus)
Dawn, the birth of a new day.
Gradually it ebbs into night.
A silent death as brilliant as its creation.
A new year comes around.
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall then
another murder victim of time,
creator and destroyer of all.
Time, it eludes us all, mocking us at every turn.
Still it is the most precious asset we have and
the greatest gift any one can give to another.
"The Sons of Odin"
(written and submitted my Mordekin Kain)
They garnish the skins of wild animals
They eat the food of the Odin
They summon their inner ferocity of the beast inside
Their craving for battle and blood grows
The battlefield is in sight
Their voices roar above all others
They begin to gnaw on their shields as the ferocity rises to full force
The battle horn is blown
And like a tidal wave "The Sons of Odin" pour down upon the battlefield into the enemy lines
Leaving in their wake a path of carnage
Their limbs may be cleaved from their body but they press on through the ranks of the enemy and fight until all enemies forces have been destroyed
After the battle is won those who fought valiantly and have mortal wounds inflicted upon themselves depart from the realms of man and enter the halls of the gods to be welcomed
Those who survived the battle live to fight on in the realm of man
To be again "The Sons of Odin"
And so that is the fate of the "the Sons of Odin" Fabled in most lands to be called berserkers...a fierce bunch of folk.
by E. A. Robinson
Submitted by Mourtegoul
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Minever mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Minever loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medi?l grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
submitted by Mourtegoul
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; --
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide --
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, --
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a gailiard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
The War of Sins
(Written and Submitted by Justin Zimmerman)
They gathered under the darkening skies,
Armor girded, bright spearpoints gleaming.
Thoughts of brothers, lovers, sweethearts, wives
Children and proud parents beaming.
Some were praying, others staring,
Many had written their last words.
Some where silent, some where swearing,
While overhead circled the carrion birds.
Fear, pain and tears in the eyes,
As they fought a formless foe.
Many were wounded, many more died,
And vast and terrible was their woe.
The foe was the shape of a dark mist, spread thin,
And to behold it made the heart bleed.
The foe was the fears and lies of lovers and men,
The promises made in lust, fear or greed.
They fought and still fight the army of sin,
They have fought since the dawn of man.
But the Bright Ones are loosing too many men,
Since those of us mortal cannot take a stand.
And so when you promise love, believe it then,
And do not say what you really dont mean.
For Women and Men are the makers of sin,
And the crows are plucking bones clean.
Van Der Wheele IV
Rusting tin shack glued together with anceint nails.
Warmed by a preadamite black stove, raging flame
kicking at the iron door. Spark serupt from soot
encrusted chimney, barely breaking trhrough roof.
Hay crammed into gnarled holes, barring gusts
of dry-ice winds from a Kansas February.
Scars are burned into fractured wood beams.
Shattered Black and Decker monsters
leer from discarded piles on the oak bench.
Clanging hammers beat frozen metal
into pauldrons and breastplates.
Every non-flammable surface caked
with ash and cigarette butts. Lighters lay
cannibalized for spare parts. Memories
of Captain BLack vanilla pipe blend
and any piece of leather upholstery cut
and gnawed into grizzled straps
for stolen stop signs painted blue.
Homework is discarded for cheap Millers
and an evening trek beneath the winter moon.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
By John Keats
Submitted by Mourtegoul
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither?rom the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel?ranary is full,
And the harvest?one.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look?t me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said??lt;br>?ove thee true.??lt;br>
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh?ill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream?h! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream?
On the cold hill?ide.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried?? Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!??lt;br>
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill?ide.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither?rom the lake,
And no birds sing.
(Written by and Copyright Joshua L. Brotherton)
They prepare to dance...
Circling they gaze into one another's eyes.
Each one moves in perfect counter to the other.
A step closer and the pace quickens.
The graceful, sweeping arcs meet...
Then Fall away
Whirling to meet again.
The dance is ended.
One will walk away.
One will remain...
(Submitted by M. Cornelis van der Weele IV)
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
hrough granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the fluies made moan.
"Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now ...
Orc Shaman's Chant
Submitted by Gozar Blonka
vision vine boding spirit of the forest
origin of our understanding
give up your magic power to our potion
illuminate our mind
bring us foresight
show us the designs of our enemies
expand our understanding of our forest
Brush with markings of the serpent
give us your leaves for our potion
bring us favor of the boa
source of good fortune
Spirits of the forest revealed to us by honi xuma
bring us knowledge of the realm
assist in the guidance of our people
give us the stealth of the boa
penetrating sight of the hawk and the owl
acute hearing of the deer
brute endurance of the tapir
grace and strengh of the Jaguar
knowledge and tranquility of the moon
guide our way.
My loves eyes are -
Kind, gentle, soft, and loving
When looking upon his maid.
My loves eyes are--
Stormy, fierce, steel, and full of fury.
When looking upon his enemy in battle.
They are an ever-changing gray,
A sea of blue gray calmness
When he is with his love
A sky of steel gray coldness
When his sword is in his hand.
There were a people strong and just.
They fought against tyrants,
They fought against evil.
Making a land were the abused found refuge.
There was a man mighty in character.
He led these people in there fight,
A leader and Lord in the purest sense-
Silathas was his name.
Tyrants feared him,
Evil hid from his sword,
His friends loved him,
His people are ever loyal to him.
Written by colleen LTreka after she left her home. It is her tribute to her Lord.
Submitted By Canaan Klein
I lay dreaming of blue skies,
I lay dreaming of strong arms around me.
I dream of summer fields,
And cornflower blossoms.
And then it all turns to Hell...
I dream of black skies.
I dream of skeleton arms around me.
I dream of summerfields covered in blood,
It becomes so real that in my waking hours...
I see blue skies turn black,
I see strong arms turn skeleton.
I see the summerfields and cornflower blossoms-
Soak up the blood of the angry men and innocent boys.
I lay dreaming....
copywrited 2001 by c. salazar