Fantasy Poem's
“A man who trusts everyone is a fool and a man who trusts no one is a fool. We are all fools if we live long enough.”
- Robert Jordan, Winter's Heart -
The Darkness of Night
Down the cobble stone roads,
hear the echo's of foot steps fall,
in the pitch blackness of night,
The garish yellow glow of the lamps alight,
He lurks awaiting his pray,
his nerves are like steel as she heads his way.
With his charm he lures her in,
No more than a scream before he begins,
With precision he preforms his art,
Mutilating the body, out with her heart,
The sounds of a whistle pierce the air,
from the scene he quickly disappears.
His night no where at an end,
he stalks another corner continuing a trend,
Another victim headed his way,
To fulfill his murderous lust she shall pay,
Prepared to carry out his desires,
Stalled as silhouettes emerge from the lamplight fires,
An escape for him undetected is dires.
Undeterred by unwanted attention,
He refocuses his efforts, body full of tension,
Finding his next victim easily within reach,
Slitting her throat, not even a screech,
satisfied as the body slumps to the ground,
The need for another kill no time to fiddle around.
A burning desire to quench his thirst,
He cannot contain it he's ready to burst,
Again down the dreary cobble stone streets
another unsuspecting victim he will meet,
ripped open by a long, deep, jagged wound,
her kidney and uterus removed.
Into the night he creeps into the shadows,
Disappearing forever into the English burrow's,
not another drop of blood to be spilled,
Though still a feeling of fear and panic he instilled,
Over a hundred years later,
Jack The Ripper still marveled over by investigators.
The Warrior and his Dragon
The earth groaned and tremendously quaked,
Under its weight the floors started to break,
A towering dragon all armored in gilded gold,
Eyes dancing ablaze like mighty raging inferno's,
That were drawing upon sapient magic of old.
Perpetually by his side his imposing loyal companion,
In elaborated decorated steel-plate stead fast by his dragon,
Shrouded in plum robes, over his battle axe he chants,
No need to assure one another as they ready their advance,
For there is an unbreakable bond that many cannot understand.
Quite posed in the urgent quest appointed before them,
Into the ancient ruined fortress as to the beat of a drum,
To ferret out the vile Necromancer cloaked within his layer,
Towards the Gods of Old they offer up their valiant prayers,
As they made their way through the entry they are a fearsome pair.
Once they have exposed his dark Sanctorium of Dissolution
Upon him they pronounce their resolute verdict of absolution,
Simultaneous drawing the archaic powers endowed from within,
A wall of bronze orange dancing flames of fire they did spin,
Consuming the Necromancer, the expedition the duo they did win.
A Gnome Adventure
It was a beautiful bright clear sunny day,
When all of a sudden the sky turned iron gray,
Such a fierce wind started to violently howl,
A cry came from a spooked pecan brown garden owl.
Along a well tilled caramel nursery flower bed path,
A sweet little couple scurrying to get out of the wrath,
A maiden so far with beautiful golden yellow spun locks,
An orange bow held ponytails as they swayed to the wind chops.
Stout beige shoes splashed in the quickly forming muddy puddles,
As muck flung up over her plum blouse as she tried to snuggle,
Beneath the protection of a jade black out stretched umbrella,
Where an apple red hat tipped the nibs was a hansom young fella.
Together embraced in a mighty struggle to control their cover,
Yellow gingering leaves swirled in unison at the sound of thunder,
His honey blonde hair in disarray as he fought to keep things under bay,
Their faces cherry red from the stinging of the winds forceful spray.
Hopes of speedily arriving safely within their warm cozy den,
Just off in the near distance is the entrance to their glen,
With their destination close at hand the storm abruptly ends,
To be able to continue to enjoy the delightful day once again.
Roswell?
A fierce stormy June summer night in '47
Booming thunder and lightening were in session,
A metallic bell shaped machine fell from the heavens,
Debris scattered across the Foster's homestead,
Where a foreman was claimed to have found bodies dead.
A press release the RAAF did nationally extend,
"Army reveals it has flying disc found on ranch",
Though within a few days they changed their stance,
It wasn't a flying saucer but a "balloon" that crashed,
Before a microphone and a fake memo they had drafted.
Flying over the scorching barren New Mexico desert,
Observing nuclear activity they crashed into the dirt,
Being struck by an energetic bolt of forked lightening,
What the US military recovered was very frightening,
During their cleanup the public they did try to divert.
The claim of such a crash has often been simply discounted,
Though the testimonies and overwhelming evidence surmounting,
That Glen Dennis had ordered three tiny child sized coffins,
Often called a liar about his account others recall him talking,
About that dreadful event that was then long past forgotten.
