Tales of Darren, Part the 4th: And Then at Last Did Darren Leave

Sir Darren's sword cut high and low,
Seeking to smite the beast a blow,
The monstrous Dragon's coils dark,
Evaded bearing the blade's mark,
Across the plain the sounds of battle,
Steel blade screams and scales a'rattle,
Rung clear and loud into the sky,
As nature stood on and watched by,
And then at last the Dragon lunged,
And Darren into its maw plunged,
The Dragon roared its victory,
Its breath ablaze for all to see,
Yet then the Dragon's calling ceased,
As it felt pains from its last feast,
The spiked armor of the knight,
Inside himself now proved a blight,
And now as the Dragon did writhe,
Brave Darren's sword through its hide scythed,
And then cut for the knight a way,
Out into the bright light of day,
The Dragon could then stand no more
And with a final anguished roar,
It crumpled down unto the ground,
Leaving Darren bruised but sound,
And then at last did Darren leave,
This land that did his eyes bereave,
The Dragon killed his oath fulfilled,
The perished townsfolk free

~The End~

Roses are Red Contest

Dear Readers,
Below is my first poetry contest. Though I may change the way these things are conducted over time, the current format is this. I shall write the first few lines of a poem, and the contestants (meaning just about anybody who reads this contest) submit their ideas for the last line in the comment box. When all the suggestions have come in, I sort through them, and post the poem completed with the best last line.

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Roses are Red and Violets are Blue,
If you Love me, than please tell me true,
Sunflowers are Golden, some Rose are too,
...

Tales of Darren, Part the 3rd: The Dragon Clashed in War with Man

Therein he lay all fevered hot,

Alive on borrowed time not bought,

It seemed as though he were to die,

As he did on sickbed lie,

And then the sickness from him passed,

As though it never meant to last,

And Darren leapt up to his feet,

Prepared to now the Dragon meet,

Now with his health fully regained,

Darren was loathe there to remain,

Yet Darren stayed in the town still,

Not for lack of strength or will,

But on account of his own scheme,

To best the Dragon from the stream,

Brave Darren had the blacksmith pound,

A suit of sturdy armor sound,

A suit covered in piercing spikes,

A suit that none had seen the likes,

And thereby armed with sword in hand,

Brave Darren trekked across the land,

To that place where a town had been,

To where he had the Dragon seen,

And still across the plain the stream,

Did smoke and froth and boil and steam,

As water ran across the hide,

Of the black Dragon there inside,

Brave Darren strode across the field,

 Gripping tight his sword to wield,

And came upon the the riverbank,

The waters with Drake sulfur stank,

And Darren called out with voice loud,

"Come forth to be by my blade bowed!"

And then up from the wat'ry depth,

The Dragon of pure black now crept,

Its coils dark, from water wet,

Its gaze on Darren firmly set,

And now the beast came fully out,

Its coils churning all about,

And it was then that Darren lunged,

And thrust his blade out for the plunge,

Yet the Dragon moved on past,

Its coils twisting steely fast,

And Darren was then in its hold,

All bound about with sinews cold,

Yet as the beast tightened its grip,

The armor spikes did its flesh rip,

And then the beast did its hold loose,

To save itself from such abuse,

And Darren dropped then to the ground,

His body sore yet wholly sound,

Then donning his dark spiky helm,

He faced odds that did overwhelm,

The Dragon reared its ugly head,

Above the knight far overhead,

And bellowed with a fearsome wroth,

And spewed a breath all fiery froth,

The sky above alight with dawn,

Looked down this battle then upon,

And as sun rose from horizon,

The Dragon clashed in war with man,

~To be Concluded~

Tales of Darren, Part the 2nd: The Monstrous Reason Why

Greetings Readers,
Below is the second installment in the first tale of Darren, starting up right where the first one left off. If you have not read the first one, simply check below this one for it.
Thank you.

