So, I know I haven't been posting in a while, but there is more to come. I finally have some free time to write. College life really takes its tole on writing. Anyway, I will again attempt to publish something weekly. If I don't, feel free to email me and remind me. I can always use the encouragement/pressure to write. Thanks! Also, I will be attempting to compile notes in order to write a novel this coming November. For that reason, I won't be posting during that month, but I may post a couple of chapters later on. As readers on my blog, you might get a "sneak preview" of what I'm writing.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Keep up the curiosity and imagination!
DQ
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The Song of Allakin
Long ago when the world was young
Before a single song was sung
He wandered far across the earth
North and South and East and West
He walked it all, its immense berth
Allakin the world did test.
Not god or man but spirit still
He walked and ran and leapt until
The cliffs of Stzêrad he did reach
In the North they rose quite sheer
Without a seam or crack or breach
Even then he knew no fear.
With laughter shrill he leapt on high
Then Allakin was first to fly
From base to peak in single bound
He reached the top of the earth
Where there is not a single sound
Except the wind’s whistling mirth.
Then Allakin turned round and saw
All Niatorun with great awe
From North to South to East to West
He saw it all completely
Ev’ry forest and songbird’s nest
He saw and knew totally.
At Stzêrad still a man can hear
Amidst the ice and cliffs so sheer
A laughter shrill of joy so pure
That will bring healing with hope
To pains and cares that men endure
And allow them then to cope.
Before a single song was sung
He wandered far across the earth
North and South and East and West
He walked it all, its immense berth
Allakin the world did test.
Not god or man but spirit still
He walked and ran and leapt until
The cliffs of Stzêrad he did reach
In the North they rose quite sheer
Without a seam or crack or breach
Even then he knew no fear.
With laughter shrill he leapt on high
Then Allakin was first to fly
From base to peak in single bound
He reached the top of the earth
Where there is not a single sound
Except the wind’s whistling mirth.
Then Allakin turned round and saw
All Niatorun with great awe
From North to South to East to West
He saw it all completely
Ev’ry forest and songbird’s nest
He saw and knew totally.
At Stzêrad still a man can hear
Amidst the ice and cliffs so sheer
A laughter shrill of joy so pure
That will bring healing with hope
To pains and cares that men endure
And allow them then to cope.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Yela'il's Shrine
A note on the pronunciation of unfamiliar terms:
Yela'il: rhymes with "eel." Yĕ-la-(soft pause)-ēl
Olsar: rhymes with "star."
Over stone and under tree
Trav’lers walk and creatures creep
Over lands where’er we see
Peaks and fields and oceans deep.
Over earth and under sun
People from afar did come
To see the work that had been done
Of all the works of men, the sum.
Over land and under cloud
Demons came with horrid sound
Their ranks hiding in a shroud
With anger their ranks war-bound.
Over sand and under sky
Nations all came out to fight
Armor shined and spirits high
Ranks of soldiers quite a sight.
Blood ran red and hope ran low
Hatred in the world made known
Demonic force in their glow
Vying for the mortal throne.
Under Olsar’s silver sheen
Upon the high mountain’s scree
From afar their plight was seen
By a single, lonesome tree.
Worried for the plight of men
The tree wanted it to end
It called for help in ev’ry glen
And around each river’s bend.
When nothing answered his plea
Anxiousness began to grow
It was eating at the tree
Like the cawing of a crow.
Then that tree its roots did free
Breaking out its earthly seal
It moved away, the goddess to see
To seek out fair Yela’il.
Day and night that tree did run
Searching far and wide and low
Under moons and under sun
The goddess’s delightful glow.
Finally the tree did find
The goddess in her forest shrine.
In the language of its kind
The tree’s news reached the divine.
With one breath the goddess blessed
The tree that the news did fetch
In its limbs she placed a nest
With one egg, an orphaned wretch.
In the next breath she ran off
Faster than an eagle’s flight
The tree settled in a trough
And roots and earth then did unite.
To this day that tree does stand
In Yela’il’s forest shrine
The nest a solid silver band
In it long the egg did shine
Long-forgotten, long-detatched
The egg lay silent in its nest.
Finally the bird was hatched
Happy was the tree at rest.
With red, gold, and royal blue
It flew round and sang its tune
Any little simple cue
Would start a song from dawn to noon.
