597 replies to this topic

[Sardonikus]

In a Texas Town

In a Texas town, in the stifling heat,
In a tiny room by night,
A keyboard clicked and clattered,
And a voice boomed bold and bright,

Where a solitary author
Was pounding out his tales
Of Kull and Kane and Conan
To make pulp market sales.

On an Underwood typewriter
Of ebony and gold
He wrote three times as many yarns
As every one he sold.

He earned as much as the best man there,
For writing was his passion.
Though the pulps are crumbling into dust
His words are still in fashion.

He’ll always be remembered
For the tales through which he powered.
That town was Cross Plains, Texas,
And his name was Bob E Howard.
 

 

This is an especially good homage to REH.  I hope someday you get to visit the very spot it describes, if you haven't already done so!  I can attest that the atmosphere of the place is still very much charged with his spirit!

[VonKalmbach]

Thanks for your kind comments re my verse Sardonikus!

 

I enjoyed reading your The Erinyes poem, with its internal rhyming and double layer of the classical in its Shakespearean and Hellenic inspirations.

I could do with taking some cues from the structured form of studied mastery that your poem has.

 

I like Shakespeare too. Haven't read/heard any of his stuff for a long while, but I was a big fan at one time, and still have selected chunks of his verse and dialogue lodged away in my ramshackle memory banks somewhere.

[Sardonikus]

VonK -

 

First, thank you for your compliments!

 

For me, Shakespeare really proved useful in providing metaphorical inspiration, especially from a classical standpoint.  As far as "structured form" and "studied mastery" go, I am afraid I am not quite the poetic scholar you may think.

 

I hate to say it, but it is almost as if I am occasionally able to tap some dark, supernatural vein, feed from its energy, and translate it into verse.  So much of what I write seems to just bubble up from somewhere deep within, and I oftimes feel as if it isn't even me who is writing!  Like Jekyll and Hyde - the everyday Jekyll-aspect of my being can't seem to craft a simple limerick, but, once in a while, Hyde the Mad Minstrel takes over!  I think of Ian Curtis of Joy Division, who did not seem to be performing on stage so much as CHANNELING, as photos of his haunting wide-eyed stare seem to indicate.

 

REH, I think, was also constantly tapped into some dark, dynamic energy source.  I sometimes believe he actually DID see into other worlds.  Perhaps his continuous channeling of chaotic energies contributed to his early demise in some fashion, but who can truly say?

 

Thank you again my friend, and please keep writing!!

 

(And seeing as how you hail from fair Albion, the land of Poets, I have high expectations of you!)

Edited by Sardonikus, 10 March 2013 - 06:03 AM.

[deuce]

In a Texas Town

In a Texas town, in the stifling heat,
In a tiny room by night,
A keyboard clicked and clattered,
And a voice boomed bold and bright,

Where a solitary author
Was pounding out his tales
Of Kull and Kane and Conan
To make pulp market sales.

On an Underwood typewriter
Of ebony and gold
He wrote three times as many yarns
As every one he sold.

He earned as much as the best man there,
For writing was his passion.
Though the pulps are crumbling into dust
His words are still in fashion.

He’ll always be remembered
For the tales through which he powered.
That town was Cross Plains, Texas,
And his name was Bob E Howard.
 

 

As Sardonikus (and others said): "Well done." You need to stop by Cross Plains sometime.