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A beastly Drake all coils and teeth,

It's flame about its snout a wreath,

Its breath poured forth upon the town,

Flame to burn it to the ground,

And monstrous claws and teeth and tale,

Did smash and crush, through cottage flail,

Brave Darren seeing such a beast,

On the souls that lived their feast,

Did once again spur his mount on,

And charged without his bright helm donned,

The Dragon from the wreckage heard,

As Darren cried challenging words,

"Turn thou now, thou beast of black!

Show me thy face now, not thine back!"

And as the Brave sir knight did shout,

The beast of black turned then about,

And then did knight meet Dragon there,

Thrust out his blade to Dragon tear,

Such a battle did rage then,

As long gone from the world of men,

And when at last the fray had ceased,

Victor was neither knight nor beast,

The Brave Darren had battled strong,

And he and beast had battled long,

But now they scarce had strength to crawl,

Away from the place of the brawl,

The Drake did to a river slink,

And into its dark waters sink,

There to recover his lost might,

Then once again to wage the fight,

While Darren lay upon the earth,

With scarce the strength he had at birth,

His armor smoky-black and bent,

And by the Dragon's batt'rings rent,

Brave Darren's once bright shining blade,

Lay smoking hot there in the glade,

And close by it the knight's steed lay,

 Its dead coat with the ash now grey,

Yet as the knight lay all-but slain,

There came the miracle of rain,

It purged the ash and his face bathed,

And his burns in fresh coolness swathed,

So that soon the knight awoke,

And his deathly stupor broke,

And rose again to stand upright,

A peer off with uncertain sight,

To survey a sorry scene,

The place where once a town had been,

Brave Darren saw a blackened waste,

With bones of men and charred-wood laced,

The all scarred and furrowed deep,

Like grain-sown fields, never to reap,

And out across the darkened dell,

Up from the river as from Hell,

Rose plumes of burning smoke and steam,

There from the Dragon in the stream,

Darren swore then to the dead,

That he would never know a restful bed,

He was on the beast revenged,

And all their deaths had been avenged,

Yet that fine day he could not fight,

Not battle the black Dragon's might,

For he himself was wearied sore,

And scarce could now go back for more,

And so Brave Darren took up sword and left,

There from the land of life bereft,

And turned his feet upon the road,

To there where men made their abode,

And so it was that Darren came,

To there where none knew of his fame,

A town far from the greater towns,

Here were more smiles and less of frowns,

Brave Darren was wearied from walking,

And could scarce move lips for talking,

But managed then at last to speak,

Through bone-dry lips, with words now weak,

"Pray help me, good townsfolk," he pled,

"For I am wearied, all-but dead,"

And then with these words spoken meek,

The knight collapsed, his knees now weak,

And thence was carried by the men,

Out from the cold, into an Inn,

~To be Continued~

The tales of Darren, Part the 1st: Once upon a time now past

Hello Readers!
This post marks the first in a series of installments, something like the Faerie Tale Medleys. I call these "The Tales of Darren" and they are all poems. This one is the first installment of a much longer poem which I shall be posting over a series of days.
Any constructive criticisms you have on the verse or any other details of the poem, would be welcome in the comment box.
Thank you.

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Once upon a time now past,
There was a knight of his kind last,

Who roved through plain and then through dell,
Seeking to make the bad well,

Brave Darren was the name he bore,
Strong and bright armor he wore,

His kind were lost in long gone days,
Going off upon their ways,

Brave Darren was the last now left,
In a land of mortal good bereft,

Yet none could halt him on his quest,
To all the evil darkness best,
None could stand in Darren's way,
None could hold Darren at bay,

One day as Darren rode through glen,
On path traversed by beast not men,
With sky above all black and gray,
As he rode on along his way,
He heard the sounds of those in fright,
The screams and wails of sorry plight,
Brave Darren hesitated not,
He spurred his mount into a trot,
And burst from out the forest trees,
Behold! Dark smoke blew on the breeze,
For close by where Darren now stood,
A town built of not rock but wood,
Was burning hot, flames blazing bright,
Bathing folk in fearsome light,
And coiled black against the sky,
Stood the monstrous reason why,

~To be Continued~

Faerie Tale Medley, Part the 3rd: Hounds in Sherwood

 Greetings bloggers,
Today, after long delay due to several setbacks in the writing stage, I am publishing the third installation in the Faerie Tale Medley "Hounds in Sherwood"
While this installation does not provide as much excitement as previous stories, it serves a vital role in the overall storyline. Without it, the story could not move on as it is.
So, anyway, read on if you are so inclined and tell me what you think of it.
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Birds sang, leaves rustled, Hood gnawed.

