Archive | March, 2015

“Is That A Threat?”

27 Mar

Is That A Threat

“Is That A Threat?”

Craven Clyde was a small man, not stature but in mind
He always feared that everyone sought to kick his behind
A lazy and a selfish man, small Clyde would take the route
Of least resistance and most fun or Craven Clyde would pout

“One day you will pay for that,” others would often tell
“IS THAT A THREAT?” the craven one would panic, dread and dwell
They’d tell him, “It will catch up, all your sloth and laziness”
“IS THAT A THREAT?” scared Clyde would blurt and worry and distress

They’d say, “If you always do least, you’ll end up mad and weak”
“IS THAT A THREAT?” the coward could be heard to moan and shriek
And so as years went by, the Craven Clyde heard no predictions
Each and every single hunch felt more like crucifixions

One day, a hard man arrived and passed by Craven Clyde
He took a whiff of the coward, he coughed and then did chide
“The stench of fear and laziness chokes my Warrior throat!
I’ve seen more passion in a two-legged castrated goat!”

“IS THAT A THREAT?” Clyde snorted back, and then was on his ass
The Warrior drew out his blade which gleamed with steel and brass
“Listen here, pathetic wretch, it’s YOU who are the threat!
Your apathy spreads like disease, your aversion to sweat!”

The hardened soldier leaned in close and met Clyde eye to eye
He growled, “It’s your fear which will one day cause you to die”
Craven Clyde bawled out his eyes and cried, “Is that a threat?
Please spare my wretched life and I’ll always be in your debt!”

The Warrior sheathed his long blade and said, “You have no coin
Or conviction to pay such debts, you’re lacking in the groin”
The Warrior then walked away, no wise words did he speak
He simply spat upon the ground which caused small Clyde to squeak

“Was that a threat?” he thought to self as the hard man trudged on
Even as he shrunk on the horizon and was gone
Craven Clyde sat in his piss and poop and still did fuss
“Was that a threat?” he’d try with all the the passers to discuss

No one did respond to Clyde and so he did construe
Their cold-shoulder to be a threat, “THE THREAT IS ALL OF YOU!”
He sprang up to his feet and ran towards the nearest cliff
He jumped and as the jagged rocks approached, Clyde then went stiff

“IS THAT A THREAT!?” he screamed towards the stones and then was dead
The cold and jagged rocks whispered as Clyde’s still body bled
“No, it’s not a threat, you craven fool, just common sense
But truth has ways of being lost on those who are too tense”


Some Choose Hell

25 Mar

some choose hell

Some Choose Hell

The children sat in class while teacher offered them the choice:
“Little ones, who wants to work and who wants to rejoice?”
All the children ‘cept for one jumped up and squealed with glee
All except that one who did not follow or agree

“Izbor?” Teacher asked, “Why do you sit at desk so stern?”
Young Izbor gave him a sly glare, “Because that’s how I learn”
While all the children were dismissed to run outside and play
Izbor sat at his desk with his pen and worked away

Some years later, on his way back home along with mates
A storm ensued which caused the violent crashing of their straits
“It’s best if we turn back the way we came!” they all cried out
Izbor, on the other hand, chose not to wait for drought

He strapped himself tight to his raft and withstood the storm’s rage
And as he did so often, his mileage excelled his age
Several days would pass before his mates would make their way
Safely back to home while whining of sore feet all day

“Oh, my legs are aching” one complained, “I’m in great pain!
Just a few more steps and I fear I’ll suffer a sprain!”
Another moaned, “The sun’s so hot! My skin is turning pink!
When I get home I cannot wait to sleep after a drink!”

As they walked into town they spotted Izbor, bruised and cut
“You managed to survive the storm!” Izbor replied, “Somewhat”
He then walked by and left the town, they asked, “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been here now for several days and do feel myself slowing”

They shook their heads and called him mad, “He always chooses worst!
To not enjoy this peaceful town, that Izbor must be cursed!”
As the years went by his friends grew soft and slow and weak
They laughed as they reminded him, “The world goes to the meek!”