On his death bed confession Walter Haut went on record and said,
That what was recovered was indeed an UFO torn to shreds,
The RAAF press conference was nothing more than lies spread,
By military officers who were ordered from those most up-high,
Constructing such foolish explanations they thought were sly.
Yet we fully well know better than to believe the governments tale,
No matter how hard they try to spin this they keep receiving a fail,
For we all know they have been trying in vain to lead us off the trail,
About where they gain advanced technologies from, hidden behind a veil,
Thinking us quite clueless but for UFOlogists this is their Holy Grail.
Violin
Draped in rushing robes of pearl white silks
gracefully flowing over her willowy frame,
a mournful wail sails across the midnight skies
as her soul laments the loss of her once lover.
Lithe frost pale white fingers drawing a bow
across strings that echo agonizing sentiments
of a broken heart, her violin sorrowfully weeps
as current tears roll down her cheeks leaving streaks.
Long sweeping ebony hair hung beside her fair ivory chin,
vibrating to melodic sounds emanating from the strings,
accompanied by beautiful verses full of woe and anguish
while she entertained memories of her departed beloved.
Fitting her melancholy mood she played sitting upon his tomb,
golden yellow amber of candle flames danced to her sad tune,
setting quite the somber scene under an illuminated full moon,
thoughts of retaliation to those who had brutally executed her beau.
As she drew across the twine one last finishing time
and the strings reverberation no long were sustained,
praying to the ancient gods of their enchanting craft,
retribution to be fulfilled while ruthlessly unabashed,
vengeance will be her's from the powers she has amassed.
Voodoo in the Bayou
Deep within the hot Louisiana
Bayou sea-foam greens softy mists
up into the approaching dusk air.
A young mademoiselle wades knee
deep through the shimmering
sludgy sage swamp waters
beige canvas pack slung
heavily upon her back.
At a suitable location that
meets her desired needs,
she mounts her cargo
unto the gnarled roots of
ancient umber cypress trees,
bull frogs leaping off spongy
pine moss scattering out of
her way as she prepares
to carry out her mission tonight.
Sable black hair hanging
down over her shoulders,
she clears a few strands
intruding over her eyes.
Gris-gris bag laid out
to the side, a lone boot
of the offender who must die
the reason she is here this night.
Binding tablet covered in
royal purples and honey gold,
a doves egg along with a clove.
Her voodoo doll she pulls
out of the worn out sack
a pack of needles a ready
for her to stab in the back.
Sewn of corn yellow fabric
twined in deep wine red,
She holds it in a near
death like grip.
Her eyes like orange fires
from the moon lights glare,
silently but strongly she
starts to enchant a curse
upon those who did justly
offend by kicking her
family off their ancestral land.
To Turn Another Elven Soul
Like the wet packed snow around him
His heart was cold and grim,
his elven soul lost to the underworld.
He tried to peer through the swirl
of the raging storms fury
for some sight of his lost prey
yet another soul to be flayed
she must not get away.
The Scarlet Red Night
Glaring crimson red eyes with further intent to murder on his mind,
No heart to call his own, Dorthy's death warrant has been signed.
Ruby red plasma stains his teeth of the one who had no courage,
Another had no brains to run, his fate was being slayed in a flourish.
For if he did these deeds a new heart the powerful Wizard would furbish.
Dracula's Sorrow
Tired of this eternal life
centuries of pain and strife
a dozen years now without his wife
the loss of the only life he had inside.
Scarlet tears stream down his cheeks,
the twilight's appearance so bleak
as he relays his sorrowful tale
to an elderly woman so frail.
Palms outstretched into the air
as he softly laments to her
about his time upon this land
from death's embrace he's been banned.
To roam this earth everlasting
the Prince of Darkness enchanting
how much more can he endure,
for a jade heart so impure?
As he finishes with his tale,
across the air a chilling wail
as he sinks his fangs into her neck
He lays her body upon the earths deck.
Stalking off with a smug snear
none can live knowing of his fears
for a vampire is supposed to be composed
any who truly know must be disposed.
Really Fallen?
Have you really truly fallen
or placed to fulfill a calling?
To shed light upon the masses
as the ageless time passes?
An unjust reputation falsely given
because you were dispelled from heaven
for tempting with forbidden fruit,
yet your motives they often dispute.
Did you come to free us from bondage
by candidly offering us knowledge,
or did you expect us to bend knee
at your mercy to fondly worship thee?
His guidance is to do no harm,
for humanity to finally disarm
and love one another as our own kin,
we were all made from the same skin.