            Sitting cross-legged high in the branches of a grandfather oak, Hood attacked the small unripe crab-apple with her teeth. Sunlight pierced the heavy, spreading foliage of the oaks of Sherwood Forest, illuminating the dawn of a beautiful spring day. Blue Jays and Robin Red Breasts trilled to the dawn and a light breeze rustled the thick green leaves of the oaks.

            Hood was immune to it all. Hunger dominated her every thought.

            She sat cross-legged on a thick limb of an oak, her back against the coarse bark of the trunk, attempting to strip a morsel of fruit from the thoroughly disagreeable apple. She wore a green tunic, brown leggings and a pair of deerskin boots. Beside her, her pack hung from a branch containing the riding hood and crimson cloak that Hood dared not wear openly anymore. Propped up against the trunk of the oak on her other side was a small, beautiful bow and a leather quiver of brightly red-fletched arrows.

Hood wished now as her belly growled from hunger that she could afford to light a fire to cook game; then she might not be in this position, reduced to doing battle with this impenetrable apple.

Giving up on chewing at it, Hood drew the small hunting-knife from her belt and, with some difficulty, drove the tip into the apple. Having succeeded in carving out a ragged shred of fruit, Hood was about to test the quality of the apple when a noise sounded in the distance.

Hood’s entire body locked and she listened hard into the silence. Once again she heard the noise and now there was no mistaking its nature, or its proximity: hunting hounds. Close-by.

Hood moved without a moment’s hesitation, hastily sheathing her knife, she snatched both her pack and bow and arrows and began hastily swinging down through the branches of the oak.

By the time she reached the ground, the baying of the hounds was much closer, now constantly beating against her ears. Now the sound of hoof beats mingled with the hounds’ howling; a horseman, perhaps two. Too late Hood realized that she should have stayed in the treetops and began scaling a new tree; her breath catching in her throat for there could be only one man who would dare enter into Sherwood at this time.

As she swung herself up onto the third branch, she heard the dogs and the horse crashing through the underbrush. Closer and closer they came. Hood reached for a branch, missed, reached again and caught it, swinging herself higher. Now she was lost in the tangle of branches and foliage, invisible to the eyes of those below.

Hood huddled in the crook of two branches, listening as the horseman and his dogs entered the clearing. The dogs bayed and ran about below, their paws pounding the earth heavily. Big dogs. Lots of them.

Hood waited on baited breath, knowing what must soon come. Even so, when the hunting hound howled out its find it still came as a shock to her. They had found her scent.

The dog’s bark was followed a moment later by the sweet notes of a flute. Hood fought against the urge that the music instilled inside her to climb down from the tree and follow the hounds to the horseman down in the clearing.

Hood wadded up the edges of her tunic and stuffed them in her ears, battling against the music inside her head. Peeking out through the leaves of the oak tree, Hood looked down into the clearing to see a strange sight.

A dozen large hunting hounds stood gathered around a sleek black charger, like attentive children. Sitting atop the horse was a man clad in shaggy black furs. Wolf furs. IL Cané.

The Wolf was playing his flute to the dogs, even through the wool of her tunic, Hood could still faintly hear the music and bit her lip hard, the pain distracting her from the urge to go down and give herself up. Even as she watched the scene below, the dogs dispersed, noses to the ground, searching for a scent.

Hood breathed light and soft as she watched the hounds below. It would be only moments before one of them found her trail and alerted their foul master to her presence in the tree.

