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Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: A Poet's Life - Published!

Distinguished Bibliophile
TiggerBear
Posts: 9,489
Registered: ‎02-12-2008
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Re: A Poet's Life - Published!

A hearty congrats Kathy!:smileyvery-happy:

Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: A Poet's Life - Published!

thanks, tigger, so much.....how crazy it is, for today i also got my left wrist injected...i'm typing with one hand.  soon to be better,,,,i want to tell you more, but it will be limited right now to wishing you and your family, and all our buds, a merry christmas, and the best ever new year.:smileyhappy:


TiggerBear wrote:

A hearty congrats Kathy!:smileyvery-happy:


 

Distinguished Bibliophile
TiggerBear
Posts: 9,489
Registered: ‎02-12-2008
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Re: A Poet's Life - Published!

Injected? Hope it not seroius, or that that's the cure.

 

Thank you. My best wishes for you and yours to likewise have a great holiday season!:smileyvery-happy:

Distinguished Bibliophile
dulcinea3
Posts: 4,389
Registered: ‎10-19-2006

Congrats and Merry Christmas!!!

to Kathy!!!

 

and...

 

 

to all the citizens of Wordsmithonia!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Grand Dame of the Land of Oz, Duchess of Fantasia, in the Kingdom of Wordsmithonia; also, Poet Laureate of the Kingdom of Wordsmithonia
Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: A Poet's Life - Published!


TiggerBear wrote:

Injected? Hope it not serious, or that that's the cure.

 

Thank you. My best wishes for you and yours to likewise have a great holiday season!:smileyvery-happy:


Not sure yet.  Went to a specialist yesterday, and he gave me a shot in my left wrist, near the tendon, around the base of my thumb.  Not fun, at all, it hurt like hell...I think it was a horse needle he used!!  And it must have been dull!!  Ha!  I can laugh, now that's it's over. 

 

This tendon/arthritis problem was not improving, that's why I chose this route. It's been going on since summer.   It's still in my right hand, but better..I can live with it....I wasn't going for a shot in both hands at once!  He agreed, he wanted to see how this worked.....and if this doesn't work, he suggested surgery.  NO!  I deem it's going to work!   I had a one in ten thousand chance of this shot backfiring - nicking the nerves or tendon, infection, reaction....I took it.... and surgery is not a sure thing, either, plus a long recovery period.  I went through a month of physical therapy for both hands, and my therapist gave up last week....it was just making it worse.  He suggested the steroid, and so did my physician. 

 

I'm suppose to limit my thumb/hand activity for a few days, now, so I wrapped it up, tight, when I went to bed.  I can type!  I feel better this morning, although, I only got a few hours sleep.  I think the lidocaine in the mixture wired me!   Now I've got a ton of blood work to get done, from both of my doctors. That seems never ending, but at least they are checking everything that might be a secondary cause/problem, or a diagnosis for future preventative treatment.  I already know the primary cause, lifting wrong...stupid me!

 

The rain has finally stopped, and the sun is coming out!...Yay!..now places to go, people to see...and things to get done.  My daughter Julie's birthday is today...the big 40!  She doesn't want to talk about it!  But we are going to lunch, sushi, her favorite.... and I invited my daughters to go with me to a party tonight.  It's my writers group.   I'll probably be a walking zombie by then...we'll see....maybe a nap this after noon!  :smileyvery-happy:

 

Soon,

Kathy

 

 

Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: Congrats and Merry Christmas!!!

Thanks, Denise, and a Merry Christmas to you and yours, and everyone here, too!  I have a feeling it's going to be a Happy New Year, too! 

 

With much love to everyone...