With your mighty power to allure
your teachings beautiful and pure.
Praise the name Lucifer Morningstar
He who wishes us to no longer suffer.
Thrill of the Chase
With the moon up high, though rolling mists,
I fled the manor of your elegance,
running though your garden,
the sound of howling, a call of a hunter,
my fears are realized, as I reach to our meeting spot,
my georgette fabric dress, flowing gently behind me,
yet clearly showing, my slender figure, such easy prey to the hunter.
Outside the bitter darkness,
within the crisp nip of night,
I inhaled her sensual scent
wafting across the drab terrace air,
as I drew in closer to her lilith frame.
A howl of lustful hunger escaped me
as I perused towards my quarry
hearing her heart quickly beating,
the rustle of the fabric increasing my thirst,
Closely I am upon her in my body I feel a shudder.
My feeble body, draped across your arms,
unable to escape,
my body pinned to the cold stone bench,
your eyes are familiar to me,
yet fear still rages my heart, but could it be,
that you are he, my lover dear,
what have you become? Why would you let this beast befall you, yet your fur, I do declare,
is hard to not notice its warm and gentle,
to tender touch,
you have not attacked me, merely chased me down,
yet although I do fear you, I do not fear this hunger
that swoons me to touch you, even in this form of beast.
At last my chase has ended,
as you turn around I passionately pull you in,
closely on to my matted chest, gazing intently into your eyes,
do you not see me or only this thing of a beast?
Upon this ancient alter I lay you, seductive is my touch,
pray to the gods of old,
you see through this animal I have become,
that you feel the love we had between us,
I lay my paw upon your face,
cupping I claw behind your head I pull you closer in,
lustful heat radiating off my skin, trying to woo my lover again,
in your eyes I see the fear as I gently lay a kiss on your lips.
The kiss so tender, so passionate,
this beast is clearly you, you lips so divine,
this our wedding night, should of been of passion not fear,
yet it still can, what is this lustful hunger, I do crave,
your paw lifting me closure, yet your scent so earth, so strong,
it fills my lungs like your cologne,
oh please beast of mine, rip me, tear me, make me yours,
my skin tingles from every touch, I can not stop myself,
my nails running like claws through your fur covered chest,
feeling every ripped muscle,
your truly alpha, then make me your delta.
Your body at ease as it sinks deep into my chest,
the taste of your lips so soft and succulent,
Softens the raging beast within me,
deep desires to passionately ravage you,
violently swirling in my head.
Cursed for selling my soul to the Lord of the Dark,
to be able to give you all a bride deserves,
only to curse you with this hideous form I now wear,
Yet you do not repeal at my appearance or touch,
instead you draw in the animalistic smell I emit,
with wanton desire salaciously I lay you down,
My claws slitting the fabric of your dress,
as I penetrate you deep within,
feeling your nails sinking erotically into my skin,
without thought of chastity I proceed to dominate her.
As crys of passion fill the moonlit air,
my body quivering with intense passion,
my fingers clawing at flesh and fur,
begging, crying and panting of with exility,
hours seem to pass as moon becomes sun,
my body still lost to your passion,
you the beast, my husband be,
I your wife, ever loyal to all of you that I love.
As I bite upon your neck,
droplets of ruby red blood run,
raising my head upward
my inner beast howls to my master the moon,
lighting your beautiful frame before me,
as I caress my hands over your hips,
drawing manna from your lips.
Your ecstasy fueling me onward,
deeper into you, I sink,
my desire for you not quenched,
from dusk to dawn,
entwined within time alluded us,
our union unbroken.
with ella lilja
Gauging a Murder
In flight time is motionless
as the aerodrome sails,
propelled by the vapors
produced by deafening sounds.
Soot leather aviators hat fastened,
a dingy yellow glowing reflects
off fading black goggled glasses,
his chin strap hanging unclasped.
The thermometer climbs red
as the gauges are checked,
soaring over Park Lane west
drifting towards Bethnal Green.
Assured the cogs are properly spinning,
with all instruments properly displaying
ignoring the squawking of his companion,
the mad captain persistently forges on.
Scorned and torn for his inventions
cynical they are in his twisted head,
Retribution is his sinister mission
Scouting to carry out his evil plans.
Vengeance
Hypnotically she gracefully swayed,
captivating holding their gaze,
as she waltzed in without question,
they never realizing her real intention.
Pirouetting beautifully adorned,
to her true motives not warned,
from out of nowhere appeared a sword,
slaying them to her accord.
For these men had stole her lands
unaware of the fires they fanned,
going unpunished could not be had
to her death toll she shall add.