Tag: poetry

This is what my book is about.

G. Derek Adams4 Comments

Sing in me, O Muse

the tale of two travelers, the ones who burned

across ruddy hill and serpent trail —

the last golden days of youth

Mountain airship by Hong il An

before the fall.

Spell and sword,

song and steel-

the green hills roll on, and the dark forest waits

but before the sun dies,

let the thousand tales be told again,

forgotten cradle-rhymes spun again,

glory-gold and terror-black,

the tale of two

before the shadows fall.

 

 

[A scribble – possible foreward for That Thing. Or is that too pompous to even talk about? And YES – I have huge nerd boner for Homer.]

Barbarian read book.

G. Derek Adams1 Comment

[Was discussing exposition with Kristin McFarland, and how it’s preferable to have characters find clues or learn new information via in-world texts – instead of having Jagerspike Shatterpaw, Bear Pugilist and “Wise Wizard” show up and dump some plot on the main character’s heads. Here’s an excerpt from Lodestar with an example.]

The green flame’s bored directions soon led the barbarian to a large tome, nearly four handspans in length, and almost as thick as Agnar’s arm. The cover was simple leather, embossed with an ornate representation of the Arkanic symbol, Knowledge.

The Northlord found a quiet desk, hidden away in the towering stacks and set his guide down on the stand provided. The sprite brightened visibly, giving Agnar sufficient light to read.

Opening the first page, a musty fume filled the air. Heady and thick, but not unpleasant. The scent of old books.

The first page was filled with large block representations of several major Precursor symbols, a few of which Agnar found himself surprised to recognize. The numbers, and the symbol for Fire seemed to jump out at him.

Turning the page, the barbarian found a simple rhyme.

How’d they come, and where’d they go?
Little boys and girls all want to know!
East of the Sun, and West of the Moons
On silver roads born of Star
Walking and singing their secret tunes
Far and near, near and far!

The green flame tried nobly to roll its eyes, before remembering that it didn’t have any.

The next few pages are gorgeously illustrated with a series of landscapes.

Primitive people going about their simple lives, farming and hunting. Agnar gazed critically at some of the spearmen — they were holding the weapons completely wrong.

Flip.

A time of darkness, fire and death. Monsters roam the land, killing and maiming the simple tribesmen.

Flip.

A shining knight, marked with the Precursor Sigil of Power — light shines from him in all directions, making the monsters flee.

Flip.

The simple people’s village rebuilt, but grander and stronger. The shining knights walk amongst the people, helping them build things, till the earth.

Flip.

The village is a grand city, with ships that sail through the air and towers in the clouds.

Agnar stops a third of the way through the tome.

The barbarian finds several pages missing, sliced neatly from the overall tome — the barest stubs of paper remaining at the center of the binding.

The next pages showed fanciful illustrations of scholars and researchers looking through the ruins of Precursor structures, with descriptions of the undying wonders left behind by their civilization.

Maybe you will solve the mystery! Maybe you…. one page had solemnly written.

Sea-foam madness

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

here I stand, once more
on this rock at the edge of the sea
alone and laughing
arm crooked ’round an outcropping
drunk on power
singing my song, tossing words idly into the surf

finding glory in my destruction

another night, another time
a different wind will blow
and i find my heart
sere and hollow
but tonight
I am supported
held aloft by
this bubbling froth/
sea-foam madness
that makes me sing
and summon leviathans
to drink of my reckless tears

come, Poseidon
carouse with your acolyte

The Golden Power

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

My heart burns with light,
so careful am I
to shroud my birthright
This song in my eye
it burns while I sing
ripping thru my throat
like a newborn fiend.
An alien dynamo held in my chest
with each lightning stroke it
destroys some small sliver
but illuminates the remainder;
I pay the blood price
again and again,
let me be an angel of light
consumed by this hunger,
the price
of my wings.
Let me shine unto the very end.

black wire fever

G. Derek Adams1 Comment

Humming in my joints like
graaaaaaa—-wzzzzzz
spokes of metal
jutting
around my neck
growing hot with
impatience

prongs of disgust
vibrate
with
demonic malcontent.

Scurry scurry— brain fleas pop
on abandoned transistors

choke on rancid cotton

break things–break things
run across the dunes

empty me out, smash the
glass for good
measure

then shatter anything else that can contain.

step free, a black-iron skeleton
clutching at velvet curtains

–they evaporate on contact–

alive and electric
rise
and
vibrate
thru the walls of
this
tepid
earth.

Under the cloak.

G. Derek Adams1 Comment

Unveiling all this poetry from my younger days, has actually been sort of interesting.

After I stopped cringing.

A lot of the same images turn up in my current work – the red sword, the ocean, the angst. The drippy, drippy angst.

It’s also revealing to see how much of these themes and concepts have coalesced into one character, Izus Torrossian. A lot of these poems could have been written about him, or BY him — even though I wrote these years before that character ever existed.

So, Lodestar Crew, take note. Izus is some sort of manifestation of my adolescent id. Be afraid — be very afraid.

Nine of Swords

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

Leaned forward in my bed
tears rolling
thru the cups of my hands
and
collecting at my elbow
as they
slide
down my arm.

The swords hang behind me.

They are sharp and keen
and
devoid
of purpose

when
was my hand
strong enough
to carry them?

I am not that man,
I am
thinner
grayer
rain pouring from my eyes
and pooling
on my lap.

This blanket is warm
I will
crawl
beneath it
and dream
about the swords
falling on me.

Gah!

G. Derek Adams1 Comment
Those...those shoes...are phenomenal.

Whew — it is getting serious up in here. I still kind of like the “Dracula” poem, I remember thinking of it as the seed of a musical – the attitude and musical stylings of Les Miserables, with lots and lots of lacy cravats and ridiculous black cloaks.