Friday, January 30, 2015

Kenn's How To Write Poems: Session One - Sonnets

Image via Shutterstock
Hello my fellow bloggers and poetry enthusiasts, and welcome to my first How To Write Poems session. During these "How To" sessions I will be revealing some secrets that I use to write certain forms of poems. For this session I will be revealing the secrets to writing a sonnet.

Before we go into the details I'm going to delve into some of the history of the sonnet. A sonnet is a poetic form that originated in Italy where Giacomo Da Lentini was credited for its creation. The term sonnet derives from the Italian word "sonneto" which roughly translates to "little poem." As early as the 13th century the sonnet was traditionally written in fourteen lines that followed a strict rhyme scheme. Those who write sonnets professionally were known as "sonneteers." Commonly known as the Italian sonnet, it is also known as a Petrarchan sonnet. 

Traditionally the Petrarchan sonnet included two major parts: a proposition followed by a resolution. This traditional style was written in a strict measurement. The proposition consisted of an octave (two quatrains) which described the problem, and then it was followed by a sestet (two tercets) which proposed the resolution. 
Image from An Unrestrained Engagement of Literature

Here is an example of a traditional Petrarchan sonnet written by Lentini called "A Vision."

A Vision

A Vision gives me a light step, 
A glorious Vision multiplies my hopes, 
A Vision never stops caressing -
A vision marvellous excites my thoughts.

A Vision of that lady, who is raying light, 
In lips she sets the laugh confusing, 
A Vision, that is rumoured all around: 
That no one could be compared, surely

Who'd seen such magic eyes in their vision, 
In them you'll see the burning love, 
And laugh so sweet from lips, that rises feeling? 

I'm speaking with her- I'm close to die.
I think that this is to Edem ascension
And feel myself the best of lovers ever.

The rhyme scheme for a sonnet usually follows like so, with each letter representing the last word of the line: abba, abba, cde, cde. Other representations were created later on such as: abba, abba, cdcd, cdcd. 

Here is a poem written by John Milton called "On His Blindness," that uses the traditional rhyme scheme.

When I consider how my light is spent (a)
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, (b)
 And that one talent which is death to hide, (b)
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent (a)
To serve therewith my Maker, and present (a)
 My true account, lest he returning chide; (b)
 "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" (b)
 I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent (a)
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need (c)
 Either man's work or his own gifts; who best (d)
 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state (e)
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed (c)
 And post o'er land and ocean without rest; (d)
 They also serve who only stand and wait." (e)

Today a lot of modern poets write sonnets in a similar style as their predecessors, and the content of these sonnets usually relate to the themes of love or some kind of humanity movement. I personally prefer to use the sonnet to describe some sort of passion, or to relate some kind of philosophy about love. Much like what Shakespeare did with his sonnets. 
Image from UDL Editions by CAST

Now that you've come to better understand how a sonnet is written, let us proceed with my secrets to successfully writing a sonnet. 

Step One: Contemplate your deepest desires and emotions, and let them flow openly.
Step Two: Write down any particular words, ideas or conceptions that come to your mind.
Step Three: Come up with a theme for the sonnet you wish to write. Do not stray from this theme. 
Step Four: Begin writing your sonnet using the rhyme scheme as a guide. Don't worry if you erase anything along the way. Your writing should come out willingly. 
Step Five: Cross reference your draft with another sonnet. This helps you check for subtle changes.
Step Six: Rewrite the sonnet if need be, as many times as it takes, until you feel the poem is complete.

I recommend this guide to those who are new to writing in this form. Later on you might not need this guide anymore, and you may as well created your own task measures. The beautiful thing about poetry is that it is personal to the writer, and that it progressively gets easier the more you write it. Practice certainly does make perfect. Also, keep in mind that there is no right or wrong way to write a poem. It is completely up to personal preference. Modifying a traditional style to your own means you understand the form, and you are ready to create your own personal form of said style. 

I hope all of this was an eye opener for you all. If you have any questions for me personally, or about sonnets in general, then please feel free to leave your questions in the comments below. I will gladly help in any way that I can. Also, if there are any poetic tips you'd like me to address, please submit them in the comments. 

