Some Scant Poetry: "Angst in Progress"

Crossing over snow-capped mountains
Home upon the shrinking horizon
That great lake spread out before me
And the narrow valley of desert

The wings of the plane shudder as we descend
My heart racing, as it always does
The landing rough, making the gut clench
The smell of salt, of dry, entering the cabin

Home again

So many years gone, so many years away
Different it seems, and yet I know the truth
It is me that has changed
The land remaining as it was so long ago

Distant memories...or are they?
I no longer can separate that which was
And that which I merely wished to be;
Loves lost, dreams conjured

The radio plays, the taxi drives
City streets pass me by
Empty sidewalks, more cars than people
Toward waste and wasting they run

Or drive now, rather

AC in my face, my heart longs for familiarity
The ‘Front’ passes me by
All new, all old
Pioneers of old now pioneers of staying the same

And there it is: the old, blue homestead
Feral vines and tall grasses a monument to lost time
A highway now it’s neighbor,
A cacophony of motorcars and diesel rigs pound the ears

Generations of staying the same

That was very nice. I can really envision the old house and the surroundings.

Just a question, if you don't mind. What is the inspiration behind your writings? Based on personal experiences.. or just random thoughts?

"The difference between reality and fantasy is a fine line, for the guise of the writer is dressed in both Latin and effervescent dreams -- you need but learn to listen, and the pen will flow."

I believe my inspiration comes purely from the world around me. Wether it be real or imaginary, across the street or across the very threads of space and time, I am but the product of my environment. I write about what I feel, and couple it with what I see. I suppose that makes me a slight bit mad, but what writer isn't without their...quirks?

Bring your brothers, your sisters, your family, your friends
Around this small campfire, our story begins
Many years ago, across the great sea
Was the beginning of people, of you and of me

From the fires of the mountains and ice from the north
Came along the Titans, from the earth they came forth
With weapons of iron and shields of great weight
They tamed the wild lands and built a grand, mighty gate

None were to pass from the lands of the north
None were to enter, none of any sort
It was the land of the giants, of people so tall
But one was born a man, his name was Graal

Shorter than most, his head at their knees
The local peculiar, Graal was constantly teased
Till one fated day when the Titans went to war
To rescue their princess from a great, mighty boar

A volunteer was called for, one to enter the cave
One to rescue the princess from the beast in it’s grave
None of the Titans dared to stand forth
For none had ever returned from that underground fort

But Graal was not afraid for his heart was of steel
Though he was lesser in their eyes, the Titans did kneel
For there was no other warrior in all of their lands
Who dared brave the lair of the blood-laden sands

His dagger at the ready, his shield near his face
He pushed through the webs and entered the dark place
Through the long windy tunnels he could smell it’s foul breath
The smell of ancient evil, the smell of fell death

Then he heard her cry

Charging through the darkness, unable to see
He followed the sound of her voice, his mind telling him to flee
But he held his courage firm as he ran into the den
And the boar reared it’s head, it’s tusks longer than men

Graal’s heart quaked at the sight of the massive beast
A maiden at it’s feet upon which whom he was about to feast
His dagger fell to the ground, his grip turned to ice
He then turned to his fists, hoping them to suffice

Running at the monster, swinging his clenched hands
A fire erupted from within, a chained-fire of brands
They burned the great beast, lighting it ablaze
Graal jumped in fear, at his own power he was amazed

The boar now distracted, Graal cut the princess’ bands
Grabbing her by the wrist, he lead her from the sands
And out from the den, into the sweet sunshine
The Princess had been saved, but by one of a lesser kind

The Titans gave their thanks to the little one of them
But Graal only returned a smile, his task he knew then
Was to set sail from his birthplace, to seek out adventure so great
And such was the tale of Graal, the first one to pass through the gate

Soon he came to the south, a land rife with plenty and meads
And then he was blessed by the gods, given a wife for his great deeds
And so men came to be and multiplied, born from the giants of tall tales
With strength of heart instead of muscle, tougher than the strongest of mails.

As for the Titans...no one knows for sure
But many would think that they could not endure
For what so large a giant could live forever and not falter
Trapped in the land of fire and ice, trapped upon the worlds highest altar

But some still believe in the tales oh so old
Many think them now to be trees of silver and gold
Stretching forth from the earth, the heavens their great desire
Unable to reach that other gate because of the boar’s fire

A fire from the heart of man

So dark and powerful are these poems...true despair lies within them

Drivin down the freeway
Under the settin sun
Pedal to the floor
Horses on the run
Needle to the limit
Take a glance behind
Red and blue a’flashin;
Runnin outta time

Pullin to the side
Hands upon the wheel
I didn’t do the crime
It wasn’t part of the deal
The blood stains on my shirt
Tells another dark story
Of man forced to the streets;
What a wicked allegory

The sheriff comes the window
His sidearm at the point
I hang my head in shame;
Shoulda turned left at the joint
He yells my name through the glass
Tells me to surrender my flesh
What happened next in that dusty field
Was as morbid as the rest

I walk away in grief profound
The sheriffs blood mingled
Gettin back into the car
Behind, a strip of viscera dangled
Hittin the gas I take my chances
In a desert of endless regret
No death for the dyin on this day
No life, no choice, no blessed kismet

That one is a little different from your usual works. It flows nicely. A very morbid theme (I like morbid poetry...). Nicely done as always.

