Hyborian age poems
Feb 19, 2016 15:49:39 GMT -5
Post by BlackHeart on Feb 19, 2016 15:49:39 GMT -5
Since I saw that this sentence is missing on this forum, and it adorn the old one, I said to myself: "Let's get started!" Here is one I published a few days before the old forum extinguished. How there it was the last, let it be the first on this:
DRUM SONG
The dying sun was
glinting fire
Upon a Halcyon sea.
Where raced two ships
both decks awash
With liars, priests and
knaves.
The first ship bore a
golden bull
For Mitra´s sacristy;
Hindmost sailed the
bloody Amra,
Lion of the wawes!
As surely as the
gods are mad
And gold is never free;
One ship, that night
would sail away
The other smashed
to staves.
How the fatted
priest did wail
To see the pirate gain
They rant their robes
and beat their pates
Against the gilded rail.
With briny cats,
they beat the backs
Of oarsmen numb
with pain;
The measure of their
stroke inspired
By salt-encrusted flails.
The Hierophant
prostrate with fear
Denied his holy reign;
Casting vestments,
orbs and censers
Into the scudding main.
Amra, with a flourish
nailed
A shekel to the mast:
„Two score more to
him who first
Steps foot on younder
prize!“
„Huzzah!“ the scurvy
crew cheer´d forth
And made their
Falchions fast;
They braced themselves
with murd´rous glee.
Boasting barb´rous lies.
The Stygian spat upon
the deck.
„Ye´´ll not be first, but
last;
These shining oars
need arms and backs
Bent to them, curse
your eyes!“
As one, the grinning
corsairs raced
To do their brawny best;
At heaving on the
straining sculls.
For glory… and for
Gold!
Resplendent in his
silvered helm
Strove Amra with the
rest;
His oar, a gleaming,
sweeping beam,
Amazing to behold!
The Stygian trash´d
his demon drum,
Set´s serpent ´pon his
chest;
Meting out a measured
mater,
Belligerent and bold.
A groan arose among
the priests
As from a choir, afire;
All quivered in their
albs to see
The cutthroats
drawing nigh.
A catamite and two
fat pigs
Were cast into the pyre;
Hopes of holy
intercession,
Forthcoming from on
high.
They drew they fey
unholy knives
Desanctified and dire;
Upon each blade was
etched in runes:
„COME UNTO ME AND
DIE!“
Like thunder pealing
from the past
The tattooed drummer
rolled;
An ancient heartbeat
conjured from
A ghost of long-dead
sound.
One beat, one breath,
one arcing stroke
Therein the bar was
tolled.
The rowing song was
born anew with each
successive round.
They felt it through
their blistered hands,
It rang from bilge to
hold;
Each racing hearth in
perfect time.
Each stroke to rhythm
Bound.
By chance, the
cow´ring Hierophant
Did cast a sternward
glance;
Just as a certain
pirate turn´d
To meet his anxious
stare.
Arctic eyes ´neath a
raven mane
Ran through him like
a lance;
He´d recognized that
northern mien,
And voiced his
fervent pray´r…
„O, Mitra, in your
boundles mercy
Grant us one last
chance;
Save us all from
bloody Amra,
The ocean´s crimson
slay´r!“
The captain of the
temple guard
Sarcastically
disdained.
Eleventh hour
supplications
As crude, if not profane.
He went from priest
to priest in turn
And patiently explained:
„Great Mitra heeds
the pleas of those
Who have the most to
gain!“
„Mark well this
cocked arbelest
Upon yon pirate trained!“
With that he loosed a
barbed bolt
No prayer could contain.
As fleet as thought,
the shaft flew true,
Relentlessly it sped;
A thunderbolt from
Mitra´s hand
Inexorably hurled.
Was Crom then moved
to intervene,
To turn the pirate´s
head?
Cheated by the freak
deflection
The arrow blithely
whirled…
… It gyred and
tumbled ´cross the deck
As if, by reason led;
And cut the Stygian´s
throat to bone
Before to sea it
twirled.
