Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category

The Beast

Their cries from distant shores resound
as the fathers called from yonder rougher ground
“Sons! Leave your beach, cross the river, brave the waves!
Lest the beast lay you in an early grave.”

Alas, their fears fell on muted ears;
instead the sons, with all their wood, built simple spears,
bared them bravely, beat their breasts,
staying far away from the waves deadly crests.

“The shores of our fathers are not for us,
their beaches barren, their forests fruitless.
See how the colors are dull and dreary.
See how the crossing made our fathers weary.
What danger waits that we cannot combat?
Our weapons sharp, ready to attack.
Courage and bravery we do not lack.”

But, at heart, the sons shook with trepidation,
always anxious at the rivers constant motion;
they saw men carried by its charging current
to the infinite beyond, to the endless ocean.

So the sons stayed on their bounteous beaches,
willing to brave the beast they had never seen,
but scared of the river which flowed within their very reach
’till came the day the foreboding fathers had foreseen.

Their cries from distant shores resound,
as the beast knocked their prideful weapons to the ground,
and no son escaped, for they had built neither boat nor oar,
as their fathers watched, mournfully, from the safer shore.


Eliza’s Fancy


Updated 3/1/2015

Eliza’s Fancy; a faery romance.

A Quick Note:

As there has been a rather unexpected rise in the amount of downloads, it is probably best for me to keep you few and dedicated readers updated on where things stand. I do not enjoy the thought of what torment you must be going through wondering ‘Is he still writing? Will I ever know the end? How will I survive without a new influx of epic poetry I probably didn’t even mean to start reading because I thought it was prose?” Alas, the anguish must be so great in you, I am sure. It pains me to know that I may well be the cause.

But worry not. It will be finished someday, that is not in question. The delay has been due to a combination of personal life (finding a faery-princess of my own who required no insignificant amount of effort to wrestle from the hands of all her other suitors) and intellectual trepidation about how to move the story from where it was to where I wanted it to be.

Luckily, the intellectual trepidation is no more, and I have even begun slowly churning out stanzas once again. I finally have settled on the complete story arc, and now it is but a matter of finding the time to put it into poetics. And I assure you, I am focusing far more on the meter and flow with these last four Parts than I did with the First, partially because I have hopefully improved as a poet, and partially because whereas the first Part was very careless in story as well as meter, and thus the loose flow matched the mood, these last parts are far tighter in both.

I deeply appreciate everyone who has asked me about my progress on the story, I sincerely didn’t expect anyone to read this unless forced upon them by my insistence. Those few strangers who have said such sweet words in reviews and shown such unwarranted interest have my humblest gratitude. And to  you friends who always ask about how it is going even though you likely do not truly want to hear me babble once more about it, thank you for continuing to humour me and for pushing me to finish.

My hope is now to at least get the first draft of Parts Six and Seven done by the end of the year. It is likely overly optimistic, but writing has been clipping along the last few weeks, and so I will hope for the best for as long as hope will float!

Thank you for reading my measly addition to a long-dead genre, I can but hope the ending I have will make the long wait worth it.

This page will be continuously updated as the progress on Eliza’s Fancy furthers. It will provide the best estimate as to the completion of the next Part, as well as periodic updates as to length in total and estimated release dates, though all such estimations are only that, and are thus subject to constant change.

Chapters in italics indicate currently in progress, or sketched out in content.
Chapters in bold indicate finished in skeletal form, to be reworked in some noticeable amount.
Chapters in regular indicate finished in near complete form, with changes being mostly in style or wording.

Parts will be released via Smashwords in chunks of nine chapters (one to two Parts released at a time), the first Part being free.

Looking to wrap up art work, then release it to the world. Soon, though not soon enough.