Take care my "sonneteers!" 

Epoch

"Pioneers of Space" Photo thanks to NASA
This is the era in which we strive for greatness
The golden age of galactic travel and meta-humans
A period in which the world crumbles for the better
As time passes by in this evolutionary stage
Where the human spans outward into deep space
This is the eon where generations of the past tremble.


This is a "synonymous poem" that I've just made up and created. The key to writing a synonymous poem is finding a word you want to depict, and using synonyms of that word within the poem. Kind of curious if this will become a new type of poem that people will use. I think it is really fun to write, and I think fellow poets will too. For this one I chose the word "epoch" and used the following synonyms: era, age, period, stage, span, and eon. 

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Lavandula

"Single lavendar flower02". Licensed under GFDL 1.2 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Single_lavendar_flower02.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Single_lavendar_flower02.jpg

A Magi of the Canary traveled to Verde
On a quest for milk of the violet mint;
A precious gem native to the Old World.

It is said to be the alchemist's holy grail,
An herb with mystical healing properties
Of the brain and the deprived senses.

The Magi traveled over briny seas
Over temperate mountains,
And through many lands unknown.

He couldn't find this milky whey
No matter which direction he swayed
Until he collapsed upon a bed of flowery.

Nearly asleep a smell enlightened his sight
Opening his mind with a steady calm,
As a shade of blue fell upon his mire.

“Lavandula, my precious desire
I've found you at last.”

This poem was written as a response to Hannah's challenge, Nature's Wonder, over at the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Lavender seems like the type of flower that gives off loving pheromones that make one desirable, kind of like a perfume.   

Living Room

This photo was taken right from my living room.
A light shimmers through the silhouette of white shades
Into snow streaked checker boxed window panes
Reflections of lime green x-rays the veins of a bamboo plant
Whose trunk is a spiral staircase of wrapping brown snakes.

Traveling the right road sits an empty and still clock
Time stops...
It isn't shattered or brazen with limelight, but collects dust
As all twelve digits sadly weep in serene silence.

A freshening smell whisks through and gently touches nose hairs
All senses tingle with a sullen fever of eucalyptus – divine
Such a flowery deserves much appreciation and compassion
Especially in the eyes of the white shimmering light.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Foxy Fauxy

"The Fox" by PixieCold on Deviantart.com
Gregarious fox knows better than most
His fluffy red tail a magical wand
Painting with hues subliminal and bright.

Red brick walls to cover the mansions
In orange juices and yellow flares
Like green lights yelling “Go!”

Adrenaline roosts in the blue-bells
With indigo clouds swirling white
In a garden of violet fireflies at night.

Gregarious fox knows better than I
Twirling around his magical tail

Painting the world with a rainbow smile.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

For The Wind's Beckoned Call

"Tragedy of Winter's Smite" picture from Severe Weather in Ohio

It may seem sinful that this breeze blows cold
Leaving nothing more than a frozen wasteland
The gods above must be bickering up a storm
For us mortals below are certainly feeling scorned.
From inside our hovels there is a whisper
Like a rogue it lingers through the seams of wood
It hisses and yells with an angry bite to its words
Wanting to barge through the windows and doors

Monday, January 26, 2015

Walking Memory Sands

"A Man Walking The Desert" as seen at HD Nice Wallpapers
Walking this lonely road with you
I stop to pick up a pebble, toss it
Guess how many skips it makes
The ripples through the sand
Measuring the sound waves of you.

On the first skip we met first glance
On the second skip we talked
On the third skip we had coffee
On the fourth skip we embraced
On the fifth skip, our first kiss.

