Will go back through and put all my poems in one handy page

The Line

Withered song of biter frost
cuts across a bloody frown
drawn against the self
as stark as nights fall

torches wheeze, smouldering
casting dour light
matching mind and will
as stark as nights fall

Breath and words pushed against
the hush that buries deep
enveloped in a hopelessness
that gnaws resolve to dust

Arms of steel against such dreams
bitterly undone
a sob, a cry , sundering as war conjoins as one

The blood rush
raising blade and bow
crashing down as nights descend
buried, fallen and entombed
rest upon the stones

once more we rise
like dance macabre
to throw our dice anew
blades slick with life’s gift
sent to deaths embrace

Torches splutter, their lot cast
smouldering they fall
fingers cold
eyes wide, their fire lost tonight

As one we shift, uncomfortable
pressed against the stone
heavy breath and broken smiles
for those that see the dawn

Sulking foes break as suns cress the rise
such beasts have no love of warmth
a colder hole they hide

as we scan battle born
hearts are chilled to see
more than stand are lying down
never to greet the dawn

Beyond the walls
lurking there
a foe beyond count
waiting hungry
for the next nights fall


A whisper set upon the air

dancing filigrees of promises


alight upon the flowered ear

and tickle thoughts with imagery


A hope, a wish, a dream set free

dancing on a whispered kiss


Offers bobbing merrily across the aery sea,

awash upon my sandy shores,

scooped like foam from crashing waves


drawn from words to feed the flesh

embraced and held against the wounds


Yet captured they expire

resurrected only when

a returning breathe sets them free

to dance across the aery sea


bring words of promises

captured in a heartfelt kiss

alighting on their senders lips

sealing dreams and hopes within.



Echoes in the dark
the beat of dooming drums

catching tempo like a heart
soon to still on bloody blade

we grip our steel and shift as one
uneasy in the waiting gloom

eyes twinkling in the torch’s light
soon to still on bloody blade

the sounds of marching
echo in the darken halls
closer now they strikes a chord
that deafens all and shakes the ground

no words are shared
for none would ease
the burden of our stalwart guard
waiting in the ever-gloom

muscles twitch, faces snarl
shadows coalesce into a form
with tooth and claw as long as spears
and pelt that turns an arrows shaft

war is called and all respond,
in clash of steel and blood and bone
hewn down to never rise
friend and foe
break upon the cold stone
breathing out their last

for kin and king we stand and fall
against the endless waves of night
they brief upon our steely shores
then wash away in tides of might

eyes that twinkled in torch’s dying light
a ruddy glow of promise spent
now still and drawn with ends embrace
names and deeds stole away
captured in the ever gloom
sealed upon a bloody night




Biting cold encircles limbs
weighted down by seeping fears
dragged low by unsaid words
cut with unseen terror

whore frost drapes from morbid limbs
entwined in soup of shadows
swimming through mind and thoughts
caught in eyes
like cars headlights
staring into the oncoming crash

pain would be a release
from entombing numbness
screams are stifled,
locked within
a wall of flesh and bone

only eyes betray the loss
the sack of skin enveloping
the grunt of lust
the flow of visceral

stabbed in mind
but the body shows no mark
save for the stink of another
soaking into the soul



dry and dusty

swirling dreams

cast aside

wrinkled, stained

tattered books

bound in sun-bleached bone


dry and dusty

hope caught

in webs of sorrow

hung in arid thoughts

desiccated and devoid


dry and dusty

memories shattered

scourged by fear

buried under sands

time worn and forgotten


dry and dusty

veins cannot bleed

heart and soul

worn and broken

cast aside

wrinkled, stained

tattered bones

bound and entombed




I saw a dream caught in a look

tangled in a swallowed laugh

merriment bound and caged

cascading out of memories


down the road of abandoned dreams

the song of what could always be

drums a beat to jig along

drawing all within its strikes


dancing hopes bobbed along

streams of giggling gabbering

free of fears and hesitance

skipping stones across the lake

rippling out of memories


burst forth with butterflies

cast from stomachs confines

lifting high, unstoppable


hopes flow into the void

where abandoned imaginings once reside

bound then freed

cascading out of memories




we revel in hopes and dreams

set free to joyfully reside

merriment once bound now freed.



