Poems
May dragons fall beneath our swords
and magical enchantments,
As treat we through lands unexplored
and wonder where th'inhabitants went;
As Lacie bares her bosom fair
and Elmo scorns his mask,
Esmerelda casts more healing spells
while Chameleon dares a task.
And Kirkules--he hides real fast
as fireballs shoot from Sheel
While the Great DM just laughs aloud
At rolls from dice concealed.
Micheal Woodhead
As I gallop through the past
On my paper steed
I see people and places
I've never been.
It seems forever that I'll
Ride through the past
On a quest,a neverending task.
Ah! but the wonders that I
Have seen.
As I ride in my paper
time machine.
Steven R. Everitt1989
a Lady and the Serpent of Dreams
Tucked safe away 'neath dragonscale
in cavern deep where the sun doth fail,
lay diamond bright atop the hoard.
Sharp serpent's tooth to guard its gleam,
lest greedy hands be quick to dream.
From Valenwood, amidst wooded vales,
One came to seek this gem of tales,
told often 'round the eve's bright fire.
When men of heart do tip their glass
and dream of deeds that are yet to pass.
Blue flame sang 'round her crystal blade,
by sorcery wrought, and enchantment laid,
as she found her path to the Dragon's lair.
There dark and deep and strewn with bone,
alone she braved that black hole in stone.
Foul were the depths where the beast lay round
great stacks of gold, and upon that mound,
the gleaming gem crowned its bed of wealth.
Yet coiled close 'round that tempting prize,
Dream serpent slept with open eyes.
So close she crept, beneath his wing,
she breathed his breath, endured its sting,
'til she came to reach that glittering stone.
Grasping the jewel with trembling hand,
she bore it close, then made to stand.
Bright shining slit, one all-seeing eye,
blinked slowly as she passed him by,
for in his hole, little escaped his heed.
Slither of scale, fiery hiss of breath
over glistening fang to speed her death.
The Dragon rose, spread wide his wing
as through the Lair came the terrible ring
of his ancient voice, of menace and ire.
'Who dares to come and break my rest,
to rob my hoard, to steal my best?'
Turning her hazel eyes to meet his own,
no quiver of voice nor fear was shown,
as she returned his stare and brandished her blade.
Then high she held that gem she'd stole,
to chase the night from this dark hole.
"I am the one who may be thy bane
if thou wouldst hinder me in my claim
to this bright stone thou hast kept too long.'
Then cold and pale came the fire from her sword
as she drove the beast from atop his hoard.
Of how the lass, so brave and bold
brought forth the stone, many tales are told
and songs are sung throughout the land.
And though the beast she did not slay,
she bore her prize to the light of day.
Dragon coiled 'round his mound of gold,
Steeped in wrath, if truth be told,
For he had been outdone by the lass so fair.
And now without his gem so bright
his hole lay deep in endless night.
Dundale
Ode to the Mysteries of Love
What is Love, in its effervesent glow?
What is Love? This, I do not know.
For in all of the places I've gone and went,
I haven't Loved a soul, and yet,
I feel it's powerful surge surround me
Like a radiant force that has, somehow, found me.
I have no clue of the source,
And though I feel I'm on the right course
I think I'm losing all direction,
For Love also acts like a horrid infection.
It bothers you like an itchy rash,
It fondles you until it throws you into the ash
Of a once-burning flame that stood for
A Love that is no longer lived for.
But, what am I saying? There's nothing to fear.
I shan't be afraid of letting Love near.
I never have, so why should I, now?
For, Love is like a blossom, And as some of you say, "and how!"
So, "Adieu," I say, in my confusing little ditty,
And "Farewell," to those who said it was pretty,
For I am but a pebble in the rock garden of Love,
And now, I am done, for, of it, there's not much to say of.
Rachel
Mired
From a distance I watch
as you flounder in the thick mire of your despair,
limbs flailing in wild and futile efforts to pull yourself free
from the thick swamp of emotional quicksand
into which you stepped, ignoring the warnings,
casting aside as insignificant
the words of one who had seen those roads before.