Part One

Released: February 25th, 2011

Part Two
Part Three

Released: February 25th, 2011

Part Four

Part Five

Released January 24, 2012

Part Six – Writing

Chapter XLVI – 1407 Words
Chapter XLVII – 2104 Words
Chapter XLVIII – 1216 Words
Chapter XLIX – 1610 Words

Chapter L – 758 Words
Chapter LI – 685 Words
Chapter LII257 Words
Chapter LIII324 Words
Chapter LIV

Part Seven – Plot hatched, basic outline in progress

Eliza’s Fancy is a faery-romance set in a whimsical world full of sylphan magic and demonic temptation. When Eliza wanders into an enchanted forest, she sees amidst the trees a Black Knight who steals her heart before riding off into the unknown distance. Pulled by this sudden love, she sets out to find him once again. Along the way, she meets fantastic friends and faces formidable foes in an adventure that delves into both the life-giving power and the dark-sided danger of love.

The Six Young Sailors

Under the moon, on deck they stood,
“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

For two long years the schooner hopped,
like a bullfrog between lilly pads,
from island to island carrying crops
‘tween Turner Cay and Trinidad.

Ne’er before had the Captain led
to bad port or dangered reef,
keeping stocked with rum and bread
keeping trips easy and brief.

But to-day, the winds had suddenly turned
and becalmed the ship in open water;
Oh! how the crews face did darken
though they still feared the Flogger.

Six young sailors gathered ’round
at night as the moon shone brightly down,
and the sail covered her face like a silken shroud
as if she wished to hide her frown.

In the dark, on deck they stood,
“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

“The Captain brought us to this fate,
his methods have long been out of date.
All but his officers he most certainly hates,
the Captain has led us to this fate.”

“The Navigator is his right-hand man,
he is the one who writ this plan –
he knew the globe would stop her fan!
The Navigator is his right hand man.”

“The Quartermaster has late been rather stingy –
drinking with the nobles and acting fishy.
He wishes not for it to be breezy,
the Quartermaster has late been rather stingy.”

“The Flogger has gained from our plight,
he flogged ten people just last night!
He’s no sailor, that’s quite right.
The Flogger has gained from our plight.”

Having chose who were at fault,
the six young sailors planned revolt,
the next night they would strike
as blindly as a lightning bolt.

In the shadows, on deck they stood
“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

When the moon returned and hid her eyes
behind the mast and crossing ropes,
the six young sailors called upon
all the crew who’d lost their hope.

“Come friends! Come friends!
Listen here!
The Captain has sold us all,
though for what is unclear.”

“He and the Navigator did plan the route,
He and the Quartermaster do nightly flout,
He and the Flogger with glee do clout,
The four of them all have sold us out!”

“To arms! To arms!
It is not mutiny
if they deserve all the harm
when we beat them bloody!”

The boys did cheer and praise the six
for finding the cause of their predicament,
grabbing bats and bars and guns,
a little revolution did foment.

Amidst the crowd, on deck they stood,
“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

They bagged the Captain first of all
and hauled him before their fellowship,
charged him with lying through his teeth
’bout the reason for this curs-ed trip.

“Did your business pals back on land
promise, at exorbitant price, to buy
if you would take this dangerous path
though all us poor sailors die?”

“No! No!” the Captain cried,
“We’ve actually been this way before,
sometimes the sea is cruel and harsh
and strands you far, far offshore!”

“Off the gangplank!” said the sailors,
ignoring all his desperate pleas –
and with cannonball attached to foot
sank the Captain into the sea.

Next was the Navigator, they caught him ‘midst
trying to trace the path they took
on one of the hundreds of detailed maps
in one of the hundreds of dusty books.

“How kind of you to trace
this path into motionlessness.
I’d bet the Captain paid you well
to sacrifice us to richness!”

“No! No!” the Navigator cried,
“I don’t control the weather!
I get paid exact the same
whether stopped or floating like a feather!”

“Off the gangplank!” said the sailors,
ignoring all his desperate pleas –
and with cannonball attached to foot
sank the Navigator into the sea.

