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The Flames Of Origin: A Song of Antiquor

The following poem is part of a collection set in the far away Relm of Antiquor.  If you are unfamiliar with poems from far away lands many depict battles and have characters who are unusual or fantastic.  If you wish to sing it like in olden days you will need to find an appropriate tune because one wasn’t provided.

Without anything further,  Here is The Flames of Origin:

On the mountain side under the clouds
Lived a warrior people tall and proud
Whose screech were heard all around.

They had large wings, talons, and eagle eyes They were filled with pride
over what should be theirs, far and wide.

Their captors lived in the sea and in old times
Defeated the chaos beyond the tides
Overpowering them with their teeth and poisonous spines.

They owned treasure and kingdoms fine,
Their power extended to the mountain line.

Cloth and metal was cut and ropes were strung
The old war the Aviamen sung.

The Sea Kings slept in their reefs
For they felt safe in their keep.

The Aviamen had a long journey from the tops
They also needed fuel at every stop.

They saw The Great Highlands recorded in
The Ancient Tomes.

They stopped in The Dark Forest to see the shining elves
to seek help to repair their sails.

They flew towards the coast
Where they saw creatures as clear as ghosts.
As they roamed around silence was kept,
Although a moan was heard like a mother who wept.

Argus The Grand, whose feathers aged from tan now to grey was only in his span,
decided it was time to go. 
If they didn’t they would be taken by the crying souls.

A fortnight later, they made it to the sea
Just one more day then they’d be free.

The airships rose to strike,
The enemy within their sights.

Bombs were dropped many in a line,
They lit up the night sky.

Luan, The Ocean General, ordered the ships to
flank left
to avoid  certain death. 

Cannon fire rose underneath and all arms struck.

The sky glowed with embers,
It was the brightest night anyone remembers.

She looked down at the adding cost
Both sides were bleeding with all the lives lost.

She landed among the fallen,  Cinda The Blaze, 
She saw the dead-end gaze.
She lit the ground ablaze, burning the whole earth,
Both sides saw the others worth.

Was it the end? Were they all gone?
Neither would sing a victory song.

The blood they saw had been burnt
And in its place the ground began to turn.
The soil changed to blackened soot
And saplings began taking root.

Dirt became Hills and later mountains tall
So high one could see over all.

The Sea rushed in and pulled the soot away
Because new ground was to stay. 
The clouds began to soar
It was clear a new country was born.

What to call this new home?
They named the land, Antiquor.

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Posted by on April 20, 2015 in Poetry, Short Fiction, Writing

 

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“Old Blue Eyes” Poem

I wrote a poem that deals with the feelings of Love and lust. I think it is a good conversation to have and especially about how both really affect us. I am encouraged  this is a conversation that is talked through  in churches  and in many other places.

                   Old Blue Eyes

Your eyes marked, edges dry,
The clock glaring twelve thirty-five. 
Lying in bed the deed is done
Every time it’s less fun.

“Just one last time”, you said,
“It will be quick”.
The lump swells in your throat
and you feel sick.

What you called love was fake,
It existed in a life that was falsely made.

You and she are bound,
Two lost souls searching to be found
Blinding each other at a fast pace
Chasing after tails in a losing race.

In the old days people saw her innocent blue eyes
Before she was trapped by a world full of lies.

It’s ok in your mind you can flirt
In this game so perverse
Because after all, no one really gets hurt.

                               

 
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Posted by on March 25, 2015 in Poetry, Writing

 

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The Winter Storm

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The Winter’s Storm

The Christmas lights blinked like a vacancy sign around the tree.

Click-clack

Icy words beat on the bedroom door like December winds.

Tears fall like the first snow until they are hushed in the night.

Click-clack

The bedroom door opens and a searcher leaves her shelter to look for a survivor– her doll.

She gingerly picks up her friend, fortunately only her arm is slightly out of place.

The storm is gone for now,
All is calm and bright.

 
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Posted by on December 19, 2014 in Poetry, Short Fiction, Writing

 

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Aside

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Hello Readers,
As you know our summer months are coming to an end. The summer memories are still on the tip of our tounges. I noticed the change of the seasons every year and love the traits and memories of fall.

Fall air is cold yet smokey and it decorates a fall night around a bonfire. Hearty sweet potatoes invade all of our dishes. Pumpkin spice should be kept in tanks on standby. The change of fall is magical and only takes one night in West Texas. I was inspired by this transformation to write the following poem–I call it The Last Day of Summer.

The Last Day of Summer

Your eyes were blue and skin was fair,
your white dress was ruffled in layers.
The flowers placed in your curly hair.

We cracked the valve to the hose and up the water went.
The water rose high like an arching tent.

We tied our hands like twine,
Yours is tied into mine.
We spun, wind and wind
and fell at the same time.

The sun set and we were out of time,
Slowly dimming on that horizon line.
We ran home with nothing to say,
Little did we know summer would stay.

The next day the icy wind blew
The smokey signal we both knew.
The warm clouds turned grey
And the crisp autumn air found its way.

The Last Day of Summer

 
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Posted by on September 19, 2014 in Poetry, Writing

 

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Tiger Chase

Tiger Chase

I decided to post a poem I have been working on the past couple of weeks.  Writing about past experiences can be painful as a writer.  I think pain is a kind of alchemy.  It can transform a dark and grey memory into a writing piece that is beautiful and shiny.  The poem below is reflective in nature and doesn’t describe any specific event.  I call this poem Tiger Chase.


Tiger Chase

She runs in the field of dandelions, tears filled her eyes.

Her shoulders were marked by red lines.

Her cotton dress is covered with grass

and her knees are scratched running through the vines.

She drinks from the streams, the water touches her bones.

She spent the afternoon running from a tiger, running to and fro’.

She hid by walking light then lighter

Holding her breath, hoping he wouldn’t find her.

The tiger slinked past it’s prey.

She was safe, for another day.

She bows her head to pray.

All she asks is for time to stay.

 
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Posted by on July 2, 2014 in Writing

 

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