 

Kathy

Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: A Poet's Life - A week after Christmas

Under The Blue and White Striped Canopy

 

 Piles upon piles of trees

Lying face down,

alone

along city sidewalks

Tires race

by

where have you been

where are you going

look

see

here I am

a

tree

I

cry

you cut me down

and tied me up

thrown to the ground

not chosen

forsaken

to die

here

I

lie

 

 

Under The Canopy

 

To

die

Here

they lie

Look see

Forsaken

Never chosen

Here they are

You cut them down

Where have you been

Where are you going

Thrown to the ground

along city sidewalks

lying face down

Tires race

by

Contributor
DaxMTucker
Posts: 14
Registered: ‎05-30-2011

Re: A Poet's Life

 These are the opening lines to my new epic poem, "The Leaf Catcher," that I just published here at Barnes and Noble:

 

A village like any other


From prehistoric times on lands frozen,

teaching how to keep warm and hunt for food,

to biblical shepherd lands of Goshen,

 

showing how a lost lamb should be rescued,

unto the present time and that to come,

wisdom of fathers to sons is imbued.

 

They give them words to live by, a dictum, 

and train their bodies to be fast and strong,

ensuring from boy to man they become.

 

They instill in them what’s right from what’s wrong.

What could be a more valuable treasure

than to live life, healthy, happy and long?

 

And now sit back and read at your leisure

of a father who’ll take such a measure ….

 

The story is written in the terza rima style of Dante's Divine Comedy. If you appreciate epic poetry please give it a read and enjoy the many virtues a father will teach his son as he endures the tragic consequences of a insanely jeaulous lover.


The Leaf Catcher  

Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: A Poet's Life

These days, I'm spending most of my time writing...when I'm not reading.  Prosetry fascinates me.  I try to write prose, but my brain seems to want to slip a cog, and my words start to rhyme.  There is a rhythm that inundates, like a heart beat that can't be stopped until it satiates.

 

http://prosetryinmotion.blogspot.com/

Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006

A Poet's Life

I just wanted to share my poem with you...as it is being shared on the web site, Any Shiny Thing.  Comment here, or on her page, if you'd like.  :smileyhappy:

 

http://anyshinything.com/2011/08/05/a-poem-of-empowerment/

Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

A Raindrop within a Sea: Fleetfoot's Lore

[ Edited ]

A single excerpt from Fleetfoot: A Lore.

 

Fleetfoot: A Toll Paid...

 

Hounds and hunters upon her heels.

Grace and power.

Scars and eels.

A gamble she made,

The ultimate price she nearly paid.

To the troll the hunters fell,

He in possession of Fleetheart's spell.

 

To save her life she paid the toll.

Mortal flesh did gorge the troll.

Man and horse and dog and Beast.

To the troll a mighty feast.

One foot...fleeting.

Two feet... bound.

Three feet...gather.

Four feet...leaping.

 

Aerial dancer.

One foot...touching.

Two feet...leading.

Three feet...clinging.

Four feet...climbing.

Aerial dancer...One heart weeping.

A tormented soul,

Justice seeking.

 

The maw she faced the day...

But from the gluttonous troll

She turned, fled away...

Fleetheart's legacy...

Fleetfoot's heart cried.

'Please don't leave me.'

'Hold back the tide...'



'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious
Contributor
Shrouded-Angel
Posts: 20
Registered: ‎07-08-2011

Re: A Crown of Rain, of Stars

A Crown of Rain, of Stars

 

A patter of rain.

A whisper of wind.

A ripple of water...

Of change,

Traces over my skin.

 

I stare at the sky...

In the dark and the storm.

Lightning and thunder...

A chattering of teeth,

A shiver against the chill.

But inside my heart, my head...

A single hope glows,

Bright and warm.

Forging the iron of a will,

To steel determination,

Flexible and sharp.

 

I stare at the sky...

Amidst the mist and twining fog.

A fragment of starlight...

A wish made...

Starbright...

Moonshadows and hidden things.

Secret passwords, creatures with wings.

 

Of labyrinths and legends.

Of myths and tales.

Of faeries and elves...

Of books and scribblings.

Piled and yellowed,

Crumbling on shelves.

The leavings of...

Dreamers afraid to reveal themselves.

 

A mumbling, a careless word.

Overheard...

A deed that cannot be undone.

A word unsaid...

Hopeless...

A dreamer with a head in the clouds.

All these strange fancies.

All these tales, spoken aloud.