Walking this lonely road with you
Reminds me of your spiritual light
That smile full of beautiful delight
It made me laugh every single time
Even now as I stare into this empty desert.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Wintergreen Summer

"Summer and Winter" by Macarhign and displayed on Pxleyes.com 
Snow falls gracefully
Upon the wet and cold ground
A winter wonder
Land of the fallen angels
All unique marionettes

Dancing in the summer rain
Between the blues and greens

The gray sky fills up
Like an older photograph
White flashes, small ones
Capturing the black lens flare
In the background of pine trees

Dancing in the summer rain
Between the blues and greens

Silk sheets cover us
In ashes of joyful lace
Washing us in cold
But the warmth is what we sow
In a winter wonderland

Dancing in the summer rain
Between the blues and greens


I wanted to create a new kind of poetic form, and so I found that the Ballade and Tanka forms would be perfect for this experiment. There are three stanzas of five lines with three couplets in this poem. The three main stanzas are written in traditional Tanka style, while the couplets are an addition to complete the seven line minimum requirement for a Ballade. Each of the couplets are styled and flavored in the traditional ballade one line refrain, except that I modified the refrain to be a repetitive two liner. Please let me know what you all think about this. I would enjoy your feedback. 


Friday, January 23, 2015

Dusk Before The Dawn

"Moon Sunset" Image by jah of Alien Shore Revisited

Some say the sun was brighter that day,
But I beg to differ on that reasoning
Because the sun was never there,
As if it was hiding behind the moon
Like a lunar eclipse.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Written In The Thorns

"Pink Tiger Lily" Image by Chalet Roome-Rigdon
I'm a blossoming flower:

Lustful and desirable slithering viper
Open-minded, caring of others.
Verdant delicate petals of poison
Eloping laws of nature full bloom.

Pink polka, dots of red
Outside the normal kinship.
Excepting my nerves, a Greek tragedy
Trying to sing aloud in tonal irregularity.
Regular people beware my venomous bite

Yonder the cultural garden in which I write.  



This poem is in response to Mama Zen's Word Count challenge over at the Imaginary Garden. (Exactly 60 words.) 

Sailing the Ocean Blue

"Couple Sunset Silhouette" Image found on Tumblr





















A turbulent breeze smothers her canvas sails
Grazing her maple mast with a sugary kiss
Pushing her along, forward in raucous bliss
Forlorn for the open sea, held with sturdy nails
Her shiny surface glistening in foamy trails.
The salty air, a smell you couldn't miss
When her oars splashed with a delicate hiss
That tickles the ear like a siren's gales.

The sun's rays glimmer warmth upon the ocean –
Like a million stars flickering in my eyes,
She rides hurricanes with such elegant motion
Slipping up and down the waves under moonlit skies
With constellations guiding her and the boatman

To the precious buried treasure, a golden prize.  


Here is an Italian sonnet for all of my fellow poetry enthusiasts. I would have written it in actual Italian if I knew how to. Thought about using Google Translate, but then remembered that it doesn't translate correctly. If you know anyone that can translate this to Italian please send them my way. Enjoy! 

Vines

"Green Vine Snake" by Michael and Patricia Fogden

Vines
verdant green
climbing, twisting, hanging
vipers of the forest

rambler.



I wanted to try something different for you all. So here is a cinquain that I've conjured up that revels in my love for the wonderful living things that surround us.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

The I in Discovery

“Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were, but without it we go nowhere.” 
― Carl Sagan

"Beyond Imagination" Image found from article: 92 Commentaries On Imagination
Emotion swirls around in circles
As the ink blotches the page, in spots
Dotting every single sentence,
But that isn't the end of the story
Oh no! This is just the beginning
Of a fruitful and successful spring.
Like junipers and tiger lilies I jump
Off from the ground and into a book
Each chapter a novelty, a blessing
Because passion drives me

Smile At Adversity

Winter Landscape from All Free Download.com 

The sun smiles upon my face
So bright is the light it bears
For the day is young, and so am I
So why not soar out into the sky.

The snow glistens in white
Crunching beneath my feet
A chilling sensation of the spine
Yet I fall and angels appear.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Starbright

"Comet Crash" by Ben Crowder on Wikimedia Commons

When the star fell it didn't glimmer
There was no oxygen in the atmosphere
No hydrogen to feed the fire
Until the final moment it had crashed
Landed right in the back yard
At first there was a loud bang
Then a sudden rush of air swept through
Like a wave of exhaustion
Followed by a sudden moment of silence.