“They can have it,” Izbor said as he sharpened his blade
And set off into the dark forest on his lone crusade
To hunt down and to kill the crazed tiger that feasted on
Three young girls and their mother shortly after the dawn

Izbor found the tiger drinking from a little creek
He drew his sword and beckoned, “Prey on someone who’s not weak”
The tiger took as much from Izbor as he took from beast
And for a moment Izbor saw white light and felt released

A great and powerful being stood before Izbor and
The battered tiger, leaned forward and then outstretched his hand
He pointed to the tiger and he boomed, “To hell with you!”
The tiger sprung towards the flaming gates and then leapt through

The great Judge turned but Izbor had already made his choice
He walked towards the burning gates with resolve in his voice
“Save your clouds and golden harps for those who have no spine
For those who cry, lament, complain, who beg and plead and whine”

“The harder path has always been the one which built my power
Give my spot in Heaven to some worm who likes to cower”
“So be it,” the Judge replied as Izbor entered Hell
And did just as he always had; to conquer and to quell

The ruler in the burning land took notice and looked close
“What the Hell is that?” he asked, for Izbor did engross
“Who’s this man that chooses Hell when ease was in his reach?
Who’s this man that feels the burning pain but does not screech?”

Those around Izbor did suffer in eternity
But Izbor did not suffer, unlike them, Izbor was free
Because he never gave power to any circumstance
Nothing was a problem to Izbor, simply a chance

To fight, endure, to conquer and to be challenged once more
“He’s missed the point of this whole place!” the burning ruler swore
“Get him the Hell out of here!” the horned tyrant ordained
And that is how not even Hell could keep Izbor contained


Savior Self

22 Mar

Savior Self

Savior Self

When Kyū was a little boy his parents told him of
The Savior in the sky above who showed great grace and love
They taught him that the Savior would make everything alright
That in times of great darkness, their Savior would be the light

But as the years went by and challenges each time arose
Kyū’s parents saw no light, just wallowed in their woes
And Kyū’s friends as well did worry of what loomed ahead
Despite the promise of salvation, they all showed great dread

“Savior, help me!” he would hear and watch them as they waited
“Savior, please deliver me!” they’d beg He who created
It all seemed very futile to Kyū so he chose
To save himself the next time that a challenge would oppose

“Blasphemy!” the people cried, “It is not up to you!
What you speak is heresy, it’s Devil’s word you spew!”
Kyū tried to clarify, “I mean no disrespect
Quite the opposite, in fact, the Savior does inject

Courage within me, He gives me boldness to hold fast
To stand apart and persevere, to conquer or to last”
“The Devil’s word!” they cried again with anger and great fear
“No one has the power to save but for one, you hear?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Kyū replied, “just one’s able to save”
“Heresy!” They cried, “It’s Devil’s evil that you crave!”
Kyū thought and then replied, “If what you say is true
Then Savior will take notice and He will know what to do”

As years went by, Kyū faced struggles just as all his peers
But Kyū overcame them all with grit instead of tears
As others knelt and prayed for mercy, Kyū stood to face
Every dark and scary thing which robbed others of grace

They called him heretic and heathen, lost and without hope
Amid their anger and worry they’d pray and cry and mope
And never study carefully the life that Kyū led
His resolve wasn’t Savior-sent, it must have been instead

Granted by the evil one and given at high price
“When Kyū dies, he will go to a place not very nice!”
Sure enough one day the heart of Kyū ceased to beat
Even in his final moment, he did not retreat

They buried his scarred body in the ground and then they prayed
This tragic soul would testify and to Savior be swayed
Kyū woke and before him in some place far unknown
A light-filled being sat and watched from high atop His throne

Kyū felt no fear or wonder, did not drop to knees
He felt just as he always had, courage and no unease
The Savior rose up from His throne and bright light did emit
He walked to Kyū, shook his hand, and said, “I like your grit”


“Only” Human

20 Mar

only human

“Only” Human

There were two human brothers who were named Keelav and Stirn
Keelav thought himself as limited and did not yearn
His brother, though, saw potential that coursed through all his veins
He recognized the power and wisdom by he who trains

Keelav sighed and often said, “I’m only human, right?”
He thought his bone and sinew were a hindrance, a plight
Stirn, however, saw himself as something greater than
He’d often say, “This challenge will be conquered, fore I’m MAN!”

