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Epic Poems (poems that tell stories)

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Author Topic: Epic Poems (poems that tell stories)  (Read 1394 times)
unknown
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« on: February 28, 2007, 12:18:25 am »

A Lone Man Walks a Dark Road

Prologue:
Duggan tossed some worm eaten rotting wood upon the blaze. It roared upward. Sending showers of hot embers into the chill night. The embers flared erratically on the wind giving them the illusion of brief life. The men's hands reached hungrily for the blazes' warmth.

Duggan narrowly eyed the stranger among them, standing silently, unmoving, his black cloak flowing restlessly with the wind. The stranger's sharp weathered features were shrouded, almost guarded by the encroaching shadows. His unnatural stillness made Duggan uneasy.

"Give us a tale stranger, something to keep our minds from this damnable night air and you may share our feast." Duggan Said "A fine feast it shall be… but speak not lightly of night airs gentleman. For I venture, many here among your company have felt the wraith of night airs. Beware gentleman! Have you not felt the eyes of darkness upon you while walking in the wild wood? Then in turning, no one is there, yet still the eyes do watch," said the dark stranger. The rugged band of hunters looked cautiously about, nodding their heads in silent agreement.

The dark stranger began again, "Within this very glade, amidst these ancient standing stones, your ancestors worshipped at the feet of the Elder Gods. Unnaturally malignant forces wretched from the black belly of sulfurous chaos herself. Beings ancient before the creation of our world that enviously watched as men rose from the mud of the living earth."

"Hear ye now ancestors of the first men, your progenitors tried heroically to fend off these Elder Gods, desperate to end the torment unleashed by their fiendish depravity. But all their efforts were as naught, until in the end they made an unholy pact. This pact gentleman is now null and void. Beware! Some still lurk unbound, searching the world for victims to quench their ravenous thirst for innocent life-blood. Preying upon unsuspecting travelers feeding their insatiable hunger for tender human flesh." "Enough! Pagan mummery" Duggan said "Come now! Give us a tale."
 
"Very well," The stranger said with a weird resounding tone that made even the hulking Duggan shudder. “ I have Just the Tale for you, Its called ‘A Lone Man Walks a Dark Road.’”



A Lone Man Walks a Dark Road


A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.
He wears a cloak of Black Bears’ hide, about his corded hangs its’ lethal claws.
He holds contempt for all mans’ courts and all their dainty laws.
Chaotic are his wayward locks, about a stern forbidding face.
What knows this man of pity? None, no, not the slightest trace.

His name is Gregory Hardboughs; when last he heard it called?
It must have been quite long ago, for he hardly knows of it at all.
His bearskin boots have traveled many a frightful land of dread,
wandered forbidden pathways, no others boots have dared to tread.
What frightful Norn in vengeance cold, had set his feet upon that cobbled way?
No one knows now, or none will dare to say.

King Vladimir proclaimed a land grant, and thus he hoped to tame,
this lonely twisted land, of rumor-haunted fame.
So many a forlorn, yet eager soul, went forth to cast his doubtful lot,
along a twisted, narrow, cobbled road… to farm a sunlight-strangled plot.
But the earth was rich and ebon black and full of wormy life.
And from it came a harvest dear of tears and bitter strife.

A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.
So with bold steps he made his way at last, up to the high seat,
and said this to the magistrate, “Ah, what a pleasure, sir to meet.”
He searched the county map for the most remote of spots,
when he saw what he wanted; Ah,” He thought, “This is the perfect plot.”

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Magistrate, “Oh no!” Spoke the wigged Judge,

“Surely you jest good sir, please do compromise.
Pick out some other plot, be very, very wise.”

“I am no prancing jester and this be not a jolly lark.
Where do I sign my weighty pledge and leave my runic mark.”

Now all this Father Rainer heard, and foreboding filled his pious soul,
and begged the man be reasonable, and therefore not to go.
He took the burly man aside and led him to his humble door,
and showed him hidden documents beneath the altar floor.
“Forgive me if have to laugh, but I must make myself quite plain,
I never saw a creature, that with cold iron, be not quickly slain.
If you are quite finished sir, my own counsel I must still attend.
Father Ranier sighed, "this will turn out dreadful and have bitter end."

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Nursemaid, “Oh no!” Spoke the wigged Governess,

“Now we shall be cursed, and cast into the fire.
We are all in danger, dreadful and most dire.”
So they gathered round to wag their sharpened tongues,
and bellow forth dire warnings, at the top of their lungs.

“Listen to us common folk and thereby save your skin,
to go beyond the Hanging Oak, it’s every bit a sin,
for there beyond, an evil waits with sharp and deadly eyes,
to fill the heart with wickedness, to mislead the soul with lies.”

“You listen closely to each others lofty toned speech,
no time will I waste, on you knaves who do so love to preach.”