Yea, that one was much more lyrical/musical than my standard outsets. I don't do ones like that too often, as what good are they for forums without the actual music to listen to? Hence why I usually stick with the classic poetry format.

This is what I was listening to when I wrote this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYyOd04w-GE

To pay homage to a major milestone, 1000 views within my poetry forays, I decided to pen something from the Zelda Legendarium. It is largely based upon the Ocarina of Time canon, though has bits of my fan fiction and other thoughts intertwined to make one bit of Zelda my own, at least for a few words.

Zelda has done so much for me, inspired so many ideas and thoughts, and Zelda Universe has contributed greatly to both my own skill as a writer and the way I perceive the world around me. Thank you to everyone for reading, critiquing, and giving me the heart to continue to aspire to inspire, to imagine worlds beyond out own, and to make those fanciful thoughts into tangible realities.

Thank you again, and I hope to be able to continue down this path with all of you, looking to the skies for that which cannot be seen, but can be dreamed by all of us.

- Mendicus

"Legends of Time"


Emerald greens sweep the sky
Tall canopies of trees of old
Legends in the mist call from the past
Of myth and magic; heroes of the blade

Born of will, protected by Goddesses
A fatherless child wanders in the dark
Raised by the trees, a child of the forest
His destiny he knows not

Darkness creeps, encroaching upon the lands
Spreading villainy amongst withering glades
A curse is laid, leeching upon the world
Softly killing, quietly mourning the sunlight

The days grow shorter and the rains cease to fall
Strange creatures spew forth from dark places
One last great tree of old sees the threads
The child of destiny is called from his hidden slumber

Evil has awakened in the lands of Hyrule

Fighting with all his heart, mind, and soul
His protector’s veins turning to dust
The boy defeats the poison within the mighty tree
But is too late to quell the coming of night

The only father he ever knew perishes
A late goodbye for the last of the ancients
His leaves turn yellow and softly course to the ground
His progenies, the fairies, departing for the heavens

A child without a name takes up his father’s heart
The Emerald of the Kokiri
And sets out to try and save his brothers
Of Fire and of Water

Dodongos ensnared and dream-makers entwined
Each are spared, and yet still succumb to the man in black
But in the bleak haze, one hope remains:
A Princess, an Ocarina, and the three Hearts of Hyrule

For the hidden power lost to the ages
The man in black unleashes his fury
Willing against the Goddesses themselves
His power is that of the other, the fourth

Giving his life to the land that bore him hence
The boy hero takes upon himself the mantle
A Knight of Hyrule reborn in the flesh
Evil’s Bane now his name

Upon the slopes of Death Mountain
To the depths of Lake Hylia
From the hollows of the land of the dead
To the fires of the desert

A lone woodsman-grown stands against the tide
And silences the breath of a dark nation
Setting free his kinsmen and kind
He then sets out to reclaim that which was taken

Himself and a long-lost friend

Returning his will to the Temple of Time
He lays down that which saved us all
Evil’s Bane had taken it’s last
And now stands quietly, a monument to time

Setting sail upon the vast, open sea
The hero bids his farewell
To a land that never knew he was there
To a people that knew not of his triumph

Alone, into the sunset, he is set free

Dreams
Wandering in the dark
Rain turns to snow
And friends become starlight

I see myself, eyes closed
Withering in invisible fire
My skin flays, boils
Curls and melts without pain
I open my eyes to look away
But I close them again
Itching setting in under the scars

Reaching in with clawed fingers
I strip away the outer layers
Pockmarked and rotting
They fall away

The chrysalis broken

I emerge anew, shedding the past
My skin now perfect, unflawed
But now I sob and stutter:
My last piece of humanity has been purged

I analyze myself, ponder my being
Empty, without distance traveled
I am innocence, but something dark echoes
For though I am now pure
The shadow cast still remains

Very interesting...
Black of Day, Dark of Night made me think. Does purity trickle down with time, unable to be reclaimed - or does it never exist? I like how you put these things together - innocence, emptiness, darkness, experience. It's certainly provocative.

I thoroughly enjoyed Legends of Time. It's atmospheric and told in a very engaging manner.

Purity is such an interesting addition to our lexicon. There are few things that qualify for this label created to give benign objects status. Few things indeed. Though, from a nonpartisan, non-scientific approach, some wager that anything that is as it was intended to be pure. Though I think that to be more the definition of beauty, not purity.

Humanity is of beauty, not of purity. Otherwise we wouldn't exist, I don't think, because we'd have no reason to.

But anyhoo, thanks for the comments -- they really can uplift a writer in his...dark times.