As years did pass, Keelav grew lazy and increased in girth
“I’m only human,” he would sigh, belittling own worth
Stirn, however, honed his muscles which sharpened his mind
He’d say, “I’m ALL OF human, to potential I’m not blind”

And Keelav would dismiss his brother, saying, “Well, that’s YOU!”
Wanting it both ways, to claim that all humans imbue
A sense of limits and failure, while Stirn was the exception
“I disagree,” bold Stirn would say, “you have a weak perception”

Stirn told of the Warriors who had come before him
All those with great strength and focus no matter how grim
He listed off great generals, great scholars, teachers, guards
Men who were indomitable, the soldiers and the bards

“Well that’s just them,” Keelav dismissed, and then Stirn did accept
That Keelav’s problem wasn’t “human,” something else had crept
Into his mind and taken hold, the parasite of fear
The gluttonous leech which saps our innate strength year after year

“Only,” Stirn said softly, “that one word has held you back
It’s kept you meek and docile whenever there’s attack
It’s your cry of retreat whenever your wits have been tested
And it is why you’ve always failed and floundered and been bested

The ‘only’ thing you’ve ‘only’ done is ‘only’ chosen to
‘Only’ ignore what is right and natural and true
You’re ‘only’ lazy, ‘only’ scared and ‘only’ miserable
You see yourself as empty when the truth is that you’re full”

Keelav wept and cried as Stirn departed, “Forgive me!
I’m only human!” Keelav sobbed and dropped down to his knee
Stirn walked on and did not stop and never did return
For years his reprimand echoed in Keelav’s mind and burned

“Only this and only that,” he pondered and he dwelled
“ONLY THIS AND ONLY THAT!” he seethed and fumed and yelled
“Only this…and only that…” he whispered and he sighed
“Only this…and…only…that…” he closed his eyes and died


The Lion Lord

16 Mar

lion lord

The Lion Lord

Every hundred years, four towns would send their very best
To meet on Mount Censura, the volcano in the west
The Lion Town sent Animus, the Warrior strong and brave
The Monkey Town sent Plumbeus from depths of their dark cave

The Bird Town sent Ignavus from the tops of towering trees
And Fish Town sent old Bardus from rivers that crash and freeze
The four beasts all set out but soon old Bardus did turn back
Up the river he spotted a small hungry wolf pack

From high above, Ignavus saw the old fish swim back home
“Good idea,” the bird exclaimed, turned back and ceased to roam
Plumbeus swung by vines to reach the mountaintop first
He looked around and saw no one, then stormed off as he cursed
“Drat it all, I must have taken the wrong path out there”
And tried to return home but was eaten by a red bear

Animus arrived with cuts and scratches on his face
He looked around and saw no soul did occupy this place
He waited only moments ‘fore he growled loud and bold
“I’ve come, I’ve conquered, show yourself before I do grow old!”

No reply was heard and so the lion walked to edge
Of the volcano, bared his fangs, and made this gravely pledge:
“If you wish to gather forest’s best, I recommend
You be prepared to match the iron will that I expend!”

“I judge you to be lacking despite all your heat and steam
I see no evidence of why I should hold you supreme!”
Brave Animus then turned and walked back down the mountain side
Only then did a voice boom with laudatory pride

“Animus, you are the best amongst your four great breeds
I do bestow the honor of ‘Lord’ for all your brave deeds”
Animus did not stop, only chuckled and then sneered
“I need no coronation from one who is not revered”

“WHAT?!” the voice boomed with great rage, “How dare you challenge me!?”
“I dare, no more needs to be said, I dare, do you not see?
I dare to follow my instincts instead of asking for
Directions and advice from those who have a weaker roar”

“COME BACK!” the mountain voice did boom, “Come face me with no fear!”
But Animus continued down because it was quite clear
That further distance he created, braver voice became
Not a peep when at its maw, yet now it was aflame

The mountain boomed, “No one this year will win the prize of best!
Not one of you are worthy and no town will now be blessed!”
The lion chuckled to himself, “A hollow accolade”
“I’ll pass on mystic garlands and rely on my own blade”

On his way back to his home, his path crossed with the fierce, red bear
“A monkey for my breakfast and for dinner, lion’s share!”
Animus did not retreat, he bared his claws and fangs
“Today you die because you can’t control your hunger pangs”