 

Logic is the way the world works.

They say...

Logic is why the world hurts.

Logic is why I look away...

Into the clouds,

As the rain tumbles down.

A shimmer of stars,

A fallen, soaking crown.

Upon the lashes of a dreamer's eyes...

 

A whisper of feathers,

An owl takes to wing

A murmur of leaves,

As they gossip with the night hob.

Somewhere a faery and nightingale,

Start to sing...

The dewy art of a spider web,

Glistens in the night.

Reflecting stardust and moonshadows.

No child shall take fright...

 

A patter of rain.

A whispering breeze.

A ripple on the water...

Of change...

Traces my skin.

As I breakaway,

Following an unknown path...

A hopeless dreamer,

About to begin again...



'The one who creeps in corridors and doesn't make a sound...'
Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
0 Kudos

Re: A Crown of Rain, of Stars

 

 
I love how the pace of these poems are set to push the reader, wanting more
..Insistent and powerful!
love them both!
 
Distinguished Bibliophile
Darkkin
Posts: 2,224
Registered: ‎08-15-2009

Re:Whisper. Murmur. Hush.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

The voice of a summer breeze.

A sibilant hush.

The words of a ghost,

Escaping icy lips in a tangle rush.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

Tangled, mangle words.

A specters voice...

Delivered in a rush,

Of wind on a clear, cool night.

Many would give a start...

Too many would take fight.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

Can anyone hear me?

Can anyone see?

Does anyone know what became of me?

So speaks the specter...

In a tangled, broken rush.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

A voice on the wind.

A spirit in the air.

Phantom eyes are watching.

As a legend steps forward.

As someone, at long last...

Listens and heeds.

Finally seems to care.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

A voice soft and muted,

Converses with the westerly.

Chases after shadows,

And hunts down lost refrains.

A voice is heard within the wind.

So it all begins again...

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

A fell voice upon the air.

A specter in the wind.

A hunter of the shadows.

A finder of refrains.

A translator of the fallen.

And one to make things whole again.

Whisper...murmur...hush.

 

Whisper...murmur...hush.

They are six in number.

They stand alone.

Two Guardians, swift and lethal.

A Thief, stealthy and cunning.

Two Seekers, knowing and wise.

A Healer, reforging a broken relic...

She who will open blind eyes.

Whisper...murmur...hush.



'Of wings and words and dancing milkweed seeds...'

Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

Re: Poet's Life

An excerpt from the final third of Fleetfoot: A Lore, Lily's Song

 

Fleetfoot: Of War Horns and Heralds

 

The Eyes of the Untouched.

Searched.  Hunted.  Watched.

Hoped...

And with each passing day.

Hope faded, dimmed, and died

Away.

For in the shadows, no trace of their princess...

Could they hide.

Across the vale, down the mountains,

Following the river to the very heart of the kingdom,

Did Sacorum come.

In his hand, a hammer...

Cursed and massive.

An innocent soul within its handle,

Bound and captive.

Locked in iron, cloaked in bronze,

Was the missing horn,

Of she, Fleetheart, the slain Unicorn.

Up from the bridge...

Fed by the forge...

Clad in iron, marched the all consuming demon horde.

Black tide swamps the plains.

Death toll begins as a bell in the distance rings.

Ov'r the knoll and down the rise.

Ringing...singing.

For the dead, the dying, those with tears in their eyes.

Death knoll, death toll...

But is Lily among their number?

Has the mighty Rowan fallen?

In the West a bloody, gorgy sun does set.

Along the river no small creatures linger.

Harkin Herald, swift and light.

Greyhound, whippet...

Out from a passage, old and hidden.

Down from the path, ov'r which Rowan last had ridden.

Fleet feet flying...

Small and swift.

A click of nails, a cold sniffing nose.

Lithe and light and long...

With power and courage.

Holding...going strong.

Down and away.

Away and down.

Find she, who is foretold to wear the crown.

Fleet feet fly, but not alone.

Down a trail, twisted and forgotten.

Ov'r stumps and crossing briars.