Your struggles drag you deeper
as you strike at hands that reach out to lend you strength
Words like daggers cut the lifelines thrown to you
And silence sharper than any blade
pierces the shoulder that would support you
And ice-cold isolation
freezes a heart that might lead you
to more solid ground.
And so here I stand,
in a tangle of vines and uncertainty,
aching to catch your clutching fingers
and drag you out of this mire,
yet,
panic shrouds your eyes,
showing friends as threats and impositions,
so all I can do is stand here
and watch you sink
deeper into this sucking depression
my heart
drowning with you.
Carolyn McDonald
of Time Long Lost
I tell a tale of time long lost
anceint back before the earths's first frost
afore winter dawned the genacide of magic
oblierating the lore of fairy tales tragic
When centaurs proud and noble warred
with dragaons, reptillian, winged, inside fired
weapons, slayers of Memnock, from hell sent forth
feeding on pure, white, blessed right and anihilating all of holy worth
When dwarves did dwell gestating in the musky earth
in riddled cities of gold, onyx, and bone, spanning a contenent's girth
beneath savage gardens of lacivious, lavish, fragrant flowers
wherein slumbered faries of gossamer, translucnet light with mythical
powers
dwelling under the original time gnarled tree of eternal oak
watcher over man, mass encased, and horborer of the seat of hope
shooting branches forth over ever vast expanses of towns afar
encasing a soul Memnock cursed, love for him in the body of this tree
forever barred
so he conspires with the creatures so dwindled left of light
scheeming to conguer, to survive the erupting grotesque creatures of
eternal night
being spewed forth from an oozing boil upon the land
tools of sadistic, black, scourge demons of the evil lord's hand
sluffing down into the gurgling gruel of dank bog
itself wicked soaked till corrupt, now threatening clean waters to clog
further chokeing off the distant chance of good as the victor
the alpha foe through hoards corrupt alliance vieing to be hopes
desecrator
The armies are divided, well defined and true
each growing in number and strength as the last decide which to commit
to
all the creatures of the land both large and small to the battle are
joining
there is no turning back, the line has been crossed, no time for
warnings
The army of right is smaller by far
commanded by the bravest ancestor of the first centaur
his troops hold all of his kind, some men, unicorns,
faries, gnomes, elves, nymphs, and sprites
the last winged horse, birds, dogs, a lone changeling, and the high
priestess of light
Memnock's evil hoards possess the rest
led by a demon born of a long enslaved virgin under diress
a bulging blight opon the earth of minataurs, hydras, dragons, Pan,
Bacchi, ulf, and witches
wolves, hyenas, trolls, and human headed canine bitches
As the dawn's first light over the land shines
the two in death grips met, upon each other striveing to commit the
greater crime
when it was all over only one stood and still remained
every other creature died that day, the earth with their blood is still
stained
Under the mighty tree steadfastly dug in the dwarves as packs of ulf and
wolf rained gnashing fangs
couragously cunning were the shrunken warriors, but the pack too imense,
encircling one alone in gangs
until there was no more flesh from bone to tear
and Pan cowardness from behind a rock let hiss through the sky did flare
As it struck the massive trunk of the noble tree
flames raged upward as if to claim heven with a firey key
as the watchers soul flame licked roasted screamed
the last of the centaurs fell to catapults hurling globs of molten tar,
their skins off them seething
Huge clouds of dust fogged the battle field
and ragged cries of pain echoed up through hanging mists of blood as all
manner of weapons they did wield
swarms of flies soon gorged upon the mutalated corpses bloating in the
heat
as the evil one stood alone eating the flesh of the downtroden meek
Now the battle is over, it's all said and done, we have only to look
around to see who won
the mythical creatures of time long past did forever their future in
this battle loose
but my fiend the war is just starting...
which side do you choose?