Bills

"Man Walking Down Street Playing Trumpet" from When The Levees Broke on HBO Documentary
Treasures are found not bought
No amount of money can declare
A number upon another object
Nor a price tag on the clothes
That are placed upon our backs.
Adventure stirs the mind and thought
Nobody could have been prepared
Us for this moment and subject
In which bills are placed in stoves
And burnt to a crisp, stacks upon stacks.
Just numbers they said once
Counting the numerous beans

Like herding cattle for the slaughter.

Question for the Reader: What sweet tune will you play in the wreckage?

Thorns In The Blood -- Episode Three: No Escape


"Thief" by idriu95
Xander did more than a simple look around. He made sure he took mental pictures of every single escape route he could find. The key to being a great thief is that nobody can catch you. What kind of thief would he be if he couldn't manage that simplest task. He definitely wouldn't be known as the world's greatest thief, that much was certain. In some ways having a photographic memory was a blessing and a curse. There were plenty of scenes he wished he could forget, and there were some that he embraced. For instance, there was the time in Raven's Port, one of the largest thieves conventions in all the realms, and Xander was surrounded by pirates and swashbucklers from here to kingdom come.

"The Shackles Elf Pirate" by Nagashizzar
He had angered one of the locals. Not that he much cared for what the locals thought, but it turned out this pirate was a navy captain under cover portraying himself as a deck hand. Of course this law abiding citizen saw one glimpse of Xander and instantly there was trouble. Xander couldn't go anywhere without trouble lurking in the shadows. So here he was, minding his own business, and this deck hand yells, “Look it here mates. If it isn't the greatest thief in all the realms! Xander Creed!” The guy had the nerve of pointing Xander out from the crowd, and the next thing you know Xander's head is nearly stripped from his neck. Rushing out of that place wasn't easy, but he managed to perform some amazing feats of escape. Till this day Xander hasn't returned to Raven's Port. Not even if he was offered the greatest jewel in the universe.

“Wait here,” the guard muttered as if his lips were having trouble opening to words escape.

“Sure thing Fat Lips. I don't mind dawdling around here for a bit.” Xander couldn't help but to mock the poor guy.
"Hallway" by Independently Conceal
The guard continued down the hall and knocked on one of the two doors just ahead. He seemed to be arguing with someone on the other side, but the doors opened none of the less. Xander loved to see it when thugs argued among themselves. It left him a reason to poke around in their heads. Distract them in some way, or set them aflame among one another. Most of the time it would work, but who knows how Lady Luck would work this day. The guard waved to him with his abnormally large hand. Note to self, don't let that guy grab you by the head. Guy looked like he could crush a watermelon with that thing.

Just as Xander walked through, the doors slammed shut behind him. So much for escaping out that way. He took a good look around the room he was in, and couldn't imagine any worse a place for a rogue. There were shiny trinkets of all kinds scattered in glass cases upon their respective pedestals. Paintings scattered across the walls as if it was an art museum. Xander's hair was pricking up just thinking about all the money he could make off from this stuff. Trying to keep his wits about him, Xander moved towards a plaque of one of the exhibits: 1645 – Benedict Adams, “Key to the Throne” from the Midwestern Plains of Fort Laird.”

“This piece belonged to the King of Laird nearly four hundred years ago,” Xander muttered among himself in silence as to not attract anymore attention to himself.

“It also belonged to his personal assistant,” a voice from behind Xander replied. It sent shivers down his spine. Nobody has ever sneaked up on him without his notice. Whoever this person was, was better than he'd thought. He turned around to face the shadow lurking behind him. “It is a shame that the assistant died delivering it to the new fort in Veranda.”
Standing before Xander was the one person he was dying to meet. The Black Hand. Except he wasn't expecting the delicate face that he saw.

“You're a woman,” he asked puzzled. She had long blonde hair that was braided up to a top knot. It looked like a whip in which to choke someone with. She had gray eyes that shimmered in the darkness, and a stern look was set upon Xander. He looked at her up and down both curious and intrigued.

"Female Warrior" found on Pinterest
“Yes. I am a woman. Does that bother you?” Her voice didn't reveal anything less than intimidation. Perhaps she was offended, but then again Xander highly doubted it.