Fields of cotton...

Into the black forest  beyond Sacorum's line.

That is where the Elven princess, dark and faire,

May have gone.

Find the footsteps, find the scent.

Find them if they still live...

Find them, bring them...

For our gates are besieged and beset.

So begins the final battle.

Of Elven and Loreborn.

Of Fae and Faeries.

Of Mortals and Beasts.

War horns

Ringing. Singing. 

Echoing now. Calling. 

Summoning one and all.

Come.  Come.  Come.

To the Tower now.



'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious
Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

Re: Poet's Life

[ Edited ]

This next piece is a trifle long, a wee bit gory, but on goes Fleetfoot's story...Listen for Lily's Song.  It is in there, really...With these, verses two, I bid all a good day and ado.  - Fleetfoot, the Murmur

 

 

Fleetfoot: Of Goblins and Hammers

 

One foot...planted.

Two feet...gather.

Three feet...bounding.

Four feet...leaping.

Bounding across the vale.

Springing down the loam.

Cloven stride is holding.

Courage is growing.

Iron bound and strong.

One foot...touching.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...leaping.

Four feet...racing.

Sparking flying as iron clad hooves strike stone and flint.

The river ahead of the flying riders looms.

Beyond it a massive tide that could spell their doom.

In the distance something...

Flashes...glimmers...glints.

A flare of silver.

The echo of steel.

Greyhound and whippet...

Racing down.

Goblins and a hail of arrows pressing at their heels.

The Heralds are at a flat out run.

Ear pressed against their heads.

Lolling, rolling tongue.

The bones, swift and light.

Upon a mountainside, scattered and forgotten.

Bleached and broken.

Rises in a memory.

Fleetfoot rears and screams a challenge.

Lily, holding tight...

Draws a breath.

Draws her blade.

Dragon forged and bone inlaid.

One foot...rising.

Two feet...pawing.

Three feet...gather.

Four feet...surging.

Toward the Heralds, who begin to bay.

For Lily they have found this day.

The clatter of hooves, cloven and iron shod.

Echoes down the shore.

For into the heart of a battle charges Fleetfoot,

On again, once more.

Fleet feet flying.

Lily's sword singing.

Howls of a goblin horde,

With agony are ringing.

Blood...

Bitter.  Vile.  Black.

Coats the bank.

Lily's shorn hair and Fleetfoot's back.

Fallen arrows.

Broken bows.

Shattered spears.

Scattered pikes and banners tattered.

On and on the devastation goes.

Dragon fire and a Unicorn's soul.

Winging.  Singing.  Ringing.

A deadly, dizzying dance...

Fleetfoot and Lily together,

Dodge and prance.

The dogs turn upon the band of goblins,

Who would see them spitted and toasted.

Served like a side of meat...

Crispy.  Tender.  Roasted.

Tearing teeth, savage growl.

Now it is the goblin horde that starts to howl.

Iron hits the stones fast and hard.

Rowan...

Riding fast and swift.

Nocks an arrow.

Launches a volley.

Following the Heralds has proven the goblins' greatest folly.

Another shot, a shriek of pain.

Bodies are falling left and right.

Soon the horde realizes they must surrender the fight.

Swords singing.

Songs winging.

A silver, coveted horn...

Slashing and goring.

Teeth catching, gnawing, tearing.

There will be nothing left of this faction.

Lily and Fleetfoot...

Have finally taken control.

Set a plan into action.

To the Tower they were bound.

Across a vale about to become torn.

Lily, Elven princess, dark and faire.

She of shorn and bloodied hair.

A warrior of the Tower born.

Dragon heart and a Unicorn horn.

 

With the horde dispatched and set to decay.

Fleetfoot, Lily, and Rowan...

Made haste with the last bloody light of the fading day.

Up from the river coursing down.

To the top of the hill.

To the top of the rise.

To the crest of the vale.

Summon all eyes.

One foot...leading.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...bounding.

Four feet...leaping.

A world torn by war.

Broken.  Bloody.  Weeping.

No more.

Will they of the Tower stand by.