“We shall not be responsible from you we’ll turn away.
If you don't listen closely to the advice we give this day.”

A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.
Now many years went rolling past since last he passed this along way.
But there was something different in the bundle, he held tenderly today.
For from this bundle came a small and lonely cry,
“Give me some fresh milk, so the lad will not die.”
Alas, no one heard a word, of what he had to say.
all the villagers smugly, turned and walked away.

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Nursemaid. “Oh no!” Spoke the wigged Governess.”

“For I thought we made it clear, upon that fateful day,
did we not forewarn you that from you we’d turn away?”

“Who was this child’s mother, from whence did he arrive?"

“I will have naught to do with it, as long as I’m alive!
It’s unnatural, a child of dark evil descent,
born of the spirit world and full of foul intent.”

Now life went on, and all the town folk nearly had forgot,
about Gregory Hardboughs and his rumored misbegot.
Their livestock were found their corpses torn and rent,
their splattered lifeblood, every drop had been spent.
It started out just one or two, then three or four, then ten,
no one knew what was happening, so they hired men.
To track and kill this wanton beast that left destruction in its wake,
and every night in their beds, the town folk would quake.

To hear some news, the village men gathered close around,
The town crier began and no one made the slightest sound.
“The dead men’s bones where found bleaching, beneath the noonday sun,
the stinging gnats and black flies swarming over every blessed one.
Birds enjoyed a dreadful feast, I would have to say,
the marauding killer beast has gotten clean away.”

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Magistrate. “Oh no!” Spoke the wigged Judge.

“Whatever shall we do now? What course may we pursue?
Lets put our heads together and come up with something new.”

Then from the wood sprang a man with rashness in his stride,
a blazing look of lunacy, that no one could abide.
“A Lad we sent to hunt and kill that dreadful thing!
I wonder what news this lad will be able to bring?”
But from the Lad’s blood caked lips never came a sound,
unless it be to spout gibberish as if no one were around.

Now Father Rainer arose and told them of a plan to undertake.
“You must send for the witch hunter, of that make no mistake.
Send a message to the Church, and tell them of our plight,
for to let them know, now, would only be right.”
The magistrate proclaimed loudly, he did agree,
and so they sent a formal letter with a dire plea.

A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain, along that cobbled lane.
He wears a broad brim hat, his cape is long and dark,
his dire face has brought forth more than one remark.
A pilgrim’s soul he hides beneath that steely mask,
and if you need the sword of god, he’s equal to the task.
He holds respect for all mans’ courts and all their justly laws.
Do not hope for any mercy, no, if he looks your in the face.
What knows this man of pity? None, no, not the slightest trace.

His name is Loren Blackwell and he often hears it called,
in times of dark despair, when no joy is allowed.
His high black boots have traveled many a grim and moonlit mile,
set forth in righteousness to bring wicked souls to trial.
He has wandered long on this lonely road of pain,
the man is tormented, an obsession wracks his brain.
What angel bright in righteousness, set his feet upon that cobbled way.
No one knows now, or none will dare to say.

Now as the carriage pulls into the little town,
the villagers joyful gathered all around.
They dance and sing and prance about and loudly shout;
at last! someone has come to stomp that foul demon out.
They rush about and fling their hats into the air,
all their cares forgotten, along with their despair.

“Oh yes!” Exclaimed the Magistrate, “Oh yes!” Spoke the wigged Judge,

“Good sir we are so honored by your presence, I don’t know what to say
I feel so very joyful, I should get down on my bended knees and pray”

“I have not come to hear your speeches, so do not tax your brain,
I have come to do the Lord’s work, and from fawning please refrain.
Now if you please, what evidence do you have to show,
that justifies my presence here, for that is what I need to know.”

They showed him all the bodies, they showed him all the signs,
and when they had finished, he told them his designs.
I must inform the local folk of dangers that await,
so bring them all to the church, before it's too late.
Upon the rough-hewn benches, they sat and did not even stir,
and waited in anticipation, for they knew not what would occur.

Loren Blackwell spoke and all were silent, yes indeed,
for he spoke of the creature’s viscious hungry need.
“He will devour you, and all your precious kin.
So beware! beware the changing of his skin.
Now here are the signs, creepy long fingers, slanted almond eyes,
and if you know notice all of these, you may see through its disguise.


It feeds beneath the moonlight, and will not show itself under the sun.
We’ll put the fear of God into it, and make him turn his tail, and run.
So let the church bell sing out its holy tolling sound,
and then we shall kill us, this dreadful demon hound!”

Pierre was in the crowd that night, and thought, “I am a man,
I’m big enough and strong enough to do what any other can,”
and so he begged his Father the Magistrate,
To listen very carefully and to contemplate,
Father please! Let me go on the hunt and fight by thy side.”
“Ah, Son.” Said the Magistrate. “You fill my heart with pride!”