The beasts battled ‘till both were red but only one heart beat
The next day, Animus arrived back home and took a seat
The lions gathered ’round and asked, “Did you win the award?”
“The mountain did have much to say, and all of it ignored”

The lions gasped at Animus, how dare he speak so blunt
About the feared Volcano which no sane beast would confront
“I judged the mountain to be lacking” Animus did say
“My own opinion is worth more than that of frightened prey”

Some lions outside cried in fear, “The red lava now flows!
You’ve doomed us all because of the insolence that you chose!”
They ran and cried and panicked, all lions except for one
Animus bared claws and fangs and did refuse to run

“Come and earn respect for once, you mythic, tired bore!”
And mountain and the Lion Lord engaged in their great war
A hundred years later when mountain pondered the last trial
The thought of fearless Animus’ barrage brought a smile



14 Mar

sweat bleed FINAL


The Riddle of Fear

13 Mar


The Riddle of Fear

What has no hands but grips you tight and squeezes out your grit?
What whispers warnings in your ear and makes you lose all wit?
What has no fangs yet bites down hard and causes valor’s bleed?
What makes the indomitable spirit of man concede?

What has no form yet plagues your dreams at night and robs your sleep?
What cannot possess anything yet never stops to reap?
What tells you it cannot be done yet can’t bear any weight?
What dwells within your ponderings yet cannot contemplate?

What is the simplest foe to quell yet costs the highest fare?
What tangles men throughout their lives despite its brittle snare?
What keeps you on your knees and loyal, captive, victim, slave?
What only withdraws its cold grip moments before the grave?

What wastes a life and spawns regret and anguish, grief, concern?
What stifles your desires all life long, then makes you yearn?
What cruel and callous King rules over all the meek and frail?
What has no blade yet does behead and bludgeon and impale?


Meiyo’s Quest

10 Mar


Meiyo’s Quest

When Meiyo was but a small boy, his father sat him down
He spoke to his young son with furrowed brow and a grim frown
“Meiyo,” his father began, “the time has come to warn”
He ran a shaking hand through his gray hair and then did mourn

“The time has come to face the fact, the time has come for truth
I’m sorry that this has to come so early in your youth
Listen well and take to heart these words, for though they sear
The wound will heal in time and then your vision will be clear

He took a breath and closed his eyes, then fixed his gaze upon
The innocent young boy who still could view the world as dawn
“Dusk has fallen, my young son, and honor is no more
The concept has now grown to be a much lamented chore”

His father fought back tears and focused, gaze intent and fierce
“Honor’s dead and buried,” but his stark words did not pierce
“This cannot be,” the boy replied and smiled, “I can feel
Its presence still among us, honor lives, it is still real”

The father turned away and waved the boy off with his hand
“I knew that you would be too young to fully understand.
But time will show you I am wise and one day you will see
I will be proven right by selfishness and apathy”

And as the years did pass, Meiyo did search but never found
Proof of honor’s existence, not a glimmer or sound
“Father,” he then said, “I will leave this land and will search
Surely honor must still live, perhaps in a far church?”

“Or maybe in the mountains guarded by the samurai?”
His father slapped Meiyo across the face and thundered, “WHY?”
“Why would you waste all your time when time’s already shown?
Why waste time and effort for something already known?”

Meiyo was silent but his glare spoke volumes, then he walked
Away while father fumed and spat and talked and talked and talked
“If you depart, then don’t come back! You are no son of mine!”
Meiyo tolerated his abuse with grace divine

Though his father had proven that he was quite devoid
Of honor, Meiyo still believed it had not been destroyed
He searched through villages and cities, boroughs, boondocks, towns
And not an ounce of honor was discovered on their grounds

Selfishness and laziness and fear had come to rule
And every time he asked of honor, he was called a fool
“Honor? What is that? A burden! There’s no time for that!
Honor costs far too much sweat!” they told him as they spat

The years went by but Meiyo never gave up, then one day
An elderly woman walked up to him, “Sir, did you say
That you were searching for honor? If so, may I advise
You travel to the mountain and see Kyōshi the Wise”