To horse.  To wing.  Draw arms.

Stem the bleeding.

Bury the dead.

Seek ye all the Troll's Hammer.

Catch hold of the Goblin's Head.

With blade and talons and hope,

So long denied.

The denizen of the White Tower raise their voices.

Fey all...this bloody, tearing horde.

Bring them down.

See them to their just reward.

Upon the crest of the Evergreen Rise.

Shown two great pairs of violet eyes.

Deep and dreaming.

Determined and dark.

Above the wind the Herald does bark.

Now, too, lifts the voice of the lark.

One foot...lifting.

Two feet...pawing.

At the air fleet feet are clawing.

As the sun fades and the moon breaks free.

Stars litter the heavens.

As the night swallows day.

Lily draw forth her flute and begins to play.

A song, achingly sweet and dark.

Spirals up and away in a great sweeping arch.

Down the valley.

'Cross the glade.

She has the sword.

Dragon forged, bone inlaid.

So says the verse she weaves with her flute.

Fleet feet fly...

The home stretch looms.

Rowan Knight.

Guarding her back.

Braced for any attack.

With blade and arrows.

                         Spinning round, the Loreborn Knight will mow them down.



'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious
Distinguished Bibliophile
KathyS
Posts: 6,898
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
0 Kudos

Re: Poet's Life


Fleetfoot wrote:

This next piece is a trifle long, a wee bit gory, but on goes Fleetfoot's story...Listen for Lily's Song.  It is in there, really...With these, verses two, I bid all a good day and ado.  - Fleetfoot, the Murmur

 

 

Fleetfoot: Of Goblins and Hammers

 

One foot...planted.

Two feet...gather.

Three feet...bounding.

Four feet...leaping.

Bounding across the vale.

Springing down the loam.

Cloven stride is holding.

Courage is growing.

Iron bound and strong.

One foot...touching.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...leaping.

Four feet...racing.

Sparking flying as iron clad hooves strike stone and flint.

The river ahead of the flying riders looms.

Beyond it a massive tide that could spell their doom.

In the distance something...

Flashes...glimmers...glints.

A flare of silver.

The echo of steel.

Greyhound and whippet...

Racing down.

Goblins and a hail of arrows pressing at their heels.

The Heralds are at a flat out run.

Ear pressed against their heads.

Lolling, rolling tongue.

The bones, swift and light.

Upon a mountainside, scattered and forgotten.

Bleached and broken.

Rises in a memory.

Fleetfoot rears and screams a challenge.

Lily, holding tight...

Draws a breath.

Draws her blade.

Dragon forged and bone inlaid.

One foot...rising.

Two feet...pawing.

Three feet...gather.

Four feet...surging.

Toward the Heralds, who begin to bay.

For Lily they have found this day.

The clatter of hooves, cloven and iron shod.

Echoes down the shore.

For into the heart of a battle charges Fleetfoot,

On again, once more.

Fleet feet flying.

Lily's sword singing.

Howls of a goblin horde,

With agony are ringing.

Blood...

Bitter.  Vile.  Black.

Coats the bank.

Lily's shorn hair and Fleetfoot's back.

Fallen arrows.

Broken bows.

Shattered spears.

Scattered pikes and banners tattered.

On and on the devastation goes.

Dragon fire and a Unicorn's soul.

Winging.  Singing.  Ringing.

A deadly, dizzying dance...

Fleetfoot and Lily together,

Dodge and prance.

The dogs turn upon the band of goblins,

Who would see them spitted and toasted.

Served like a side of meat...

Crispy.  Tender.  Roasted.

Tearing teeth, savage growl.

Now it is the goblin horde that starts to howl.

Iron hits the stones fast and hard.

Rowan...

Riding fast and swift.

Nocks an arrow.

Launches a volley.

Following the Heralds has proven the goblins' greatest folly.

Another shot, a shriek of pain.

Bodies are falling left and right.

Soon the horde realizes they must surrender the fight.

Swords singing.

Songs winging.

A silver, coveted horn...