“I was expecting...”

“A man. I know.” She crossed her arms as the leather suit she wore crumpled and made an awkward rubbing noise as she did. “Can we proceed with business, or are you here to just look at me like a baboon with a banana stuck in his mouth.” Oh how snappy this woman before Xander was. It nearly made him break a sensual sweat.

“Depends. What is it you are offering me?” He couldn't help but be sarcastic in a moment like this. It was in Xander's nature to do so.


She silently waved her hand towards a couple seats and a desk. Apparently offering Xander a seat to talk. “I prefer to stand if you don't mind.” She shrugged without a care and proceeded to her desk. Xander took a quick look around. For the first time in his life... 

There was no escape.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

The Ball At The End Of The Knight

"Clashing Swords" from TV Tropes
Clasped in steel threads
Men at arms facing one another
Like soldiers ready for battle
Armed with swords and shields
Both extensions of their body
In fashionable order they draw
Order and procedure demanding
Taking one step forward
Dead hard glares on the prize
Their enemies closing in
One step at a time
Performing a sort of waltz
Until they're face to face
A war horn sounds off
Let the battle commence.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Lily

"Luxury Pink Oriental Lily Vase" from Fleming Florist
I spotted a pink flower the other day

Sprouting from a crack in the sidewalk.
It was something quite amazing at first.
I stopped and stared for a moment,
And asked myself a startling question:
How could a beautiful creature exist
In between the asphalt with such bliss?
Surely the earth has a better place
For a flower that is covered in grace,
And isn't stomped on in disgraceful haste.
For this is the city of lights after all,
And I'd hate to see such elegance fall
At the mercy of a rushing businessman,
Or even worse, a lousy pick up scam.
So I walked over and politely asked:
“Beg your pardon, may I give you a hand?
She just weaved a bit in her rooted stand
I couldn't bear it any longer, and so
I gently grasped her ivory leafs,
Plucking her from the sidewalk crack.
She looked wilted and was falling apart
I needed to find her a planting pot,
But where would I begin to start?

Friday, January 16, 2015

Unconscious Subconscious

"The Subconscious Marvelium" created in collaboration by Luis Miguel Torres and Matt Faria 
A ringing falls into a conundrum of spirals
Staircase revolves around a hidden door
Around and around the merry go bush
A weasel chases the monkey, up a tree

For a cup of tea, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late
Says the white hare with an angered glare
You won't like him when he is green
Less the money grows off from trees.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Raindrops

I wanted to try something different for a change. I normally don't write love poetry, and this is my first shot at it. I was inspired by one of my favorite songs about overcoming adversity and life's tragedies in a relationship. I feel like a lot of us have been down this road plenty of times before.  


She sits cross legged in the pouring rain
Her hands clasped together across her face
Drowning, not in the rainfall, but in her tears
Fearing that the world has come to consume her

She has nothing to gain and everything to lose
With every drop against the hardened ground
She feels the tremor inside of her lash out
Like a whip against her heart, shattered and broken

I'll Share Winter With You

This is a poem that was inspired by Fireblossom Friday's wintry challenge across the way to the Imaginary Garden. Winter is always better shared with each other because we can feel the warmth from each other's words. 

Acadia National Park from Pixabay
Feel the cold chill of the winter
With a warm heart, and sunder
The hills blanketed in the white
And a stream covered in light
Rolling along so close to home
A place full and called wonderland.

Running With Time

This poem was written as a challenge from Poet's United Midweek Motif. It is the result of the Famous, Infamous, Un-Birthday challenge. 

"Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope, and that enables you to laugh at life's realities." -- Dr. Seuss


A picture of time flying. From an article on Edudemic.
Silver streaks the sky of blue
Another year through and through
But alas this isn't the day it all ends
For this is where the real story begins
Reaching like a child unto the heavens
Make a wish upon a star as it glimmers
Rush forth through the air with upmost glee
And wander into the world in which your were three.
The longer it takes you to blow out that flickering candle
The longer you will live to cross those white sands in sandles
Stop
Appreciate all the graying hairs left on your head
For one day you most assuredly will be dead
And everything will move in reverse
As it goes in this universe
Memories all the same
Or so we'd wish
As time begins
To diminish
Instead.

