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
-Peter
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!
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
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
-Peter
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.
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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!
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.
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, 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 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
The Sword to Unite 