[Buxom Sorceress]

~~~ Eyes of a fanatic ~~~

The eyes of a fanatic gleamed in the moonlight.
A haunting dark shadow stalked ...

 

Loved it Buxom Sorceress!

 

A fine narrative verse, told with concision, and packed with a series of fantastic images that fit right in for a Solomon Kane piece.

 

I'll be seeing that dripping head held up to the moon fer a while now!

My sincere thanks to you and LUNATIC for your very nice comments about my poem.

Your positive feedback will encourage me to write more...when I get more time and dark inspirations.

I really enjoyed creating that S-Kane horror poem. The warm crimson blood was once again flowing from my twisted clawed raven-quill...
 

[Buxom Sorceress]

Speaking of dripping heads....

 

Here's the latest from Sardonikus. Been reading lots of Shakespeare lately, so the Bard of Stratford (as distinguished from the Bard of Cross Plains) influenced the following work heavily:

 

THE ERINYES - by James W. McNew

 

Wherefore, lovely ladies, do ye gather ‘round my bed?
Why tarry? Hie ye hither, for my Lust must needs be fed!
And yet, I catch a glimmer – darkling shimmer, sense of dread
As tearing, teasing talons now enfold my hoary head.

***

Alecto – fair Alecto!
Golden tresses round thy face
Doth now unwind and quickly bind
A hateful heart so base
With covetous corruption
In a barbéd shroud of lace;
And the blood beads blaze as rubies
That a poisoned cup enchase.

***

Stand forth, Black Tisiphone,
Myrrhed and musky with Despair!
Let now thy womb become my tomb -
I thrust into thy snare!
Then birth a shadowed specter,
Cast it shrieking into air
To ride the wind from Avernus,
Fell intelligence to bear.

***

And thou, crimson’d Megaera,
Charged to render down the damned!
Set to with knife and crescent scythe -
No pity stays thy hand!
And now thy dearest pleasure
Let no conscience countermand:
At the last with final flourish
See thy sacrifice UNMANNED.

***

Therefore, monstrous maenads, as ye wrest me from my bed,
Pray, tarry! Hear the whisper whisp’ring from my dripping head:
“To HER whom I enraptured – blithely captured and misled:
The double-dealing dastard whom thou loathest now lies DEAD.”

 

(Special thanks to Emileigh Rohn of Chiasm [www.chiasm.org] for the dark and siren music which has influenced much of my work - along with REH, of course!)

very good exciting poem and great rhyming.
More, please ?

Thanks for sharing.

I like the old rhymes of Shakespeare. I have a fascination with the use of old-fashioned words which are rarely used in these modern times.

I must research more about the Erinyes: they seem like my kinda girls...
 

[Ironhand]

Great poem, Sardonikus!  Excellant mastery of exactly the right language!

[constantine]

''The Erinyes'' is an excellent poem Sardonikus. Plus, this particular part is reminiscent of Melissandre's spell in G.R.R.Martin's book and if I may be so bold, the description is even more eery through using only a few choice words:

 

***

Stand forth, Black Tisiphone,
Myrrhed and musky with Despair!
Let now thy womb become my tomb -
I thrust into thy snare!
Then birth a shadowed specter,
Cast it shrieking into air
To ride the wind from Avernus,
Fell intelligence to bear.

***
.....

 

 

[Sardonikus]

Never read the GRRM books, and only saw some of the TV series. I did google 'Melisandre' though, and found the spell you mentioned. That was indeed eerie and sensual.

I guess what transpired in the poem was that Tisiphone used the protagonist's lust to 'suck' out his soul and rebirth him as a ghost, showing him, in effect, to be the father of his own damnation.

Thanks again Buxom, Ironhand, VonK, and constantine for your kind words!

[VonKalmbach]

Hey you're welcome Sardonikus!

 

And here's another'n from me.

 

Through the Ashes

I sought for joy in the arms of a may,
Who danced like a lambent flame,
With great broad hips and wine dark lips
And life was a bawdy game.

I sought for joy in a mound of coin
That dreamed in a golden haze,
And through my hands ran wealth untold;
Hell, those were some heady days.

I sought for joy in the songs of a bard
Full wild with Cerridwen’s brew,
In whose uncanny wayward words
Fantastic lies seemed true.

And then I sought where the red tide surged
And the bright swords flashed and flamed,
Where the shield walls locked in battle
And the tempers soared untamed.

But the songs grow pale, and the red tides ebb,
Beauty fades, and wealth expires,
And my life seems now like a sullen sift
Through the ashes of their pyres.

Through those ashes have I wandered
Through the dregs of hoary life,
Through those ruins have I pondered
Through the wreckage of old strife.

And though the vanity of these
On my old scarred soul still burns,
To beauty, battle, wealth, and songs,
Yet still my spirit turns.
 

[Ironhand]

VK, beautiful!

[VonKalmbach]

Hey thanks Ironhand!

[Sardonikus]

Man, that is quality stuff, VonK!

Absolutely Howardian in its brooding outlook, and I am ALWAYS stirred by a good reference to the old Celtic deities, whose essence yet lingers in my own mongrelized blood.
This is just the kind of poem that should be declaimed outside of REH's window under the sanguine glow of a rising Texas moon!

Keep those creative fires well stoked, so that we may be further illuminated by your talent!

Edited by Sardonikus, 16 April 2013 - 07:40 PM.

[VonKalmbach]

Thanks indeed Sardonikus, your kind words are much appreciated!

[Buxom Sorceress]

Hey you're welcome Sardonikus!

 

And here's another'n from me.

 

Through the Ashes

I sought for joy in the arms of a may,
Who danced like a lambent flame,
With great broad hips and wine dark lips
And life was a bawdy game.

I sought for joy in a mound of coin
That dreamed in a golden haze,
And through my hands ran wealth untold;
Hell, those were some heady days.

I sought for joy in the songs of a bard
Full wild with Cerridwen’s brew,
In whose uncanny wayward words
Fantastic lies seemed true.

And then I sought where the red tide surged
And the bright swords flashed and flamed,
Where the shield walls locked in battle
And the tempers soared untamed.

But the songs grow pale, and the red tides ebb,
Beauty fades, and wealth expires,
And my life seems now like a sullen sift
Through the ashes of their pyres.

Through those ashes have I wandered
Through the dregs of hoary life,
Through those ruins have I pondered
Through the wreckage of old strife.

And though the vanity of these
On my old scarred soul still burns,
To beauty, battle, wealth, and songs,
Yet still my spirit turns.
 

Another high quality poem that stirs memory, heart and soul.
Outstanding.

Thankyou very much.
 

[VonKalmbach]

(Tips sombrero politely)

 

Why, thank you very kindly, Buxom Sorceress!

[Ironhand]

VK, it is getting to the point where I look for your name, expecting to read something that is guaranteed to be smashingly good.

[VonKalmbach]

Thank you very kindly Mr Ironhand Sir!