Forests Song

Under drab moonlight,

squeezed through slumbering leaves

footfall masked,

breath hushed


sharp ears, keen eyes,

hunters instinct holds fear in check

down below under boughs road

clicks and huffs of doomed roam


gleam of metal,

stench of sweat

breath and beat march together,

joined in mortals coil


poised to strike,

catlike grace

the smell of oil

stretch of cord

humble birthed, from wood and foul

in hunters hands a deadly strike


volleys rain

a harvest moon

of stinging wasps into soft flesh

soft chatter transforms to screams

then all is quiet


one doe, transfixed at ruin abound

turns, white eyed, expecting death

none comes, our bows silent,

the woods echo with fearful flight


we let him run,

tell your friends

tell your families

these woods are closed to mortal men.


Ten Cats

Ten cats collectively is clearly a caterwaul
I briefly considered, it could be a cacophony

But after ten cats constantly cavorting,
Climbing, clambering, claw filled carnival

Ten cats collectively is clearly a caterwaul
I briefly mulled that it could be a maelstrom

But after ten cats mousing, meowing,
Masquerading moggies, marauding through meadows

Ten cats collectively is clearly a caterwaul
I briefly thought it could be a turbulence

But after ten cats tearaway, trouncing, tagging,
Terrorising toms, troubling their territories

After considerable contemplation,
indelible, irrefutable,
Ten cats collectively is clearly a caterwaul.


A Night Before XP

Poem Inspired by ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ ( A night before xmas)
by Clement Clarke Moore

T’was the pause before battle, when all through the house
Not a player was moving, each still as a mouse.
The monsters were placed on the mat with great care,
In hopes of adventurers wandering there.

The party were hushed, all filled with dread,
While visions of treasure danced in their heads.
And Mary in her cosplay, and I cat-on-lap
Had settled on strategies, the villains’ plans we would sap.

When out on the battle map, dice bounced with a clatter,
I sprang from my seat, the cat flew off in a scatter.
“Roll initiative!” Dice snatched in a flash,
My lucky d20 from my Geek Satchel’s stash.

The party on the march ‘cross the rubble-strewn snow,
Their mighty weapons’ magic causing them to glow.
When what wandering monster did suddenly appear?
But a mighty red dragon, it’s roar filling us with fear.

With an initiative base so high it was quick,
It’s tail snapped forward with a cracking flick.
More rapid than chargers, onward it came
Roaring and snarling, its mouth brimming with flame.

“Now, biting! Now, clawing! Now Fear Aura vexing!
On Warrior, on Cleric, on Wizard, attacks blitzing!
With our hearts a-shaking! Our backs to the wall!
Now dash away! Hitpoints low! Flee one and all!

The dragon leaps upwards, beginning to fly,
Up out of reach into the sky.
With a rallying song the Bard’s trumpet he blew,
So out of the fear our resolve did renew.

And then, evocating, Mage vanished with a poof,
As the dragon alighted on ruin’s crumbling roof.
As I threw my attack dice, they spun round and round,
A critical strike! A true arrow inbound.

Our warrior was dressed all in plate, head to foot,
And the dragon breathed fire, leaving but ashes and soot.
A sneak attack strike into the dragon’s back,
And the Beast roared in pain, missing his next attack.

The Thief’s eyes, how they twinkled, his cunning, so merry!
But with cruel strike, under a claw his character did bury!
At his wide, fang-filled mouth, I drew back my bow,
And rained down my arrows as thick as the snow.

The shafts snapped like kindling as he chomped down his teeth,
And smoke from his mouth billowed out from beneath.
He had thick gleaming scales in all but his belly,
As he launch towards me, the ground shook at the sally!

Then out of the aether, appeared our Wizardly elf,
Putting him bravely between dragon and self.
A magic invoking at the beast’s head,
A bolt of white lightning, ensured it was dead.

The GM declaring, a Save would work,
Hurtled her d20 with a confident smirk.
The dice spun about, as our dread arose
With a clatter it rolled, a 1 right under our nose!