“Thank you!” Meiyo said and offered what food did remain
Within his bag with gratitude, but woman did abstain
“Thank you, sir, how kind of you, it has been very long
Since I have seen such a gesture, but you’ll need to be strong

For the journey so keep it, all I ask for in return
Is when you find Kyōshi, don’t be shocked by what you learn”
Meiyo bowed and thanked her and he set off towards the peak
He walked until his legs were sore, then walked ‘till they were weak

He walked until they gave out and he collapsed to the ground
And then he clawed with fingers towards that which he was bound
He pulled himself up to the peak and there Kyōshi stood
He kneeled beside Meiyo and pulled back his heavy hood

“Many years have passed since I have seen another soul
What have you come in search of? Tell me, my friend, your goal?”
He poured water on the cracked lips of Meiyo, who then coughed
“Thank you,” Meiyo said weakly, his voice was low and soft

Kyōshi smiled, “Such little strength, and yet you choose to spend
What little does remain on gratitude to a new friend
Save your strength for your question, tell me what you do seek”
Meiyo nodded, then he asked in a voice soft and weak

“Is it true that honor’s dead? Has its time come and gone?”
Kyōshi sat and pondered until the following dawn
“I have the answer that you seek, the answer’s ‘no’ my friend
Though not widespread, the concept has still has not come to an end”

Meiyo asked, “Then where is it? Please point me to the road”
Kyōshi smiled, “How ‘bout I show the source from which it flowed?”
Meiyo sprang to his feet, strength restored, he called “Please do!”
Wise Kyōshi pointed at Meiyo and said, “It’s you”


The Legend of Modan Teer

3 Mar


The Legend of Modan Teer

Many legends can be written with a pen and ink
But the legend of Lord Teer requires poet to rethink
The quill will not suffice, his lore demands red, heated steel
To etch and carve his conquerings and capture his great zeal

For normals and mere mortals, cold, black ink will do just fine
But the mythos of Lord Teer commands a much more stalwart shrine
And so this Warrior Poet hammers a worthy blade to scribe
The vanquishments of Teer to share with his descended tribe

A worthy blade it is, my kin, the kind that drove back Kings
A blade to mortalize a God or sever angel’s wings
Folded seven thousand times and hammered twice as much
The kind of blade that sends a chill down spine from slightest touch

It is with this grim blade that I recount the tale of Teer
Born from man with all his weakness, doubt, ego and fear
Born from parents taught the same, but ah! Modan was wise!
From early on, he knew quite well that mouths spoke mostly lies

And so he forged a mighty saber, same as carves this tale
An angled blade that cannot be wielded by weak or frail
A crooked claymore tearing skin, demanding heavy price
A scimitar that whispers, “I am a costly device”

He named the blade “Golgadar,” in his tongue: “Whirlwind” it meant
Clearly not from Heaven, great Golgadar was Hell-bent
And hammered, scorched and forged just as its wielder came to be
Lord Modan Teer was bent by Hell, but not broken, you see

Golgadar was a hurricane and captured discontent
The great Lord Teer eviscerated all the prey it sent
The hollow Kings of Fear and Queens Doubt were brought to knees
And no mercy was shown by Teer, to deaf ears fell their pleas

When fear was crushed and doubt destroyed, his peers could not let go
“Fear and doubt is in our hearts, it is all that we know!”
And so the people changed the name and face of doubt and fear
They said it wielded a whirlwind, its name: Lord Modan Teer

He died a gray, old King still feared because he possessed none
Some said he came to Earth by cutting a path through the sun
They cowered in his presence ‘till the day he closed his eyes
And took his final breath, then ran should Modan Teer arise

Centuries would pass before a young man showed the nerve
To storm into his tomb and grab the great sword with a curve
They called him mad to show no fear, he scoffed and entered “Hell”
And there, just as his Lord Teer had, was bent but never fell

Golgadar found a worthy wielder every hundred years
One who gladly paid the price of calluses and tears
No one writes of cowards who told Teer to run and hide
Too many countless stories of those who just lived and died

But for a life like Modan Teer’s, an opus must be hewn
Not written on thin paper, no! Engraved upon the moon!
Lord Modan Teer, a normal man who awoke from the sleep
And lived a mighty life in centre of the whirlwind’s reap