Random Fantasy/Science Fiction Poems (812)

Brandobaris just stood
holding his sisters stalk of wheat
And the dragon breathed in
And the dragon breathed in
and in and in and in
and then?

The dragon breathed out breath of fire
But Brandobaris was no longer staning there
For he had flipped up in to the air
To Land down on the old reds back
Such an elegant jump what a leap
A somersault with half twist, landing firmly on his feet
An Arm raised up holding high his sisters stalk of wheat
And then he began to Whack
whack wack whack
went the stalk of wheat
all allong the side of the dragons hide
and it knocked him off his feet

Crack Crack Carck
The wheat stalk seemed to sing,
and although it tried the dragon could not fly
as Brandobaris beat his wings

smack smack smack
again and again and again
till the dragon had to run away
for it could not stand the pain

From the cave to the valley all the way down
Whiping the crying dragon in to the town
and all of the Hin there gathered round
for of that dragon they had no more fear
Brandobaris told the Dragon leave and soon
if you ever came back. I'll beat you with my Mothers broom
And unlike my sisters wheat stalk it will put you in a tomb.
The dragon flew away, and all the Hin folk gave a cheer

What of the Dragon treasure? you may all ask
the towns folk had a skeaking task
All Part of the plan now unmasked
It involves a secret door
The Game was so Brandobaris could disstract
while Hin snuck in the cave behind the dragons back
they loaded on treasure took it away in sacks
of what he stole they got back ten times more

So the celerbration party did begin
Lasting for a week or more. You know's us Hin
But in joy there was some Sorrow remembering lost Kin
But they knew they'd all meet again someday
To the hero of the Hour they gave many many grand toasts
They filled him up with pie and beer they were the perfect hosts
before the party was over They had laid away all ghosts
But by then Brandobaris had quietly slipped away

Now along a dusty road bestrides
Mischief twinkling in his kind eyes
Under curly brown hair a face so wise
with a knowing little grin
Allthough not thin not roly-poly,
whistling a tune so Jolly
You could not be melancholy
there goes a very merry Hin

my words,wild and weird,singing
soul forest,ocean spirit and shamanic
Moody,capricious,transient ,ironic
in the land of fantasy,living...
words,your delicate features,designing
sensual morning,abyss,link,chanting
our breath so silky at dawn ..
beauty of silence lightening
the magic of words to come...

The good wizard had only been beyond Nethergate for a few hours,
But, long enough to have realised a lot of new powers,
He was so much quicker with his mind,
He knew when he mentally signed,
He knew, the leader of the Guardians was a traitor, with murderous plans,
This, he had deduced in a nanosecond, with the briefest of scans,
Knowing now, the die had been cast,
He had to think of a plan and think of one fast,
For, Freddie and The Twitch were outclassed, outmatched,
By Egron and the sister of Greythorne, the most evil pair that all Hell ever hatched,
And the very fabric of Faerieland faced certain destruction,
If the damage to the golden cord wasn’t fixed to calm it’s orbital disruption.
In his minds eye then, in an instant he saw,
A fleeting glimpse….No more,
Of a being on a dragon…Ripping through space,
At the speed of thought….An appalling pace,
And, somehow knew,
It was the saviour true,
But, until he arrived, he had to make time,
And Faerieland wouldn’t even last that long, if he didn’t fix the golden line,
But how?
He needed a solution and he needed it now!
Then…He looked at the Guardian…With that Wizard look….
That…Was all it took,
For the traitor to know the game was up, though, he would never know how,
As….A blinding flash exploded in his mind…..KERR-POW!

elevator elevator going down
you never see me as i go up the stairs and around
elevator elevator crash into the ground
oh god what was that sound elevator elevator going down

I've gathered up all my maidens
From their straw huts and
We've set sail for a far away
Island..
But these trecherous seas
Are plagued by pirates and
Creatures of the deep
JimEee the pirate will surely
Chase us across this
Vast ocean and ally
Himself with 'Bullman
The Terrible..'
They seek to steal our
Gold and capture our
Women and set fire
To our sails
But I have charted a
Path to the legendary
Bamboo island where
I shall be bathed in
Exotic spices and
Sung angelic songs
By maidens with
Golden harp
I shall live out my
Days ruling from my
Kings chair made
Of island jewels
I shall ride a black
Panther throughout
Our humble huts
And toss grapes and
Sunflower seeds to
The hungry maidens
I shall spawn a whole
New race of royalty
And we shall be called
The Cafastines
The Cafastines will be
A tribe feared among
The nations and we
Shall enslave that evil
Pirate JimEee along
With the Ancient
Bullman in all their
Devilish schemes
Come now, my precious
Maidens
Step aboard the ship
Of dreams and we
Shall sail away into
The deep unknown!
Lol.