We sprang to our feet, with a thunderous whistle,
From ‘neath us flew the cat, fur all of a bristle.
The GM exclaimed. The dragon fell from the fight,
“Well played. Lucky sods. Let’s call it a night!”




In Neverwhere

Dreams collide

Dancing for their own regale


Whispers tumble

Into song

Carried up and onwards more

Greeting with boundless vim

A pageant of joviality


And those that find you here or there

Pause in merry jest

That rhymes unruliness

Would catch one such as you

In its tangled verse


In Neverwhere

Nowhere else

Jesters play at interlude

Diverging from reality

‘till nothing is

As it would seem


Prying out of reasoning

Replete with dazzling imagery

Gleaming lies sustaining you

While all about decay seeps in

Worming from within

As mortal’s needs are cast aside

And flesh crumbles into dust

Evanescent memories the only

Mark of passing humanity


So if ones roams

On their own

Down unfamiliar passageway

Weirdness laid heavily

A mantle muddling

Wit and wiles


Around the bend

Just out of sight

Melodies will snatch

And carry you

Far from here

To Neverwhere

Where only dreams belong.


Fields of Snow

Marching across fields of snow

faces worn by age and cold


chinking mail in time with

chattering teeth

shivering hymns to the lost

striding into frosts keep


blades are stilled by weary arms

coats the only thing that move

caught in blizzard’s voice

they snatch and stir a brave salute


calling home to warmer glen

calling back to warmer kin

mislaid now in the endless war

marched from sight but not from song


those that see us striding by

wonderment at what transpires

to drive a man into the gap

far from home in icy clasp


all that march across the field

heavy with winter’s tears

soon to stain with vitals gift

dye the pallid landscape red


cry no more, cut by cold

cry no more, men of the glen

follies dance on winter’s stage

far from home in to the gap.



Disgracefully Growing Old

A merry meet, a merry mead
whooping at life’s grandeurs
Joy uncapped, spilling forth
shouting at the rafters
Drink that draught and catch the tune
dancing on the tables.

A giggleant, a jiggleant,
rolly polly frivolity
dourness out the way
there’s only room for laughter.

Dancing on the table tops
clear of all the clutter
stooping crones of adulthood
demand I follow after.

Nay and naught
I will not wear that dreary cape
cast a side such lucidness
and dance upon the table.

Death may catch me
sneaking ever closer
but growing up
I’ll never do
when I can dance upon the table.


Web of Gleaming Gold


Breathe out
susurrus of coins
dance a merry tune

Breathe in
the sweet aroma of treasures horded

And more

What scent swirls across the tongue



a thief sneaking
hidden from dragon’s sight
but never from a dragons’ snout



A clink of coins
treasure tripped
cascade down
undoing wary steps before

fury unleashed
serpent’s strike from gleaming viper’s nest


crunch of bones and gulp

So fast that robber’s voice was snatched
before an utterance

Then back, below, treasure mound we go
fed until the next thief comes
to dance upon my web of gleaming gold



A Secret

In a place where secrets lie

and rest their heads on beds of dreams

she sleeps in tangled weave.


In a place were the sun shines not

shadows gather to dance and cavort

she weaves a tangled skein.


In a place were the fae bones rest

covered in moss and sorrow

she threads the knuckles to chime on the breeze.


A place were dragons chase the dusk away

dancing across dandelions in rampant fun

Her eye ajar in cat-like sliver.


A place were the satyrs sing

a merry jig of addling ale

Her memories stir from long lost times.


A place were bold adventures come

with bright steel and hearty tales

She sows the seeds of fame and fortune

watered with blood and tears

a fruit worth plucking from its tree.


She calls as friend and drinks as foe.


Adventures Tale Collection


The Wizards Tale

In dank and dreary tavern room

gathered round flickering flame.


Patrons, unwashed peasant folk

lash our thoughts with banal jest

Laughter, banter and bawdy songs

surge, break against our hushed confidence.


With clink of coin and clunk of mug

they turn their dull lives’ night to stupors revel.


