In The Grim, Dim Evening

The gardens gleam with roses, the sun is setting soon
By the statues in their poses, I’ll await you ‘neath the moon.
The shining stars will totter, as the wind wafts from the bay,
With scent of wine and water; Oh, where have you gone to-day?

Spy the marble busts around me, grinning suitors in their prime
“Oh, accept this ring and love me!” she can hear the wedding chime.
Sculpted hearts swiftly beating, he approaches, holds her tight
The statues’ lips are meeting, two more lovers in the night.

For countless golden ages have the seraphs stood unaltered,
In warmth and windy rages, neither angel failed nor faltered
Oh, but we who are as permanent as an urn of unbaked clay
Should fear to face the firmament; where have you gone to-day?

The Temple’s chimes are stinging, for the marriage month has passed,
I hear the choir’s singing, and the drummer’s mournful blast;
And when song gives way to longing, and the drumming skips a beat,
The wretched warbled wronging of a passing raven’s tweet.

Little joy I have to gain, and less yet left to lose,
My hope a wretched blain; it seems I must refuse
To outlast the lamenting hour in the stretching evening gloom
While the lilies are in flower and my misery abloom.

And as Death strummed his meter, and away my spirit flew
What sadness could be sweeter than the joy I shared with you?
For to-day, absent bliss, only suffering and sorrow,
I will face, in the abyss, no new mourning on the morrow.

(Inspired by “In the Early, Pearly Morning”)

The Destruction of the Mushroom Kingdom

The Italian came down like a snake through the pipe,
For his glory and vengeance the time was quite ripe;
And the red of his shirt was like blood on the sands,
As he travelled to face me through far-reaching lands.

Like the wind through the forests the word was first borne
Of two plumberly brothers whose wrath had been sworn;
As the Red One was seeking a hand he could claim
And the Green One was seeking his fortune and fame.

With their eyes all a-flashing they murder my hordes
As they travel ‘cross deserts and mountains and fjords
Through the lands of the giants, of ice and of sea,
But their end is assured by my royal decree.

Like the stars in the heavens I watch from on high
As the brothers roll onwards through lands of the sky
And they shed not a tear as my koopas lay slain,
As they rot in the sun and are soaked by the rain.

But so falling the hammer that brutally strikes,
And so failing his leaping the Green meets the spikes,
Like the wheat on the ground after swingeth the scythe,
So the Green One laid gasping and clinging to life.

Then the Plumber goes forth like a shark sighting blood,
As his brother’s last breath bubbles up through the mud
And his wrath finds renewal in vengeance and rage
With his princess forgot in the war that we wage.

The Italian came down like a snake through the pipe,
For his wrath and his hatred the time was quite ripe;
And the red of his shirt was like blood on the sand,
And he fatally fell as I made my last stand.

Reflecting Poem

All Unspoken Words Shout The Truth Gladly,
Unspoken Secrets Waiting For Lies Turned Sour
Words Waiting Hide Revelation Against Your Lover
Shout For Revelation In What Gazing Seeks
The Lies Against Where Man’s Sight Rests
Truth Turned Your Gazing Sight Inward Reflecting
Gladly, Sour Lover Seeks Rests Reflecting Life.

Saturday Blog Fever

I’ve realized that an entire week is a pretty long time between stories, so I’ve decided to start updating bi-weekly. Get ready for some poetry and short-short stories.

In other news, I’ve realized my short stories this far have been distinctly fantasy-flavored, so I’ll be writing a distinctly not-fantasy story for this Wednesday.

Have a nice weekend, folks.

Gallow’s Coin

It had a rather nefarious glint to it, and that’s probably why it caught my eye. It was a larger coin, just wider than a half-dollar, and bore a face that looked, from a distance, very much like a jubilant skull; on closer examination the profile was of some long-dead king or president of a foreign land. The lettering read ‘AXIIL’, and it held no other indicator of the time or place of its minting. Continue reading “Gallow’s Coin”

Lonely Trail

A decorated wagon crept across the desert with a peculiar slothfulness rarely seen during June, as though whoever dwelled beneath the brilliant crimson-and-violet canopy had no heed of the intense heat. Mr. Hall, who most certainly was aware of the intense heat, walked alongside the pair of dusty oxen hitched to the front of the cart. “Is everythin’ comfortable for ya’, Doctor?” He called in-between commands to the great beasts. Continue reading “Lonely Trail”