Slowly I drift towards awareness, I begin to surface
Even at this stage I realise there is something wrong
As my eyes open I try to focus, look around
There, at the end of my bed, standing so still

A faint ghostly figure, was it male or female?
I should be feeling terrified but I only feel calm
A strange sort of luminescence surrounds this figure
Gradually, ever so gradually it becomes brighter

Now I can see it is a female, incredibly beautiful
Her radiance lighting up the room, bouncing off the walls
Becoming so bright it was almost burning the retinas
For a moment I closed my eyes, her vision was still clear

Her white gown fluttering in a non-existent breeze
Catching the lacy sleeves as she raised her arms
Her flowing golden hair cascading down to her waist
And her skin so white and pale it was almost translucent

Her eyes bored into mine reaching down into my soul
Yet there was nothing but love and compassion in them
And her smile, men have fought battles for such as this
To tug at the heartstrings, to overwhelm with emotion

I just lay there, unable to even move, powerless to act
‘Steve,’ she spoke, no not spoke, rather more like a melody
A melody that flowed as sweet and thick as honey
One that sends ripples of pure pleasure through your body

‘Steve,’ again as the waves forcefully crashed against me
I lay there like a lonely lighthouse on a craggy rock
As wave after wave pounded me, washed over me
‘Steve,’ once again, and this time she held out her hand

Without the slightest hesitation I reached out and held it
Slowly I rose from my bed and moved next to her side
I felt, different, somehow more alive, like never before
It was as if I had drunken from the fountain of youth

And there on the bed lay a wrinkled old man, smiling
A man who had reached one hundred and two
Who had led a long, eventful life, with not too many regrets
‘Time to go home,’ she said, and I knew she was right

The animal i would choose to be,
Is the animal locked away in me.
A lonesome wolf on desolate plains,
with fur and fang and fearsome tales.

A fighter, for what I find is true,
A thinker, to observe whats new.
My speed is fast to catch my prey,
I hunt at night and sleep by day.

But when it comes to being nice,
Other people are my vice.
for lonesome is my way to be,
and all those humans,
just try to kill me.

An orange is sweet and juicy, can be used for breakfast to nibble on, a healthy energy snack, or as a sweet dessert at the end of a meal, can be softened by rolling the whole orange under your hand or foot gently to break down the segments into delicious liquid, when squeezed softly you get a delicious drink that runs down your chin, contained in its natural outer cover of fresh smelling skin.

A lemon is 'tart', can be used to tenderize meat, and brings out the flavor of most foods, to balances many tastes, good for your skin and used in a lot of beauty products. Can be used to sooth a sore throat, and with a little salt and a segment of lemon sucked slowly it balances a well known drink so well.

They talked for hours about what had happened. When Gresunda was swept under the waves the current pushed her into a cave in the cliffs. There was an airspace further in where she lay exhausted for hours on the rocks. When the sea calmed and tide receded there was just the hint of an opening from the inside where the light shone in. It was then she could swim back out to safety.

Not finding Volker she thought that he had died trying to rescue her. He had already left Hamburg for the forest not even speaking to anyone. He had trudged up into the forest wrapped so heavily in his misery and despair that he was oblivious to anything around him. None of the villagers had seen him go so they accepted the belief that Volker had died.

There had been rumours over the years of a beast like a man living in the forest but they were always dismissed as just being urban legends to frighten children. No-one had ever made the connection, and why would they, that it was Volker living there.

It seemed that years had dropped off Gresunda’s age. She gave the impression that she stood taller and had regained some energy. She took him by the hand to lead him around. Those older folk who remembered Volker were amazed, it was like seeing a person resurrected from the dead. There was much joy and tears of happiness. Those who were too young to know him marvelled at the tale told.

Eventually Volker told of how he came to be here and what he witnessed back at Hamburg. When he finished his story everyone realised how blessed they were to be here alive. It was their turn to tell Volker of how they came to be here. There were so many trying to talk that Mara had to intervene and appoint one person to tell the tale.

When the story was finished they realised that had it not been for God’s gift they would not be alive today. It was decided almost unanimously to pray and give thanks to God. They prayed for quite a while, each joining in and giving their own personal thanks. Many a person had tears sitting in their eyes. Slowly the sun sank and it was the time to retire for the night. Today had been a day of miracles.


THE END

PART ONE OF TWO

The castle overlooked the vast Cornish Sea,
where Lady Igraine birthed a strong, healthy daughter.
The High Court of Cornwall feasted in celebration,
applauding Duke Gorlois as husband and father.

Morgaine was dwarfish, with piercing blue eyes.
Some say that fairy blood ran through her veins.
Her fate was to answer Avalon’s calling,
and revive the old ways with the dawning of change.

The child was fostered far from her mother,
and childhood coursed with study, not play.
Her maidenhood kept for the rites of Beltane;
so sacred a thing would Vivian betray.

Arthur remembered the eyes of the maiden,
for he was the Hunter at Beltane that night.
While Morgaine went queasy, silent and bone chilled,
her mind was crazy with panic and fright.

Her own dear brother had sired her child,
the bastard kin of Arthur, Camelot's King.
How could she tell him the horrible truth,
knowing the scandal and pain it would bring?

Arthur’s betrothed, the Lady Guinevere,
was the maiden he loved with all of his heart.
Merlin knew well she would prove herself false,
and in time, she would tear his whole world apart.

Versed in the old revered art of the druids,
Morgaine knew herb lore, magic potions and charms.
The spinning of spells was not without cost,
or she would have taken to Lancelot's arms.

How was it Guinevere dared to reproach her,
with sins of adultery and lust on her mind?
Time and again, she did well betray Arthur;
when her womb gave no yield, she thought God unkind.

King Uriens of Wales, wed the fair Morgaine;
a man old enough to be her grandsire.
At nine years and thirty, her purpose seemed scattered.
The King's son once kindled her passion and fire.

Once she had fought him with all of her might,
till his charm and persistence won her at last.
Handsome and virile, how Accolon teased her,
but that was a time that belonged to the past.

A time when they bowed to the will of the Goddess.
in service of Avalon, ensconced in the mists.
The mark of the blue crescent moon on her brow;
the great serpents twining 'round both of his wrists.

Morgaine resisted the fate of her calling,
not Queen of North Wales, at Uriens side.
She long had been groomed as Priestess of Avalon,
who ran all these years, yet still could not hide.