Thought for the Reader: What will you do with the time you have?

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Fake Moccasins

I bought these beautiful things at a local K-Mart. I've been wearing them non-stop ever since. This poem was written for the Shoes or Feet challenge over at Poetry Jam. 


Leather straps cross at the seams
Tightening just enough to breath
The sole flowing across my foot
To the tip of the thirteenth strut
Insulated by the rubber heel to toe.
Darker than a midnight black
It's surface soft as a tabby cat
But smooth as the canvas-like hide
In which it fits to the contours.
A bow wrapped on its chest
And a plaid jacket under its flap
They are as elegant as it gets.

I'll place them next to the fireplace.

The Itch

"Natural Itch" by Craig Cameron

Something crawls underneath my skin
It burrows deep in the pores
And sweat furrows from my brows
As I scratch and scratch the spot
But it doesn't want to go away.
I grow furious, like a rabid wolverine
And begin to peel flesh from bone
Not caring about the pain at all
Except for the pulsating itch below.
I recognize that it could be nothing at all
But the itch isn't easily put away
When it crawls underneath my skin

Each and every single day.

Question for the Reader: What kinds of things make you itch to no end?

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Sleeping With The Seeds

I wanted to share this poem with Real Toads for the Tuesday Platform because it is a message that all of us need and deserve to hear. I'm not much of a person for religion, but I do believe that we "reap what we sow" sort of speak. Please pass this poem down and make our world just that much brighter. 
"Faith in the Seeds" from CN Life Ministries

A spot of soil from the earth does spring
A curled and tucked in seed it brings
Cupped in our hand and cradled softly
Gently swayed and rocked into the dirty
To be sprayed down with aqueous care
And in the mist spurts a elegant vine affair.

A seedling reaching up into the clouds
Searching far and wide for fertile growth
Sprouting leaves like branches of a tree
One day reaching further into the sky
As long as a drought doesn't befall
Upon this fertile ground it called home.

Together our will sleeps with the seeds
For in their eyes sparkle the lost wisdom
Their vines reaching out for the poor
Quenching the thirst and hunger that pains
All of the this earth that trembles so easily
Quake in the moment of hushed adversity.

Thought for the Reader: Plant a seed for someone that you care for, and let the future look just that much brighter.


Lindy

This poem was inspired by a new television show that I've just started watching on MTV called Eye Candy. It is about this female hacker, Lindy, who is being stalked by this other hacker online. It is a mystery / thriller that portrays the dangers of putting your life out there on the web. I've always been very careful treading water in the online scope of a social life, and in some instances this has made me a bit of a recluse. So I connect with this message a lot. I hope this poem speaks out about this as well.


A pair of black coals stare off into the web
With a poise on ice and rock hard leer
She is a black widow on the prowl
Searching through each thread for a fly
A morsel that would be stuck within her grasp
One chance to take a bite into the flesh
And discover something of her kin.

One twist of the right string and it all changes.

Into the darkness of night she'll wander
Weaving a web of connections unknown
So desirable and delicate are here red lips
That all those who she captures are lost
Like stalkers of the scene within a maze
Wondering when she will leap forth for them
Prey of here own tricky game of cat and mouse.

The huntress soon becomes the hunted.

Her world comes crashing down in heat waves
Upon the brick and rooftops of a virtual world
Embraced in sultry passion to cover the mess
The city so bright you can't see a single star
The widow walks in a shroud of death's shadow
For a single moment one string comes loose
And she feels like a human once again.

A thirst for murder, the perfect perfection.

In one fell swoop her web is cut down
Before those coal black eyes, she cries aloud
Tears into streams down the drain pipe
As she drowns, danger lurks in every corner
Trust faltering in a single spiraling fraying line
Fearful of the shadows that lurk around her
Another death and blood upon her hands.

Anger quenches the fear with new strength.   