Rumors of the war did reach
The glade in which the tree did stand
At every death the bird would screech
As blood ran out into the sand.
When the war did end at last,
Yela’il came back to call
On that tree she’d left so fast
And on the bird now strong and tall.
Once again she blessed the tree
This time with the pow’r of speech
And when people came to see
The tree then would speak to each.
Rumors spread across the land
Of Yela’il’s speaking tree
And bird with the golden band
And the wisdom of the three.
People came from far and wide
To hear the wisdom of the tree
In him many would confide
And leave happy, truly free.
People came from ev’rywhere
To hear the song of the bird
When the song’s notes reached the air
No one could even speak a word.
When Yela'il would join in
The world would stop in wonder
Thinking it must be a sin
To stop their song by blunder.
Thus became Yela'il's shrine
Deep in the forested hills
To this day it does shine
Goddess, tree, and the bird's trills.
Yela'il: rhymes with "eel." Yĕ-la-(soft pause)-ēl
Olsar: rhymes with "star."
Over stone and under tree
Trav’lers walk and creatures creep
Over lands where’er we see
Peaks and fields and oceans deep.
Over earth and under sun
People from afar did come
To see the work that had been done
Of all the works of men, the sum.
Over land and under cloud
Demons came with horrid sound
Their ranks hiding in a shroud
With anger their ranks war-bound.
Over sand and under sky
Nations all came out to fight
Armor shined and spirits high
Ranks of soldiers quite a sight.
Blood ran red and hope ran low
Hatred in the world made known
Demonic force in their glow
Vying for the mortal throne.
Under Olsar’s silver sheen
Upon the high mountain’s scree
From afar their plight was seen
By a single, lonesome tree.
Worried for the plight of men
The tree wanted it to end
It called for help in ev’ry glen
And around each river’s bend.
When nothing answered his plea
Anxiousness began to grow
It was eating at the tree
Like the cawing of a crow.
Then that tree its roots did free
Breaking out its earthly seal
It moved away, the goddess to see
To seek out fair Yela’il.
Day and night that tree did run
Searching far and wide and low
Under moons and under sun
The goddess’s delightful glow.
Finally the tree did find
The goddess in her forest shrine.
In the language of its kind
The tree’s news reached the divine.
With one breath the goddess blessed
The tree that the news did fetch
In its limbs she placed a nest
With one egg, an orphaned wretch.
In the next breath she ran off
Faster than an eagle’s flight
The tree settled in a trough
And roots and earth then did unite.
To this day that tree does stand
In Yela’il’s forest shrine
The nest a solid silver band
In it long the egg did shine
Long-forgotten, long-detatched
The egg lay silent in its nest.
Finally the bird was hatched
Happy was the tree at rest.
With red, gold, and royal blue
It flew round and sang its tune
Any little simple cue
Would start a song from dawn to noon.
Rumors of the war did reach
The glade in which the tree did stand
At every death the bird would screech
As blood ran out into the sand.
When the war did end at last,
Yela’il came back to call
On that tree she’d left so fast
And on the bird now strong and tall.
Once again she blessed the tree
This time with the pow’r of speech
And when people came to see
The tree then would speak to each.
Rumors spread across the land
Of Yela’il’s speaking tree
And bird with the golden band
And the wisdom of the three.
People came from far and wide
To hear the wisdom of the tree
In him many would confide
And leave happy, truly free.
People came from ev’rywhere
To hear the song of the bird
When the song’s notes reached the air
No one could even speak a word.
When Yela'il would join in
The world would stop in wonder
Thinking it must be a sin
To stop their song by blunder.
Thus became Yela'il's shrine
Deep in the forested hills
To this day it does shine
Goddess, tree, and the bird's trills.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The Champion
As the crows let out their deep-throated calls, a young man glanced up at them. Their squawk sounded erie to him, even ominous. The black birds circled hungrily around him, as if waiting for him to die. His eyes followed their flight for a moment, captured by the hungry look in their eyes and the steadiness of their wings. He looked down at his shaking hands. His sword and shield rattled even more as he tried to stop the shaking.
