Some new stuff.

[Oldsage]

Just like the other one, but these all were written in the past year. Feel free to comment.

[Oldsage]

Sweeping down from high mountain peaks.
It races down craggy slope and high backed cliff.
Tween close knit pine tree and tangled bramble bush.

Rumbling by closeted cozy squirrel hole and huddling robin nest.
Gusting outside warm bear cave and buried bobcat den.

Moving through valley broad and deep to howl at shuttered window and tear at tiled roof.
Stirring black chimney smoke before stringing out in long tattered line.

Sighing spent against slumbering foothills before gasping tiredly up tall mountainside, to lie posed to catch it’s breath upon it’s peak.

[Oldsage]

Fire fire burning bright.
Beneath clear cold starlight.
Amidst fields of new fallen snow.
Sheltered as icy winds blow.

Orange, red, and white.
Flickering flames dance through the night.
Throwing off life giving heat.
The better the cold to beat.

As iron glows cherry red.
And small children lie snug in bed.
I throw another log on the fire.
Before I now retire.

[Oldsage]

Cruising through the vacuum dark and deep.
Mountainous metal sharp and sleek.
Unseeing eyes spy far and wide.
As she sails through the cosmic tide.

Lethal beauty and hidden arms spew silent death among the stars.
In a moment’s breath from fair helpless damsel to wild souled Valkyrie.
She lays about her in anger in fury against those who relish violence and danger.

From her bosom breast her children race, each with a grinning death’s face.
One and all armed with laser light they go forth seeking for a fight.
Heavy laden with explosive death for their foes they mow their enemies down in rows.

And once all is left is gaseous clouds she sweeps her children home.
And pulling space about her like a concealing cloak, into endless night she races off to the next fight.

[Oldsage]

River, river, river run.
Over stone and stick.
Spread warm and wet beneath the sun.
And in water cool and slick.

Boat and bog, fish and frog.
On top of beneath and through.
In summer breeze and spring fog.
By tall proud oak and softwood yew.

Stream, trickle, and brook.
Winter thaw and springtime rain.
Fill every curve and hook.
Full to brimming with water plain.

Of arcing rod and sharp eyed hunter.
Wooden oar and breasting stroke.
Used for both picnic and plunder.
And even hard grey rock in time is smote.

River, river, river run.
Through time immortal.
Through valley deep.
Onward ever without sleep.

[Oldsage]

The blood is pulsing in my head.
I lick my suddenly dry lips.
My breath rasps harsh in my ears.
The men next to me,
are they as nervous as I am?
They certainly don’t look it.

I check my sword,
to be sure it will come free of the scabbard
when I go to draw it.
I tighten the straps on my shield,
so that it will not come loose when struck.

I check my rifle,
making sure the breech is clear,
and that it won’t jam when the shooting starts.
I tighten the straps on my body armor,
making sure each metal plate is in place.

My helmet is hot from the sun,
relentlessly beating down upon it.
Sweat pours down my face and stings my eyes.
Far below I see the shields and armor of the enemy,
They blaze with a reflected light that hurts my eyes.

My helmet is hot from the sun,
It’s been beating down relentlessly all day.
the sweat is pouring down my face and stings my eyes.
Far below I can see the glint of sun on gun barrels,
So bright and numerous it hurts my eyes.

And suddenly the order is given,
The horn sounds.
And we rush down upon our foes to give battle.

And over the radio the order is given.
We leap from our holes,
And run to meet the enemy.

[Nimue]

Sweeping down from high mountain peaks.
It races down craggy slope and high backed cliff.
Tween close knit pine tree and tangled bramble bush.

Rumbling by closeted cozy squirrel hole and huddling robin nest.
Gusting outside warm bear cave and buried bobcat den.

Moving through valley broad and deep to howl at shuttered window and tear at tiled roof.
Stirring black chimney smoke before stringing out in long tattered line.

Sighing spent against slumbering foothills before gasping tiredly up tall mountainside, to lie posed to catch it’s breath upon it’s peak.

In response:

Spring Zephyr

Tumbling through the green grass,

Whistling and singing through newly budded branches

Skipping along the surface swells of streams

It gambols over growing glades

With giddyness stroking the sweet-smelling flowers

Teasing and tantalizing the tender blooms

Softly nuzzling newly-exposed flesh

Brushing fingertips through unruly hair

Then skipping merrily off to fluster returning birds.