The poor Quartermaster was grabbed
while sorting through all the rations –
though the last two had been higher-up,
hoarding food stirs higher passions.

“We’ve seen you bringing all the best
of wine and rum and bread and fish
to the Captain’s quarters every day
while leaving the rest of us to famish!”

“No! No!” the Quartermaster cried,
“I’m only showing which food got wetter!
I’ve eaten the same portion as you –
and the Captain only little better!”

“Off the gangplank!” said the sailors,
ignoring all his desperate pleas –
and with cannonball attached to foot
sank the Quartermaster into the sea.

By now the crowd was quite unruly,
and the Flogger got the worse of it –
for each man he’d flogged for flagging,
thrice did he get whipped.

“Oh, Taskmaster! Did the Captain give
promises of name and fame
if you beat all us blind
in order to keep our class tame?”

“No! No!” the Flogger cried,
“I only do the job I’m told!
I’ve never even met the Captain!
I’ve never seen an ounce of gold!”

“Off the gangplank!’ said the sailors,
ignoring all his desperate pleas –
and with cannonball attached to foot
sank the Flogger into the sea.

“We’ve won! We’ve won!
Their dastardly plans are foiled!
For change! For progress!
For the greater good we’ve toiled!”

Carrying the smell of newer places
the winds picked up quite suddenly!
The casks of rum were broken open,
a cry was raised of victory!

“Who will be our new Captain?
Who will lead us home?
Who will be our Navigator
to guide us through the breaking foam?”

But none of the sailors really knew
what the Captain did really do;
none of the maps in the Navigators room
could give them a single clue.

All of the crew began to mutter
about how they wanted more butter,
so they took to the Quartermaster’s clutter
and on their bread put more butter.

“This can’t be allowed!
We’ll run dry!
We need a new Flogger
to protect the supply!”

But none were as strong
as the one they drowned,
and of the six young sailors
no Flogger was found.

So six younger sailors gathered round
at night as the moon shone brightly down
and the sail covered her face like a silken shroud
as if she wished to hide her frown.

In the dark, on deck they stood,
“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

Six months later, by chance one day,
crashed on a reef the ship was found –
filled with corpses, starved or shot,
but a few short miles from the ground.

Scrawled on the deck, carved in the wood
was a saying:

“For change! For progress!
For the greater good!”

For the Child at Heart, on a Rainy Day

When the rain fell, the sky split
sending half itself down,
found the ground and fit
into puddles and pits.

The moon shattered,
now a thousand little discs,
that dropped and pitter-pattered,
in a thousand places scattered.

Look! the clouds flee
and where once was water
now, there, heavens be!

In each one, the moon’s children smile,
haloed in stars,
creation now an ethereal tile
decorating the streets with empyrean style!

Children! remember! remove your shoes,
for where heaven has fallen,
God’s love does effuse.

For moon and stars were first a gift
to tired-eyed angels in the firmament,
so whenever the sky does lovingly rift
your toes must show ever so swift.

When the moon finally gathers her children
and marshalls them off as a squadron
and the sky turns ‘to a fire-red cauldron
and the sun peeks over the grassy fence
and the waters begin to rinse
the air with a scattered fog,
rejoice! and remember your muddy footprints
will float like a soothing incense
to God’s own throne.

A Parable in Three Parts, with Lamentations

Part One

There once was a shepherd in a small village where wolves in wool and violent bears roamed freely. He was a faithful yet aloof man, and wanted nothing more then to bring as many sheep to pasture as he could. He thought, “If I buy as many sheep as I can and bring them to pasture, soon I will be able to buy even more sheep, and it will not matter if the wolves and bears take some of my flock, for I will be keeping even more safe!” So he bought more sheep, and expanded his flock. When the wolves snuck in with their sheep skins, he did nothing; and when the bears charged in with their vicious claws, he did nothing – for he knew that for every sheep he lost, he could simply buy two more.