Think! She urged herself inwardly, think!

She clenched both hands in frustration, gritting her teeth and racking her brains for some idea, something, anything that could get her out of this. Then she noticed she was holding something in her left hand. She looked down and unclenched her fingers to find the small, hard crab-apple. An idea formed in Hood’s mind.

§§§

Down in the clearing, IL Cané heard a faint rustling off in one of the further oaks. Looking up quickly, his eyes caught a rustle of movement among the leaves.

            Drawing the flute from its sheath at his belt, the Wolf trilled a few short notes before sheathing it once more and spurring his charger into the tree line towards the tree, the hounds at his heels.

§§§

Back in the oak, Hood allowed herself a sigh of relief before slinging her pack over one shoulder and setting off along one of the branches of the tree. The Wolf would soon realize he had been led astray, and then she would be once more in dire peril.

            Reaching the termination of the branch the currently straddled, Hood crouched low on the swaying limb and leapt out into open space. Before her she saw her target, a long branch reaching out from a nearby oak, rushing up to meet her. The impact when it came, knocked the air from Hood’s lungs like a blow, but she quickly scrambled up onto the limb and scampered through the branches of the oak, leaping once more outwards and swinging into the next tree, finding her stride.

            By the time IL Cané discovered that the sound he had gone to investigate was nothing more than an accurately-thrown crab-apple, Hood intended to be long gone, swinging through the oaks of Sherwood Forest.

            As she leapt once again from one of the branches, a verse from an old Merry Men song came to mind and she murmured it under her breath as she moved:

“Catch me, catch me, Wolf-skin man,

Catch me, catch me if you can.

Run and chase and search and stare,

I live in here and not out there.

Come search for me in Sherwood here,

And I shall hunt you like a deer,
Play your flute all that you wish,
Sherwood's dry land and your the fish”

A Dream

In a dream I stood atop,

The place from whence the cliff did drop,

I sat atop a blackened peak,

Because of things that I did seek

Before me yawned a great abyss,

Oh, what evil had led to this?

Why could I not have led a life,

All filled with good and not with strife?

At brink of chasm’s edge I stood,

Like statuette of stone or wood,

And set my heart at last to leap,

The fruits of many wrongs to reap

From cavern parts,

And darkened hearts,

Now came a beast,

On souls to feast

Its cunning words,

Like song of birds,

Like poisoned blooms,

All bringing doom

I knew that I in such a state,

Could scarce deserve a brighter fate,

And so prepared I for the fall,

Completely in Serpent’s enthrall,

Yet as my demise closer crept,

I thought on past misdeeds and wept,

And as my eyes shed tears like rain,

They seemed at last to see again

And high above I spied a light,

A mountain not pure black but white,

And at the very peak I saw,

Deliv’rance from the Serpent’s maw

The mountain’s steep and rocky slopes,

Were spanned by neither stairs nor ropes,

Yet still I started my ascent,

For on success my heart was bent

Far below the snake now raged,

And war upon my climb it waged,

But when it saw those efforts fail,

It ceased to rage, it ceased to rail

And now it turned to cunning ways,

Witnessing to my dark days,

And then on rocky mountain steep,

I ceased my climb to sit and weep

The Serpent’s words they pierced my heart,

Each past misdeed now like a dart,

And I then slid down mountainside,

Borne upon my past deeds' tide

And there I teetered on the brink,

Not yet so far as yet to sink,

And so my deeds took life and rose,

They towered high a Wolf of woes

Yet as I stood about to die,

And into the abyss then fly,

An Albatross all snowy white,

Gave then to me the means to fight

It dropped into my shaking grip,

A sword as keen as North wind’s tip,

A blade that shone with raid’yant light,

A sword with which the Wolf to smite

The Hound of woes shrank from the light,

It recognized its vanquished might,

It sunk down into the abyss,

Rather than stay and battle this

And with my enemies at bay,

I saw no need there then to stay,

And so I set off for the top,

Determined not from thence to drop