Flash Poetry: The Yellowtail Hound

Yelp and kick

The gadfly pokes and prods the hound

Beast of bellowing booming cry

Left whimpering by a speck

Descendent of wolf

Turned his yellowtail and ran

Bark left useless

Against his opponent’s bite


Just a little poetry to break up the week guys, I’m going to try getting a few more of these out when I can. As always, thanks for reading


The Song of Hadrian

Commissioned by Imperator Horace, composed by the poet Quintus in the year 67 2E to commemorate his late father and ruler, Hadrian I, who had died just a year before.

A Lion born across the sea

Upon his mother’s shoulder he did flee

From burning flame and dying kin

From the palace of endless sin

He fought with sword

He fought with word

Bravest of all from

Last of his father’s mighty line

O Blood of Eln and Erastrius

Together now for all time

Like a fountain

A source of mercy for all

Like a bard at the string

He composed our country

The Lion of Nacia!

The Song of Stars

A traditional song of the Duxy of Freven, whose sigil is the tower Gelgeth (Star-Tower) upon a blue sky of white stars and two laurel wreaths.

Fair light upon stars

Burning like cold and endless flames

White as bone, falling like tears


Glistening like ice upon a sunny day

Gracing the height of the world

Ceaseless in their dance


Gelgeth (Star-Tower) will wane and fall,

Yet from the sky,

Be never dimmed in light,

You flame for the world, to see


Fair light upon the stars

Of gods and men, you shine equal on

The world content to sleep another night

Beneath your every burning gaze


Fair light upon the stars

Burn ye forever bright

For without your light

A world of dark and endless night

Nacian Death Poem

Weep not for the dead

For they are ones who cannot

Weep instead

For the living who still bear this mortal toil

Let rather your prayer to the dead

Be in your actions

In the strain of the hand against the plow

The eye against dim light of candle

The mind in the whirlwind of thought

Let your life be the prayer to the dead

-Poem by Justinian the Younger

This is the first in a new series of poems done to promote the second book I am currently working on, I hope you all enjoy


The Lusani Elves, Dwellers of the Forest

Between Lorine and the rest of the north, the Lusatine forest cuts across the landscape like a knife. The roots of the forest are deep and filled with a rich history of heroes and songs. None dwell there save the Lusani Elves, born and buried in the vast network of vines and branches. Few have seen such folk and even fewer live to tell the tale. A xenophobic people, they protect the forest from those who would harm it.

The Kingdom of Lorine’s powerful merchant guilds once tried to cut a swath through the land, in order to secure timber and a new trade route to the north. The expedition was never to be seen again. For centuries the Lusani have not cared for the politics of the world, but now, as evil once more awakens from slumber, the elves of the forest cannot leave their fate to chance. The drums in the woods begin anew, and the rangers and bowman take up their arms once more. Led by Queen Joanne, a girl rumored to be no older than fourteen yet fierce in her authority, the elves shall stand against the coming tide.


Don’t forget to like and subscribe for more content. Coming soon: a fully detailed map of the world of Yennen.

A Toast to Domovoi, God of Hearth and Home

A toast to the guard of the hearth!

A toast to the one that makes his mark

On the fields so ripe

And press so full

A toast to the god of wine!

The little man

So clever and so drunk

With unkempt beard

And locks of gold

Let’s raise our glass to him

So that our glass might always brim!

The Dark Water, a Short Story

A rod was cast into the shimmering pool, which refracted the light of the lantern against the moist rocks overhead. To the other end, the boy could not see, for his lamp’s dim and orange light faded into blackness before the end of the water. With each attempt at a catch, the rod and hook blipped into the water, stirring forward an infinite number of rings which ran along the surface of the orange colored water.

The cave was a bustle of quiet noises. From the ceiling, drops of water would fall in tune against the mossy ground below, carving away for centuries at the stony floor. Noises from the above, cars dashing and going, people talking and laughing, were trapped in the cave, endlessly bouncing off the walls and water, going back and forward as any polite conversation. Little worms and beetles scurried along their highways and byways, getting to some place they seemed intent on going. Even the lantern made a low humming tune, the burning heat of its flame which flickered and danced in the cool air of the cave. The water was silent, however, for the fish did give away their sounds to the boy.

It was two hours in, at least it felt like that to the boy, for the sun’s light could not show beneath so many rocks and curves in the cave. He yawned which caused a hollow echo, and stretched his arms wide in eagerness for slumber. Still he had not caught a thing, and his candle began to burn low, yet now he saw something, shimmer against the water.

The boy stood straight, braced his feet against the rocks, and cast his hook once more. Silence for a few minutes, the conversation of echoes stopped and listened, the worms and beetles ceased and looked, the drops of water paused and glanced. From the water’s, a thing came crashing out as though the surface were ice, cracking it into foam which glistened against the lantern’s low light. The boy saw a fish, colored as a rainbow, with muscles strong as an ox as it jumped through the air, its coat shinning as a knight’s in a bright summer’s day. It was as an opera or performing dance, for it seemed rehearsed in its act. Again it crashed through the water as though it were hard concrete, taking the whole hook and line with it.

In an instant, the show was over. The fishing pole dipped into the water, leaving the boy empty handed with a look of astonishment. He took his lantern, sighed a heavy sigh, and headed for home. As he looked again into the cave, he could see the fish swimming beneath the dark waters. It was glowing, as though it was stolen some light from the lantern, in the way spring grass grows greenest and strongest in the sun.

Hearth Keep

The castle of Hearth Keep, the largest castle in the Kingdom of Lorine, built with a burning hearth that stretches the distance of the main hall.

Hewn of stone and brick

Placed along the mountainside

Hearth Keep makes it watch

Over the green rolling hills of Lorine

The red towers

Scaling tall through the sky

The yellow hearth

Burning bright through the hall

The Green Mountains

The Green Mountains, composed by Forrin, King of the Dweor, as his folk caught sight of the Green Mountains on their long march to the south, fleeing from the upheaval of Usham.

Hark my Brothers!

For what is that upon the light of the horizon?

A land filled with milk and honey

A land to carve halls and brew beer

Where the furthest peak is ornate with green growing grass

Here we make our fortune once more

Safe from the chilling sorrow of Usham

Here upon the Green Mountains

Shall the Dweor be sung of again

The Rat

The ominous poem composed for the dread and fear of Crassus Baal the Rat. A demon who gambles and seduces. He makes his victims destroy themselves, rather than by sheer force.

By the gods

The rat comes to scratch at the door again

He comes in red silk clothes

With feet of hooves

And head of vermin

To dance and deal

To wreck and cheat

His power is truest deceit

For it is not the bellowing and thundering storm

But the precise and silent chisel

That brings down towers and kingdoms

So hold fast the doorframe

And do not let him in

For once his whisper is eared

None can withstand

The seduction of the rat

Lest you hear the rat’s true name

Crassus Baal