Slashing and goring.

Teeth catching, gnawing, tearing.

There will be nothing left of this faction.

Lily and Fleetfoot...

Have finally taken control.

Set a plan into action.

To the Tower they were bound.

Across a vale about to become torn.

Lily, Elven princess, dark and faire.

She of shorn and bloodied hair.

A warrior of the Tower born.

Dragon heart and a Unicorn horn.

 

With the horde dispatched and set to decay.

Fleetfoot, Lily, and Rowan...

Made haste with the last bloody light of the fading day.

Up from the river coursing down.

To the top of the hill.

To the top of the rise.

To the crest of the vale.

Summon all eyes.

One foot...leading.

Two feet...reaching.

Three feet...bounding.

Four feet...leaping.

A world torn by war.

Broken.  Bloody.  Weeping.

No more.

Will they of the Tower stand by.

To horse.  To wing.  Draw arms.

Stem the bleeding.

Bury the dead.

Seek ye all the Troll's Hammer.

Catch hold of the Goblin's Head.

With blade and talons and hope,

So long denied.

The denizen of the White Tower raise their voices.

Fey all...this bloody, tearing horde.

Bring them down.

See them to their just reward.

Upon the crest of the Evergreen Rise.

Shown two great pairs of violet eyes.

Deep and dreaming.

Determined and dark.

Above the wind the Herald does bark.

Now, too, lifts the voice of the lark.

One foot...lifting.

Two feet...pawing.

At the air fleet feet are clawing.

As the sun fades and the moon breaks free.

Stars litter the heavens.

As the night swallows day.

Lily draw forth her flute and begins to play.

A song, achingly sweet and dark.

Spirals up and away in a great sweeping arch.

Down the valley.

'Cross the glade.

She has the sword.

Dragon forged, bone inlaid.

So says the verse she weaves with her flute.

Fleet feet fly...

The home stretch looms.

Rowan Knight.

Guarding her back.

Braced for any attack.

With blade and arrows.

                         Spinning round, the Loreborn Knight will mow them down.




Fleetfoot, what a great ballad...long, yes, but no battle is short! 

Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

Re: Poet's Life

The overture of Lily's Song...is beginning.  Listen to the story the horns of the Ivory Tower are spinning.

 

Fleetfoot: Legends upon the Crest

 

A scream of rage.

A goal, at long last, is oh so near.

In the eyes of Fleetfoot,

Burns the light of a single unshed tear.

Fear...

Is not a word this trio of legends knows.

One foot...touching.

Two feet...planted.

Three feet...shifting.

Four feet...gathered.

As the moon climbed into the sky.

Its argent light streaming, seeping, creeping,

Across the beloved, besieged hills and dales.

Of the Loreborn Vale.

Out of the heart of this deep green world.

Rimmed with mountains, cobalt and stalwart

And a great, shimmering, turquoise tinted sea.

Rising like the stamen of a flower.

Was the legendary, untouched...

Ivory Tower.

At her gates a gathered teeming army.

Armored. Massive. Waiting.

It was the Horde worthy of the word...

Hating.

Argent light of the moon.

The blood tinted remaining ore of the eastern sky.

Poured down on the crested rise upon,

Which Fleetfoot stood.

Upon the back of that beloved and forgotten lore.

Was the Elven princess, dark and faire.

Nearly unrecognizable with her shorn and bloodied hair.

Lily, with a weapon in her hand.

The blade prophesized to save this land.

At their back astride the charger,

Grey and might'

Was Rowan, he the Loreborn Knight.

All around as the mountains lifted, soared unto the skies.

War horns sang.

Frightened minions averted their eyes.

There upon that backlit crest.

Stood Three more powerful than all the rest.

All around the call of the horns,

Forged of rare white gold.

Stilled the songs.

Quieted the story their ring call told.

As the calling of fear.

Of despair and decaying hope...

Faded.  Stilled.  Died.

Away...

Lily, upon her silver flute, began to play.

Her song rose and soared.

Touched a fragment of instinct,

Within the dense, dim brains of that Goblin Horde.