Beware of the strange dangers that lurk in the dark.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Thorns in the Blood: Episode II -- Blood In The Water

"Blood in the Water" from Sharks Diving
Silence filled the air with a bittersweet symphony that was too cacophony to be quiet. There was an oddness about it that was a little unfamiliar to Xander. Normally he would walk down these slimy alleys that smelled of piss and shit, not to mention the sewage that filtered up from the bellows of the hell below the city. This smell would linger upon Xander's nostrils like flies on rice, but this night it didn't. This night Xander had all his attention on the blood diamond he now held in his hands. It's delicate curvatures from the fine cuts upon its surface shone a pure reflection of red upon his face. Almost like there was a fire burning deep inside the wondrous gem. Or perhaps it was his own desire that he felt. Either way he had a change of heart that surely would make some new enemies. Then again Xander Cross was well known for making enemies.

"Iron Gates" by Helen's Journal
By the time he had arrived at the wrought iron gates, Xander knew he would be facing hell's open gates sooner than later. “What do ya know? Looks like someone is expecting me.” The mansion's garden had a water fountain spouting out a red ichor that resembled blood, but it was indeed a putrid dye from the city's horrible water plant. On top of the fountain was an angel of mercy crying with tears of blood. Surely a symbol that the big boss isn't someone to be screwed around with. The whole time that Xander had worked for the Black Hand he realized he was playing around with the big guys. No seriously, these guys were ripped with muscle and have the scars to prove it.

Xander took his time walking up the vine covered steps that led up to the front door of his reckoning hour. He mapped out ever single route he could take if anything “bad” would happen to him. One trade a renown thief possessed was the ability to scout ahead for escape routes. There were a couple opportune places that he could see. Either he could escape to the roof of this abnormally tall mansion and leap to his doom, or he could trek through the unbearable sewers of the city's finest. “What have I gotten myself into?” Xander kept his head low as he ascended to his doom. Just enough that he could still see what was around him, but low enough that everyone else couldn't see his cynical grin.

"Ugly Orc" from the Digital Art Gallery
Standing before him was a tall, gruff, and ugly scruff of a man. His brows furrowed downward and were bushier than an elephant's armpits. Xander chuckled a little bit and the guard uncrossed his bulky arms. Black Hand guards were known for strangling people to death, and Xander was ready if that was about to happen. His dagger was only three inches from his waist, and his hands were well hidden underneath his cloak's garments to not give away his movement. The guard reached out and Xander's heart rapidly thrusted forward as the adrenaline slowly built within him. Next thing he knew, the guard was patting him down looking for weapons. “Watch it there bud. Those precious jewels aren't yours you know.” The guard didn't break for a single moment from Xander's sarcasm. Without a single word the porch door swung open, and Xander was ushered in.


“Welcome to hell Xander,” he muttered to himself, “there is no going back now.”

Sunday, January 11, 2015

A Chapter of Lightning

This is a poem in response to the Sunday Mini-challenge from the Imaginary Garden. I was motivated to write this piece based loosely off from David Huerta's "Fruit." Enjoy! 

"Lightning Awareness" from the DKI Blog
A single flash covers the sky in white
Streaking across the blackened surface
For a moment there is silence...

Waves of Euphoria

"Sunrise On The Beach" from 7 Themes.com
The tides wash over me in one gigantic wave
All exasperation pouring from within its confines
Like a prisoner in orange waiting to break iron bars
For one more chance at freedom along that shore.

They all gawk at the stranger in blue suede pants
As if he was an unknown passenger in this trap –
An illusion made by sirens and harpies – alone
Upon that graying sand that is below his swollen feet.

Euphoria splashes him in the face with heated signals
No lotion to cover his back, lest the burns get him
And when the tides turn and face the outgoing sea
He'll never rest again next to those beautiful palm trees.

The contours of their bark rolls down to their roots
The way they sway when the wind rolls on through
And my oh my how those coconuts are so divine
Yet his pain breaking stigmata sails away from them.

For no man's land can ever be claimed like this
Oh no! It must be found like a buried treasure
Deep beneath the many waves that are crashing down
Upon his aching footsteps into that falling sunrise.  

Question for the Reader: What do you imagine when you see waves crashing down?