Jasmine Tea

Flowing at the speed of thought
Coursing through each nerve at once
Tendons the axles
Bones the girders
And cells the siphons
That drink in impulse
Every instinct wavering
Between the worlds of wish and action

Inner sanctums of the temple
Fill with meditation and thought
Monks tend to vases of incense
And steep tea still infusing
They guard the spirit
Which guides the whole
Governed by the souls it eats
And replenishes its own

Dislocation known as pain
When sinews snap within muscle

All that remains is gain from
Acting on the impulse first
Dreamed of by the monks
A mere millisecond before

Actions spending quiet time
On wooden floors surrounded
By paper walls, feasting
On souls, drinking jasmine tea
Robed and ruminating on the
Instincts who fixate on
Demons in the way, hoping
To conquer and overcome
Obstacles constantly

Jasmine enters the mind’s eye
Breaking through synapses
And neurons all the same while
Carving a path of electricity

In monk skulls, these paths
Are burned

They know the answer, and in
An instant become runners
To the cause of what hands
Must now do
Overcome, push forward
To starve your ego
Keep reaping souls
And feed your own

Running with sweat on his brow
He arrives at the cell
Who requires the message
“Smash through hell”

And then it is done
The monk begins his walk
Back to the temple steps
For what must be
Billionth time

Every struggle back up
A relentless staircase

When he returns
There will be more incense
More peace
More jasmine tea


There are so many questions
And each is more difficult

You can only reach a
Certian point of understanding

Before you realize
Understanding for its own sake

Is meaningless

There’s a fulcrum where
You reach a peak

You move and do
And put verbs behind words

Suddenly asking questions
Isn’t needed anymore

Because at this point
In your path

You know what to do


Didn’t work
Another mark slashed
And burned
Like marks on exams

You missed
Try again
Next time

You fell hard
In the dust
Of others
And pummeled
By acid
As the try bursts

But you tried

Scars marking the time
You rolled up sleeves
Put up your dukes
And got beat down


You must ignore

And be ready to
Think about what’s
Next to do

Can’t snap
So we wait
And think
Where we’re going

We need a moment
Of peace

A respite

In any fight
To look around
And think
About what’s right

How to live

Bullets fired
Punches through
Knives cutting
Air to you

But you must think

What’s best?

What move can
Let us continue

A collective of
Atoms working

Biding time
Until we find
The answer

Which exit?

This exit
To end thought


Victories phyrric

Position is calm
Until it isn’t

When bearings fly
By automatic fire

Running through mud
And plastic

With boots and

It’s tense and

With no retreat

Then silence

Muscles relax
And we speedload

What time we have
We can’t be sure

Waiting or

Crouched and

For a footstep
By the opposition


Our gear is

Movement is

Right now it’s

And tense
Covered yet clear

Our position is calm
But it won’t be

That way
For very long

Deneb Mythos #2: Satellites of the Old Lords

In the 1st era, the countries of Esther, Quincy, and Dominicus all set out to stake a claim to the land found down the Aaugyst River. The three colonies that formed all came from those countries who feuded often in the north. This is the story of Jack Hykrel and a group of fighters who defended Little Quincy from an attack by the natives who lived there. What would it mean for the future of their claim?

Click below to read the second story in the Deneb Mythos.

Deneb Mythos #2: Satellites of the Old Lords

Deneb Mythos #1: The Courier

What would you do as a young boy in the bustling city of Hertkur? So much temptation to join the military… become a shopkeep… or any normal stable thing all the other boys seemed to drift towards. No, this young boy has much loftier goals. Step into the shoes of one of the most dangerous occupations in the Deneb Kingdom during the 4th era. This young boy is a smuggler in the strangest of times.

Click below to read the first story in the Deneb Mythos.

Deneb Mythos #1: The Courier



From my car I saw soldiers
Run a stop sign
In a beat up offroad vehicle
Wildly firing their weaponry
At pursuing militant crazies

On the floorboard were paper cups
Emblazed with insignias of drive-throughs
And on the stereo was blasting
Western heavy metal radio

One sat on the window and aimed back
Another, the passenger, changing the track
Someone in the backseat having a snack
The driver cackling while under attack

Speeding uphill later on
As a tornado smashes through things
And still outrunning
All that were chasing

It looked like they were
Having fun

Legion Corsairs’ Welkin

Legion Corsairs’ Welkin

It’s a crime
To pass you by
In my sept-ballooned
Airship zeppelin.

Why would I not
Stop in,
Weigh anchor,
And say “hi”?

Standing on the deck
Above in the air, a tiny speck
Of nets and rigging and rope,
Peering below through periscope.

Rough-hewn glass cradled
By iron pipes and wooden casks
All sailing along the air,
We have no country to declare.

With a galley beneath our feet,
Staving off scurvy with salted meat.
Fishing line out for birds overboard.
Eating only what we can barely afford.

It’s a punishable offense
To not let down my defense,
And lower altitude to weigh anchor,
Letting go cargo of precious amber.

On the ships of our fleet
We like to think ourselves elite
As propellers turn and rotors whirr.
Gods of places, no matter where

Stand atop our low zeppelins
Above oceans, as fueled weapons.
Stopping only for cargo,
To drop off and collect it.

Amber quarters and opal medicine,
Wasp nectar, diamond exoskeletons,
Vials of ink and court trial evidence;
All ferried by the men commanding it,

Mining it, and shielding it
From pirate and navy brigades.
Transporting it and enjoying it
In every order of our day.

No, the real crime would be to
Pass you by;
Depriving you of fun to be had
With me in my restless skies.