The refrain of her simple song was very distinct.

The lilting, tilting.

Waltzing, swirling melody.

Was a verse, a voice linked...

To a bleak and blood soaked memory.

There was a tale within that song.

A legend, which for this siege, whispered.

There is something very wrong.

A riddle, a mystery.

Concealed by an angle's face.

She was the nemesis of the dark ones.

Those fallen from grace.

She with the blade.

                                                    Dragon forged, bone inlaid.

'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious
Distinguished Wordsmith
Fleetfoot
Posts: 495
Registered: ‎05-14-2011

Re: Lily's Song

It has all been building to this point, a central jewel in the tangled golden chain of Fleetfoot's Lore.  This is Lily's Song.  The end of this epic is coming fast, like fleet feet flying down the shore.  Comments welcome.

 

Fleetfoot: Lily’s Song

 

Of tales...

Of legends...

Of stories and lore.

Of riddle and rhyme.

The world hung suspended.

In defiance of time.

The war horns fell silent.

The Horde stood transfixed.

As Lily laid aside her blade.

Dragon forged, bone inlaid.

A slither of silver.

A glimmer of gold.

Slender fingers withdrew a flute.

And with a clear soprano voice.

Melodious and fair.

An unspoken tale was born.

Lily's story...

Flowered and bloomed as it was told.

Through a song, a lullaby.

The lilting of the angel's refrain.

Stilled the cacophonous call.

The commotionous rumpus.

Of that rank horde at the Tower's gate.

All eyes were fixed upon...

Lily...

Some shone with fear.

Some with awe.

Some with love.

Some with bitter, violent hate.

Lily held the Vale.

Perched upon the back of the Lore.

She of fleet feet and tufted tail.

A long, tangled mane of silver and white.

Nearly trailed upon the ground.

Reflecting upon Lily,

That rare and perfect argent light.

On and on...

That sweet flute sang.

Within its notes a dark, hidden truth...

Resided and rang.

The first verse faded...

A second began and the voice of lark.

Joined the refrain flowing across the vale.

Another verse, another voice.

Nightingale and owl...

Calling now.

Of secrets and vices.

Of a dark creature that hunted the moon.

Kissed the stars.

Deep in the forest pools another chorus rose.

The resounding bass of the bullfrogs and griffins.

The clear, carrying alto of the crows.

Startling ancient beasts from a doze.

Along the lakes and bordering,

The sea and beaches and shores.

The reeds and grasses like a choir of violins,

Began to sing.

The warbling of a thousand wrens also took to wing.

The harps and strings of the dryads.

The nymphs and faeries, too.

Joined the song of Lily's flute.

And from the coast arose a great deep pounding.

Against the rocky shore, like a mighty war drum.

The rhythm of the waves began a steady beat.

From the depths of the sea.

Calling down the shore, the hymn of a whale.

One. Two. Thrice. More.

Lily played on as though her heart would break...

For there was a voice missing from this growing song.

Rowan lifted his head unto the stars...

A perfect tenor...

He, too, added a few bars.

He spoke the words of this chaotic tale.

While deep in the caves that dot the shore,

Stirred those creatures,

They, who were the stuff of legends, from a slumber began to wake.

Then an echo to that sad, sweet lilting song,

Played by the Elven princess, dark and faire.

Quaked the ground.

And cleaved the air.

Shimmering waves of a mighty refrain.

Began to answer unto Lily...

Again.

Once more an ancient horn sounded in the deep.

A song so pure even angels began to weep.

Of gold and silver and granite,

Olde and blue.

The songs of the Lorebloods...

The dragons...

Began anew.

Refrains and replies.

Lily held the power.

Drew all eyes.

Four feet...holding tight and true.

Three legends...upon a crest.

Two eyes...great and dreaming.

One flute...in Lily's hands, gleaming

'Posted: Do not feed the Trolls, not even reindeer flattened fruitcake...Feeding of Trolls will result in gnome revolts, gremlin induced chaos, and other strangeness...' - Darkkin, the Tedious