Suddenly, the clash of battle came sharply into focus when a friend yelled his name. He shook his head quickly, and with one smooth movement, swung his sword right through a charging enemy’s neck. He quickly became absorbed in the heat of battle. Stroke by stroke his enemies fell. No wonder he was called a champion of champions and a warrior of warriors. None could stand in his way.
When the noise of battle stopped, he looked back down at his bloody hands. They weren’t shaking. He calmly wiped his sword off on a small patch of green grass, soiling the last few clean blades of grass on the field. Sheathing his sword, he walked over to where his shield had been yanked off his arm. He picked it up, and, not noticing any major problems with it, slung it over his shoulder.
The crows called out again with their voices of death, and he looked up at them. This time, though, it was not with apprehension, but with defiance. He followed one’s flight as it dove hungrily towards one of his fallen comrades. In one smooth motion, he plucked a spear from the chest of a man next to him and hurled it through the crow’s head before it even landed on the man. Those few remaining survivors looked over at him with fear, knowing that they could easily be his next target.
He calmly walked off the battlefield and into his tent. When the flap closed behind him, he looked down at his hands for the third time. They were shaking worse than they had been before the battle. Before long, he was lying on the dirt floor sobbing quietly. The stench of death from the nearby field only accentuated the anguish he felt at the deathblows he had dealt and at the deaths of his companions.
He lay there for a long time, before composing himself enough to remove his armor. When he took it off, he noticed it was covered in blood, both on the outside, and on the inside. He slowly ran his hands over his body, searching for wounds. It would not be good to be careless and die because he did not notice a gash in his flesh. As he finished his inspection, he realized that the blood on his armor was not his. It must have been the blood of his enemies that had crept onto his chest. The thought of the death of so many men flung back into a fit of sobs that he was incapable of stopping.
Before long, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder pulling him upright from the dust on the floor. When he looked up, his eyes met those of his closest friend. Though he was not sobbing, the friend’s eyes were also full of tears that were dripping into his scrawny beard. The first man stood up and embraced his friend, beginning to sob once again. The friend cried with him for a time and then pushed him away.
“Death is an inevitable part of life, Petrus.” the friend said. “We must not revel in battle, yet, as people who are ever in conflict, we must not shy away from it either. You are a champion on the field, a powerful warrior, and a worthy adversary. It is right to mourn the men who died today, both those you killed and those others killed. We must not, though let the memories of their faces haunt us. Instead, let us celebrate their lives and that they died valiantly facing death, without regrets.”
Petrus looked at his friend solemnly, the tears beginning to dry up. Understanding slowly began to grow in his face until it seemed to glow. Slowly, almost as if he was still struggling with the thought of it, a slight smile began to grow on his face.
“At least you and I are alive still, Markus.” He chuckled. “What would your mother say if I had left you here?”
As if on cue, both friends began to howl with laughter. From outside the tent, some of the other soldiers looked at the tent questioningly, wondering whether those men within were possessed by demons, or simply out of their minds. Some of the older men chuckled quietly into their beards and returned to cleaning their armor. Others shook their heads in contempt and walked on. Many of the younger men made signs to ward off evil and stared wide-eyed at the tent of the champion, hoping he wasn’t coming for them next.
After a long while, the friends calmed down. They sat down next to each other on a bench in the tent and smiled. Markus looked over at Petrus and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“I can tell you she wouldn’t be happy.” Markus joked. “She might even chase you away with a frying pan.”
Petrus smiled at this. “Your right. She probably would!” Then he said seriously, “But she’d also accuse me of murder. I don’t want that to happen.”
Markus looked over at his friend’s face. He pressed his jaw together in a tough smile and nodded his head. The two friends stood up and faced each other.
“You may be the king’s champion,” Markus said, “but I’m your back-up. Never forget that.”
Markus stretched out his right arm towards Petrus. Petrus looked down at it, and grasped it with his own. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.
“I’ll never forget that, Markus.” Petrus said. “Never.”
Markus smiled then said, “Of course you won’t! You’re the Champion, you can’t forget anything!”
The friends pulled into a rough embrace that quickly turned into a wrestling match. Of course, Petrus pinned Markus in only a few brief seconds. Then Petrus got off his friend and reached out his hand to help him up.
As he pulled Markus up, he said, “No, that’s why I’m the Champion.”