Part Two

There once was a shepherd in a small village where wolves in wool and violent bears roamed freely. He was a meek but foolish man, and wanted nothing more then for the sheep to love him and follow him without need of staff or dog. He thought, “If I dress myself in wool and on my hands and knees lead them as if I am one of them, then they will love me and willingly follow me to safety!” So he wore thick wool, and on all fours baaed to them, and they loved him and followed him. When the wolves snuck in with their sheep skins, he could not see them; and when the bears charged in with their vicious claws, he could not see them – for his eyes were on the sheep who loved him, and he could not see far enough to keep them safe.

Part Three

There once was a shepherd in a small village where wolves in sheepskins and violent bears roamed freely. He was a faithful and meek man, but he was warmhearted and wise, and wanted nothing more then to keep his sheep safe from harm. He thought, “If I learn to know my sheep by sight and sound, and if I stay alert and have my sling always in my hand, than I will know when the wolves slink into my flock, and I will easily scare off the savage bears before they can cause harm!” So he tended his flock closely, and stayed on guard for danger, with sling and stone always in hand. When the wolves snuck in with their sheep skins, he knew, and chased them away; and when the bears charged in with their vicious claws, he saw them from afar, and quickly shot stones to keep them at bay – for he loved his sheep, and until his death he protected them from all danger.


Oh! fallen shepherds

Who do you protect?

To where do you lead?

You, who are more like Wolves than Lions!

You, who are more like Thieves than Princes!

Why do you seek treasures soon to be rotten?

Why do you seek love in mouths of such men?

Gone are the Davids, with crook and sling.

Lost are the Jacobs, their time is waning.

Broken is Moses’ staff, tossed to the sea,

The flock scattered and beat,

Treated with ‘force and severity.’

Oh! forgotten Ezekiel

Your words echo alone!

Your chariot not to be flown!

Mend these broken pastures, raise your dead.

Gather these lost sheep and feed them your bread.

Bring us those days, the temple restored,

When shepherds will guide, their sheep each adored!


The little boy sat
on a mound of grass
with mud on his feet
and more beneath his fingers.

He wanted to
turn sticks into guns,
yards into countries,
and pets into beasts.

There were games to play,
dames to save,
dragons to slay,
shirts to fray,

but no one was around,
so he sat on his mound.

His father drove by,
off of work,
it had been
far too long of day.

He wanted to lay down,
kiss his wife,
turn on the television,
and goto sleep.

Yet he saw his boy,
not slaying dragons
or saving dames
or fraying shirts

so he parked the car,
closed the garage,
and grabbed a stick,

turned it into a gun,
ambushed his son,
played until
his little boy was done

then went
and finished his night.


The water slowly leaked out
and away
back to its home
back from where it came
leaving behind a puddle
small in size
a miniature lake
where the pond had overflowed with the rain.

A small minnow was left behind,
he’d been
carried along with the water
stolen from his home
in the pond
away from his school
to this foreign
hole in the ground.

As the hours passed and
the sun rose
the puddle began to
with the minnow
slowly watching
his fate.

Patiently he waited for
the moment
when he’d be half in and
half not
like a fish out of-
you know.

Then the sun was blotted,
heat subsided,
as a face
of a small boy,
and smiling
replaced the
clouds in heaven’s lining.

Now the minnow waited
to be squashed
as little boys
were prone to do
to the helpeless
brother fishes
who washed up on shore.

The hands closed in,
grabbed our
minnow friend,
and pulled him out of the water,
to seal his fate
and end his story.

As minnow contemplated
a minnow heaven existed
or not,
something strange
happened when
he was dropped.

So now, minnow must
slowly bake
if he
survived the fall,
woe to the little fish.

But it wasn’t ground
to his tiny head,
he hit water,
the lake,

His savior
had come,
in the form
of a little boy,
waving from the shore
with the same chubby smile.

You never know
which little boys
squish fish and
which ones
save them.