They swept through the woods mile after mile;
they were serious for none of them would smile.
They heard an awful growling sound,
each one fearful looked all around.

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Magistrate. “Oh no!” Spoke the wigged Judge.

They saw Loren Blackwell raise his musket aiming high,
the beast lashed out, then how the man did fly.
Half a bloody corpse went crashing through the trees,
the other half fell down bloody on its bended knees.
The Magistrate’s sword swung into the demon’s gut,
but the blade was not silver, so it did not cut.
The demon’s teeth crunched into his startled head,
and so the brave Magistrate lies so still, so very dead.
As the blood spattered in Pierre’s teary eyes,
the warm urine ran down, the young man’s thighs.
Then he turned in fear and quickly ran away,
an act he will regret until his last dying day.

A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.
He wears a long woolen shirt that’s stained in grimy blood and dirt.
He holds a fear of all mans’ courts and obeys its rigid laws.
Gentle are his boyish curls, that sway about his handsome face.
What knows this man of pity? Much, if you enter into his embrace.

His name is Pierre Lavec; when last he heard his name?
Why was just tonight, now he bows his head in everlasting shame.
His leather boots haven’t traveled many long and rocky paths
and he’s deathly afraid of all nature's dreadful wraths.
What fickle sprite in flights of fancy saved him on that day,
and set his feet to running all along that cobbled way?
No one knows now or none will dare to say.

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Servants. “Oh no!” Spoke his wigged Mother.

“Oh God! you’re bleeding son, and exhausted from an over panicked run.
What brought to the door, before the **** crowed the rising of the sun.
You servants now leave us! I must speak to my only boy alone.”
Pierre was speechless, but let out a long and lonesome moan.

“Oh, Mother Father’s lying in the woods headless, dead
and in my fear I left him and like a coward fled.”
“Calm down boy and tell it to me straight,
where are all the other men and what might be their fate?”
Choking and then gasping, he found this hard to state.
“Oh, Mother the demon thing caught us by surprise.
I do believe he was sent, by the foul Black lord of Lies.”

“Come here son and I will bath your wounds and bring you cups of tea,
and we shall speak of a plan upon which you and I might agree.
You must avenge me son, our lives are now at stake,
the spirit of anger dormant in you, now must awake.
Kill this thing that slew my man, by your vengeful hand,
and you will be a legendary hero in this rumor haunted land.”
Now as if in a dream, he saw Gregor Hardboughs and his swaddling son,
and bethought of himself to retrieve Loren Blackwell’s musket gun.

When the morning sun came crawling up the lane,
Pierre set out his goal was very, very plain,
For the site of the massacre, he made his lonesome way.
And when he came to the place he began to pray,
and from his Father’s headless corpse, angrily swatted crows away.
Now Pierre began to look around
and Loren Blackwell’s Musket he found.
But as he bent to retrieve it, he felt eyes upon his back,
and turned quickly prepared to attack.

Now he saw Hardboughs’ Son, his first instinct was to run.
Then he steeled himself determined to finish what he had begun.
Victor was his name and he spoke out in shock
“What has happened here? And where did you get that flintlock?”
“Truly do you not know?
“Oh, how your lies do grow!
You know these men set out to kill the beast terrorizing our town
and here they found him, just have yourself a look all around.
Someone must help me bury them in haste,
I must return to Lorraine, I have no time to waste.”

A lone man walks a dark road; into the town they called Lorraine,
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.
A deathly quiet could everywhere be heard,
there was no sound, not even the chirping of a bird.
As he walked through the village square,
He realized that there was no one there.
Then from the houses the women folk arrived,
for they began to wonder if their men folk had survived.

“Oh no!” Exclaimed the Nursemaid. “Oh no!” Spoke his wigged Governess.

Now Pierre had to tell them what happened in the wood,
and he tried to explain it, as best he could.
The women weeping and wailing and pulling out their hair,
the village went crazy in a fit of despair.
The elderly men agreed to help bury the mourned dead,
so off into the woods this little party he led.
The words of Loren Blackwell ringing in his head,
“He will devour you, and all your kin.
So beware, beware the changing of his skin.
Now here are the signs,creepy long fingers, slanted almond eyes,
and if you know notice all of these, you may see through its disguise.

Now Pierre watched Victor like the sharp-eyed hawk,
and everywhere that Victor went, Pierre was there to stalk.
He pretended to be his friend, all the better to spy,
and too everything that Victor did, he bent a prying eye.
Now one night as the moon was set rise,
he heard Victor and his sweetheart making lovesick sighs.
Victor said “I love you dear, you are my very heart,
and I would surely die if we should ever part.”
Pierre began to question all that he had once thought,
“How could this be that evil demon misbegot,
and perhaps my vengeance should now be forgot.”

