Finality
(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.

Miniver Cheevy
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.



Lochinvar
Author Unknown
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.

THE FORGE
Written and
Submitted By:
M. Cornelius
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

I.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither?rom the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel?ranary is full,
And the harvest?one.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful??aery?hild,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

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.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery?ong.

VII.

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>
VIII.

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.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream?h! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream?
On the cold hill?ide.

X.

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>
XI.

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.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither?rom the lake,
And no birds sing.