Suddenly, the clash of battle came sharply into focus when a friend yelled his name. He shook his head quickly, and with one smooth movement, swung his sword right through a charging enemy’s neck. He quickly became absorbed in the heat of battle. Stroke by stroke his enemies fell. No wonder he was called a champion of champions and a warrior of warriors. None could stand in his way.
When the noise of battle stopped, he looked back down at his bloody hands. They weren’t shaking. He calmly wiped his sword off on a small patch of green grass, soiling the last few clean blades of grass on the field. Sheathing his sword, he walked over to where his shield had been yanked off his arm. He picked it up, and, not noticing any major problems with it, slung it over his shoulder.
The crows called out again with their voices of death, and he looked up at them. This time, though, it was not with apprehension, but with defiance. He followed one’s flight as it dove hungrily towards one of his fallen comrades. In one smooth motion, he plucked a spear from the chest of a man next to him and hurled it through the crow’s head before it even landed on the man. Those few remaining survivors looked over at him with fear, knowing that they could easily be his next target.
He calmly walked off the battlefield and into his tent. When the flap closed behind him, he looked down at his hands for the third time. They were shaking worse than they had been before the battle. Before long, he was lying on the dirt floor sobbing quietly. The stench of death from the nearby field only accentuated the anguish he felt at the deathblows he had dealt and at the deaths of his companions.
He lay there for a long time, before composing himself enough to remove his armor. When he took it off, he noticed it was covered in blood, both on the outside, and on the inside. He slowly ran his hands over his body, searching for wounds. It would not be good to be careless and die because he did not notice a gash in his flesh. As he finished his inspection, he realized that the blood on his armor was not his. It must have been the blood of his enemies that had crept onto his chest. The thought of the death of so many men flung back into a fit of sobs that he was incapable of stopping.
Before long, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder pulling him upright from the dust on the floor. When he looked up, his eyes met those of his closest friend. Though he was not sobbing, the friend’s eyes were also full of tears that were dripping into his scrawny beard. The first man stood up and embraced his friend, beginning to sob once again. The friend cried with him for a time and then pushed him away.
“Death is an inevitable part of life, Petrus.” the friend said. “We must not revel in battle, yet, as people who are ever in conflict, we must not shy away from it either. You are a champion on the field, a powerful warrior, and a worthy adversary. It is right to mourn the men who died today, both those you killed and those others killed. We must not, though let the memories of their faces haunt us. Instead, let us celebrate their lives and that they died valiantly facing death, without regrets.”
Petrus looked at his friend solemnly, the tears beginning to dry up. Understanding slowly began to grow in his face until it seemed to glow. Slowly, almost as if he was still struggling with the thought of it, a slight smile began to grow on his face.
“At least you and I are alive still, Markus.” He chuckled. “What would your mother say if I had left you here?”
As if on cue, both friends began to howl with laughter. From outside the tent, some of the other soldiers looked at the tent questioningly, wondering whether those men within were possessed by demons, or simply out of their minds. Some of the older men chuckled quietly into their beards and returned to cleaning their armor. Others shook their heads in contempt and walked on. Many of the younger men made signs to ward off evil and stared wide-eyed at the tent of the champion, hoping he wasn’t coming for them next.
After a long while, the friends calmed down. They sat down next to each other on a bench in the tent and smiled. Markus looked over at Petrus and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“I can tell you she wouldn’t be happy.” Markus joked. “She might even chase you away with a frying pan.”
Petrus smiled at this. “Your right. She probably would!” Then he said seriously, “But she’d also accuse me of murder. I don’t want that to happen.”
Markus looked over at his friend’s face. He pressed his jaw together in a tough smile and nodded his head. The two friends stood up and faced each other.
“You may be the king’s champion,” Markus said, “but I’m your back-up. Never forget that.”
Markus stretched out his right arm towards Petrus. Petrus looked down at it, and grasped it with his own. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.
“I’ll never forget that, Markus.” Petrus said. “Never.”
Markus smiled then said, “Of course you won’t! You’re the Champion, you can’t forget anything!”
The friends pulled into a rough embrace that quickly turned into a wrestling match. Of course, Petrus pinned Markus in only a few brief seconds. Then Petrus got off his friend and reached out his hand to help him up.
As he pulled Markus up, he said, “No, that’s why I’m the Champion.”
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