Darkness flows within my veins
A subtle killer, a slow-moving knife
I ponder the children as they drink
From the cup that binds them to me

Indignantly they shun, but drink all the same
They curse my very being, but do not waver
More and more and more and more
Shallow words and hollow promises

They are mine

I fuel their cheap, lingering desires
I make rich the few ignoble
Even now as my essence withers
They still drink and clamor for more

Others have tried to match my power
To become the new and insatiable lust
But I am cunning, tried and true
None will ever be as palatable as I

So cling to your old ways, oh iconic peoples
I care not for your petty squabbles
For while you argue and shun the “cost”
I grow larger and become harder to kill

I am the harbinger of your demise

For when I am gone, drained and dry
When the last drop of my tincture is burned
You will be left with nothing but smoke and ruin
And you all will be coming with me

Stay and listen to this swan song
The chorus of a poet without ink
Words of the wayfaring seeker
Emotion of the brightly-burning wanderer

In a world of fire and ice
A gilded door lay in wait
For the one who bears the lone key
To the willow’s closely guarded secret

A harp’s song fills the grove of twilight
Moonlight shimmering through the fiery trees
A statuette of sorrow drowns in the clay
Wrapped in the iniquity of lonesomeness

Naked, I am born to the world
A plundered heart left wanting
A quiet longing left to sing
Though the notes are raw and stolid

The dark side of the sun beckons
Tugs at the sinewy restraints
Cast upon the rocks of time
Wretched and fallen have I become

I dream of those fragmented days
In the world of fire and ice
I see her face before my waking eyes
And the illusion is naught but me

Kings and Queens of spoken fate
Masters of destiny and time
Now look ahead to quieter days
In the lands of memory and yore

And I am enchanted

Night comes to the city
Electric lights bathed in moonlight
The beat takes us over
And we are filled with shivers

In this place
Where motion meets music
Just a little bit longer
To last the night
Don’t try to talk
Just stay with the beat
The sweetest taste
Is the blood on your bite

The longing spills out into the streets
The whole world falling away
Tomorrow will be another night
But right now we are filled with shivers

In this place
Where heat meets silver
Just a little bit longer
To move those hips
Don’t try to run
Just stay with the beat
The darkest desire
Is the scream on your lips

Drinking deep from the veins of youth
Children of the everlasting night
Move to that tempo that takes us over
Filling your partner with shivers

In this place
Where night never ends
Just a little bit longer
To satisfy our lust
Don’t try to change
Just stay with the beat
The deepest attraction
Comes far after dusk

And we are filled with shivers

Your poems all have such power. Even after reading them several times I can't really figure out what they mean. I especially like the imagery in Enchanted, and Shivers is hauntingly vivid.

Asking the meaning of a poet's poem is like trying to explain color to a creature that doesn't have eyes. Sometimes my poems are just...me. I can't put it any simpler than that. Every time I re-read some of the older ones I see something new, something of intrigue. Some of them have hidden meaning, tales woven within the words, while other times it's just my mind's eye speaking. Whatever they mean, perhaps it is up to you to decide, for there are times that even I don't know!

That may not give much solace to an inquisitive heart, but I hope it helps explain myself at least a little.

No, I wasn't asking you to explain it. I feel the same way, and you have described it beautifully. The reader should take their own interpretation of it. What I meant, however, is that usually I get a thought or idea from a poem - a way to interpret it. Not always what the poet intended, but there it is. As for you, your poetry is so elusive that it defies any attempt for explanation.

Then I take it as a job well done. Or perhaps it's just a jumble of juxtaposition and fancy words coupled in rhythm. It could very well be nonsensical verse by definition, though now I dare not go look.

*EDIT* If you would like some insight, just point out any of my thingies and I'd be happy to throw in my two cents on the whys and the whats of it, presuming I still remember.

Moonlight passes below the horizon
An ebbing twilight gently calming
A gradient of black, blue, and silver
Paints the sky amidst the brightly burning

The canyon’s hush is soft and quiet
Winter’s breath clinging to the trees
Footsteps fall in the blankets of needles
Purple sagebrush clawing at her dress

Night is passing, fading into dawn
The terrible howling slowly ceasing
Wave after wave of snarl and snap
At last had returned to their sultry lair

Blood and fur hug her white gown
Once so grand and elegant
The empty pistol in her hand shakes
The crude bandage on the other falling loose

A lone survivor is she

Throughout the night she was hounded
By men and women alike
‘twas too late when she came to know
Her host to be of dark terrors

The wolves of the shallow moon
Children of the hunt of night
Chased her and her fallen kin
Into the red rocks of the Great Gorge

There they made their final stand
Silver and lead their saviors
But the hunters were of age and sense
Immortals cursed to roam the wilds

But one was spared in a moment of mercy
One lone survivor left to tell
The story of a man turned fell beast by the moon
Who conceded just before the bite

For not even the wolf can deny the scent of a woman
And forever to him she is beautiful