Rhonda Enrayne (c) Oct. 1997
May dragons fall beneath our swords
and magical enchantments,
As treat we through lands unexplored
and wonder where th'inhabitants went;
As Lacie bares her bosom fair
and Elmo scorns his mask,
Esmerelda casts more healing spells
while Chameleon dares a task.
And Kirkules--he hides real fast
as fireballs shoot from Sheel
While the Great DM just laughs aloud
At rolls from dice concealed.
Micheal Woodhead
As I gallop through the past
On my paper steed
I see people and places
I've never been.
It seems forever that I'll
Ride through the past
On a quest,a neverending task.
Ah! but the wonders that I
Have seen.
As I ride in my paper
time machine.
Steven R. Everitt1989
a Lady and the Serpent of Dreams
Tucked safe away 'neath dragonscale
in cavern deep where the sun doth fail,
lay diamond bright atop the hoard.
Sharp serpent's tooth to guard its gleam,
lest greedy hands be quick to dream.
From Valenwood, amidst wooded vales,
One came to seek this gem of tales,
told often 'round the eve's bright fire.
When men of heart do tip their glass
and dream of deeds that are yet to pass.
Blue flame sang 'round her crystal blade,
by sorcery wrought, and enchantment laid,
as she found her path to the Dragon's lair.
There dark and deep and strewn with bone,
alone she braved that black hole in stone.
Foul were the depths where the beast lay round
great stacks of gold, and upon that mound,
the gleaming gem crowned its bed of wealth.
Yet coiled close 'round that tempting prize,
Dream serpent slept with open eyes.
So close she crept, beneath his wing,
she breathed his breath, endured its sting,
'til she came to reach that glittering stone.
Grasping the jewel with trembling hand,
she bore it close, then made to stand.
Bright shining slit, one all-seeing eye,
blinked slowly as she passed him by,
for in his hole, little escaped his heed.
Slither of scale, fiery hiss of breath
over glistening fang to speed her death.
The Dragon rose, spread wide his wing
as through the Lair came the terrible ring
of his ancient voice, of menace and ire.
'Who dares to come and break my rest,
to rob my hoard, to steal my best?'
Turning her hazel eyes to meet his own,
no quiver of voice nor fear was shown,
as she returned his stare and brandished her blade.
Then high she held that gem she'd stole,
to chase the night from this dark hole.
"I am the one who may be thy bane
if thou wouldst hinder me in my claim
to this bright stone thou hast kept too long.'
Then cold and pale came the fire from her sword
as she drove the beast from atop his hoard.
Of how the lass, so brave and bold
brought forth the stone, many tales are told
and songs are sung throughout the land.
And though the beast she did not slay,
she bore her prize to the light of day.
Dragon coiled 'round his mound of gold,
Steeped in wrath, if truth be told,
For he had been outdone by the lass so fair.
And now without his gem so bright
his hole lay deep in endless night.
Dundale
Ode to the Mysteries of Love
What is Love, in its effervesent glow?
What is Love? This, I do not know.
For in all of the places I've gone and went,
I haven't Loved a soul, and yet,
I feel it's powerful surge surround me
Like a radiant force that has, somehow, found me.
I have no clue of the source,
And though I feel I'm on the right course
I think I'm losing all direction,
For Love also acts like a horrid infection.
It bothers you like an itchy rash,
It fondles you until it throws you into the ash
Of a once-burning flame that stood for
A Love that is no longer lived for.
But, what am I saying? There's nothing to fear.
I shan't be afraid of letting Love near.
I never have, so why should I, now?
For, Love is like a blossom, And as some of you say, "and how!"
So, "Adieu," I say, in my confusing little ditty,
And "Farewell," to those who said it was pretty,
For I am but a pebble in the rock garden of Love,
And now, I am done, for, of it, there's not much to say of.
Rachel
Mired
From a distance I watch
as you flounder in the thick mire of your despair,
limbs flailing in wild and futile efforts to pull yourself free
from the thick swamp of emotional quicksand
into which you stepped, ignoring the warnings,
casting aside as insignificant
the words of one who had seen those roads before.