But then as he stood for a moment, and silently turned to go away,
something terrifying happened, he would not forget until his dying day.
Victor’s sweetheart looked in awe, as fingers turned to feral claws,
and his face, became a monstrous sharp toothed feral maw.
Where once there was a boy, a frightful beast now did stand,
An unholy nightmare more than a match for any mortal man,
Pierre boldly raised his musket, and fired into the beast.
Pierre, mother was avenged, but what he did not know,
the demon had entered him, that now fangs would grow.
Victor’s sweetheart kissed him and drew him into her embrace,
and the image of Victor, the man, returned to his young face.

The End


Epilogue:
As the stranger finished his tale Duggan spoke "a goodly tale, well worth a joint of
Venison" Duggan noticed angry clouds were flying past the full moon. Revealed in the moonlight was the stranger's slanted almond shaped eyes and long tapering fingers. "It was not for venison I told my tale, my name is Pierre it’s a pleasure to eat you."

« Last Edit: May 10, 2007, 08:22:16 pm by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi

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« Reply #1 on: February 28, 2007, 12:47:41 am »

Good epic poem, Unknown!  Once again, it could benefit from sex, though! 
Then, what couldn't?
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« Reply #2 on: February 28, 2007, 12:55:31 am »

Pagan

You read it already? your fast (no pun intended.)

So could I!
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"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
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« Reply #3 on: February 28, 2007, 01:07:48 am »

I read it, but I hope there's not a test. Yours?
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« Reply #4 on: February 28, 2007, 01:20:39 am »

Yah its mine

I don't do tests, strictly pass/fail Cool
« Last Edit: February 28, 2007, 03:33:43 am by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
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« Reply #5 on: February 28, 2007, 01:45:50 am »

You are one talented writer!

Once you get those beast on human sex scenes down, you'll be all set!
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unknown
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« Reply #6 on: February 28, 2007, 01:49:53 am »

thanks Pagan

You are by far the funniest person in this forum, Wink

« Last Edit: March 01, 2007, 12:04:54 am by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
Heather Delaria
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« Reply #7 on: March 01, 2007, 01:00:04 am »

Nice, Unknown!  I didn't quite get all that was going on, but it sounds a lot like Lovecraft.
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« Reply #8 on: March 01, 2007, 02:45:14 am »

Speaking of old H.P., I started to print some of his stories over in "Horror," the latest being "Cool Air."  Pretty soon, you'll be able to get all the Lovecraft you want here, Unknown. 
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unknown
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« Reply #9 on: March 01, 2007, 04:04:14 am »

awesome Zodiac!

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"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
unknown
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« Reply #10 on: March 01, 2007, 04:11:37 am »

Hi Heather

What didn't you get? something I am not explaining well?

Please let me know OK


Well I don't know...about it sounding like Lovecraft maybe the prologue...a bit

The rest sounds more like Dr Seus, I shouldn't have used paragraph form. I should have done it in lines like poetry, because it was to hard to keep track of the meter and rythme sceme the way I did it.

Maybe it would have been better as prose.
« Last Edit: March 01, 2007, 05:02:14 am by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
Desiree
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« Reply #11 on: March 02, 2007, 01:35:33 am »

Well, that story was pretty cool, I love werewolf stories!  And I have to admit that I did't see the ending coming at al, you did a good job hiding it.

The Lovecraft aspect actually comes from the prologue, "Elder Gods," they are from Lovecraft, right?

I don't think the middle part has a Dr. Seuss quality like you are talking about, but it probably doesn't read as darkly as you want it. The way to fix that is to tighten up the middle with some editng and stick some more dark imagery in there -references to the night, or the full moon or the state of the victims and stuff. Hope some of that helps!
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This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean. But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.
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« Reply #12 on: March 02, 2007, 01:42:49 am »

Thanks Desiree


I wrote the first part, I was just saying to Heather, I thought the begining did have a kind of Lovecraft flavor, I don't know if its worth working on as a poem.

It has such a long plot, it would have to be at least 30 or 40 forty pages to write as a story.
« Last Edit: June 27, 2007, 09:16:48 pm by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
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« Reply #13 on: March 02, 2007, 02:13:15 am »

I'd still say it needs some sex.  Here you have a perfect opportunity to present something original:  a werewolf who rapes young girls, and once again you let it pass you by! 
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« Reply #14 on: March 02, 2007, 02:18:06 am »

Gee

why didn't I think of that...

I'm working on something special just for you sweets
« Last Edit: March 02, 2007, 11:54:55 pm by unknown » Report Spam   Logged

"There exists an agent, which is natural and divine, material and spiritual, a universal plastic mediator, a common receptical of the fluid vibrations of motion and the images of forms, a fluid, and a force, which can be called the Imagination of Nature..."
Elphias Levi
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