Frozen at the pulling
stroke, the
Pirates gaped in
wonder;
Fort he Stygian
never faltered
But vamped on two
and four.
One hand stanched
his gushing wound,
the
Other sounded thunder;
Build the rhythm in
crescendo
While dancing at
death´s door.
Lash´d by primal
throbbing backbeats
Shaking souls asunder;
The corsairs caught
the stroke again
And rowed like ne´er
before.
As one, their thieving
hearts kept time
in dour syncopation;
And still, the rowing
tempo rose
Unchain´d, ferocious,
crazed!
On Mitra´s ship the
priests intoned
Arcane incantations;
Keeping time with
whips and lashes
On rowers torn and
dazed.
No amount of earthly
pow´r , no
Cosmic machinations;
Could counteract
that demon drum
From Arallu´s fire,
raised!
Above the din, the
Stygian´s drum
Enthralled them to
the core;
A heartbeat risen
from the dead
Filled them with
spectral zeal.
Impaled upon the
pirate´s beak
As hounds upon a
boar;
The crippled ship
groaned deep and low
While shiv´ring on
ist keel.
A sightless seer
remembered well
The impact´s fearful
roar;
The splint´ring oars
the stridents shriek
Of tortured wood
and steel.
With hooks and
grapples, chains and
gaffs,
They made the two
ships fast;
While boiling oil and
arrows fell
Like rain upon the
planks.
A howling tide of
pirates broke
Across the priestly
caste;
They pierced their albs
with loading hooks
And kicked their holy
shanks!
The captain of the
temple guard
Stood faithful to
the last;
´Til Amra cleaved
him full in two,
Filleted him to his
flanks.
Bold Amra mowed
a scarlet swath,
Hyrkanian glaive in
hand;
No warrior priest
could stand against
That blur of steel so
bright.
Amra´s corsairs
gaily tore the
Bullock from ist
stand;
And earmarked every
ounce to spend
On Shadizar´s delights!
Stark mad, the
reeling Hierophant
Took up a blazing
brand;
Upending tune of
sacred oil,
He set the decks
alight…
Wild flames engulfed
the tribute ship
Black plumes assailed
the sky;
Back to their own, the
pirates fled,
Their booty splashed
with gore.
The Hierophant,
conflagrant, wailed,
His eyes began to fry;
„I´ll take you rogues
with me to hell,
You´ll spend my gold
no more!“
Amra´s blade, tho´
notched and sanguine
Made spark and
splinter fly;
Cleaving cables,
chains and hawsers,
Ratlines by the score!
But still, the burning
tribute ship
Held fast the brazen
beak;
The high priest charred
to greasy ash
Seemed back´ning in
the heat.
A single drum beat
turned their heads
To hear the Stygian
speak;
He uttered not a
word to them
But slowly built the
beat.
Once more, the
rowing tempo rose
To contrapuntal peak;
They pushed instead
of pulled, this time,
Each, standing at
his seat.
No rib cage could
contain that beat
Nor stem ist pulsing
pover;
The Stygian´s heart
played out the bar
And burst upon the
Four!
The tribute ship broke
free and sank
Into the Sea King´s
bower;
Green waves erased
all vestiges
Of all that passed
before.
Around the riven
drum they stood
Sweet vict´ry turned
so sour;
For the who drummed
their warrior hearts
Was stilled for ever-
more.
„Who shall be our
heartbeat, calling
Thunder down from
on high?
The common meter
of our souls
Was pounding in his
breast!“
The captain bared his
baleful blade,
A vision in his eye;
He paced the deck
with naked steel
And started into the
west…
„I hear our drummer
play again,
His rhythm need
not die;
That savage heart
shall beat anew
Beneath that
tattooed chest!“
They whisper it on
rotting wharves
In harbors topp´d
with scum;
They tell the tale on
treasure ships
O´er all the Vilayet…
„When bloody Amra
sails the sea
Ye´ll hear the pirate
come;
A drum song like a
beating heart,
So very like… and
yet…“
„No hortator is
keeping time
Upon that haunted
drum;
That tattooed drum,
embellished with
The Stygian serpent,
„SET!“