Your struggles drag you deeper
as you strike at hands that reach out to lend you strength
Words like daggers cut the lifelines thrown to you
And silence sharper than any blade
pierces the shoulder that would support you
And ice-cold isolation
freezes a heart that might lead you
to more solid ground.
And so here I stand,
in a tangle of vines and uncertainty,
aching to catch your clutching fingers
and drag you out of this mire,
yet,
panic shrouds your eyes,
showing friends as threats and impositions,
so all I can do is stand here
and watch you sink
deeper into this sucking depression
my heart
drowning with you.
Carolyn McDonald
of Time Long Lost
I tell a tale of time long lost
anceint back before the earths's first frost
afore winter dawned the genacide of magic
oblierating the lore of fairy tales tragic
When centaurs proud and noble warred
with dragaons, reptillian, winged, inside fired
weapons, slayers of Memnock, from hell sent forth
feeding on pure, white, blessed right and anihilating all of holy worth
When dwarves did dwell gestating in the musky earth
in riddled cities of gold, onyx, and bone, spanning a contenent's girth
beneath savage gardens of lacivious, lavish, fragrant flowers
wherein slumbered faries of gossamer, translucnet light with mythical
powers
dwelling under the original time gnarled tree of eternal oak
watcher over man, mass encased, and horborer of the seat of hope
shooting branches forth over ever vast expanses of towns afar
encasing a soul Memnock cursed, love for him in the body of this tree
forever barred
so he conspires with the creatures so dwindled left of light
scheeming to conguer, to survive the erupting grotesque creatures of
eternal night
being spewed forth from an oozing boil upon the land
tools of sadistic, black, scourge demons of the evil lord's hand
sluffing down into the gurgling gruel of dank bog
itself wicked soaked till corrupt, now threatening clean waters to clog
further chokeing off the distant chance of good as the victor
the alpha foe through hoards corrupt alliance vieing to be hopes
desecrator
The armies are divided, well defined and true
each growing in number and strength as the last decide which to commit
to
all the creatures of the land both large and small to the battle are
joining
there is no turning back, the line has been crossed, no time for
warnings
The army of right is smaller by far
commanded by the bravest ancestor of the first centaur
his troops hold all of his kind, some men, unicorns,
faries, gnomes, elves, nymphs, and sprites
the last winged horse, birds, dogs, a lone changeling, and the high
priestess of light
Memnock's evil hoards possess the rest
led by a demon born of a long enslaved virgin under diress
a bulging blight opon the earth of minataurs, hydras, dragons, Pan,
Bacchi, ulf, and witches
wolves, hyenas, trolls, and human headed canine bitches
As the dawn's first light over the land shines
the two in death grips met, upon each other striveing to commit the
greater crime
when it was all over only one stood and still remained
every other creature died that day, the earth with their blood is still
stained
Under the mighty tree steadfastly dug in the dwarves as packs of ulf and
wolf rained gnashing fangs
couragously cunning were the shrunken warriors, but the pack too imense,
encircling one alone in gangs
until there was no more flesh from bone to tear
and Pan cowardness from behind a rock let hiss through the sky did flare
As it struck the massive trunk of the noble tree
flames raged upward as if to claim heven with a firey key
as the watchers soul flame licked roasted screamed
the last of the centaurs fell to catapults hurling globs of molten tar,
their skins off them seething
Huge clouds of dust fogged the battle field
and ragged cries of pain echoed up through hanging mists of blood as all
manner of weapons they did wield
swarms of flies soon gorged upon the mutalated corpses bloating in the
heat
as the evil one stood alone eating the flesh of the downtroden meek
Now the battle is over, it's all said and done, we have only to look
around to see who won
the mythical creatures of time long past did forever their future in
this battle loose
but my fiend the war is just starting...
which side do you choose?
Rhonda Enrayne (c) Oct. 1997