On our table gather

once-foaming mugs of swillish ale

Gormlin, does his best to toil

through brackish mire of beer

Blame not his taste, he belchingly declares

A dwarf’s a slave to nature’s thirst

On nights like this, the throat constricts.


We let him drink

his council at best, muddled as his tangled beard,

draped with flotsam snared from

watery gruel masqueraded as sustenance.


Brenwyn picks at table’s edge,

cutting grooves in nervous wait

The road she walks keeps dirk in hand

or never far from reach.


By our meager light

guarded with huddled form

an ancient parchment spread,

old even by Elvish years.


Beyond the wood, mud and mire

that passes for this squalid town.

Hidden by the pass of time

faded from song and memories.


The map before us laid

with glyph and tongue of ancient dread.

A door scribed across the stones,

etched into mountain vale.


The riches whispered from the map

caress our greed like siren’s song

draw us out from safe harbour

pull us to its dark embrace.


The elven pair stands aloof

hooded, quiet, deep in thought.

Their council, in words so hushed,

that a mouse might miss

A plan to reclaim fortune’s lost.


Gormlin offers counter point

a few more days to soak in sights

fix an axe and mend his mail.


Let the thief scout about

She is best at finding ways that

others miss with heavy tread,

eyes muddled in the gloomy light.


And if one did not return

then others would seek the way

or better still remain indoors

ward against the winter’s chill.


Brenwyn offers counterpoint

a place where thieves can stick a dirk

lance a festering dwarven boil

before it bursts more putrescent verse.


Quickly before this night descends

into another tavern brawl

We part the two with consolatory words

lest sharp tongues turn to sharper blades.


Fast as anger rises, Gormlin

roars a hearty laugh

Mugs of ale dissolve his fury

fast as drink is downed.


Brenwyn slithes back into her brood

more difficult humour to cultivate,

nonchalant she shrugs, returns to table’s work

asserting all was spoke in jest.


Still, I fear for Gormlin’s fate

should fortunes find the pair alone

resolving differences in blood.


The plan is bared

its teeth gleaming, sharp and full of malevolence.


As rain sets in

rattling shutters above the constant din

I wonder to myself

what manner of man

would call himself adventurer.


The Thieves Tale

Only shadows grace touch upon my tread



creeping into gloom’s embrace.

Behind burbling companions

rumble though the halls

Enough ruckus to wake the dead

an abundance of that ilk slumber in this tomb.



Gorlin staggers in drunken haze

His steps a tangled mess

Even as he falls

refusing to relinquish mug

stolen ale tastes the best

he rancorously declares

while finding solaces on the floor.



Thastin always consolatory

scoops up the drunken dwarf

what does our wizard sees in one of intellect

so short.



His talents wasted on conjuring of candle’s light

Beguiling would be scant a praise

the man could turn a pretty coin

sweet tongued, gilding talk with noble folk

or mending wars in far off lands

if he required a goal so just.



And by Thastin’s grace

his words are not his only charm

I find myself deep in the earth

with scant but daggers armed.



Onward now descending down

stairs wrought with ancient hands

decorated in silken webs

dabbed with dust and disinterest.



Elves in pair chatter on

a tongue unknown to my humble ears

perhaps a song or merry tale

the meaning they will never share.



And for all Gorlin’s obviously faults

the dwarf will break a fast,

toast mead and sing in jest

as he banters with this guttersnipe.



But sharp of ears and cold countenance

leaves my head and heart with muddled dread

as if stumbling through

an unpleasant dream when out a wandering.



Focus on the tasks at hand

leave dreaming for peasants now

tucked up in beds a slumbering

We sleep this night on harder floors

swept by claws of unknown beasts

if we wake to mornings light

count that as victory.



A warren would describe

the bowels of hewn stone

we drag our weary souls along

in search for glimmering gold.



A map of elven make

guiding by our sidhe friends

I watch with spiders patience

lest false their words

and with haughty confidence

wander into my web.



And as the bumbling fools

stumble upon some unseen dread

conjure forth a sea of fangs

skittering, oozing death.



I wonder to myself

want manner of woman

would call herself adventurer.