Pen click mimics
The flick
Of a drawn

Ready to slash
And pierce

Into flesh and
Ink metals

For combat



We planned out harvest
In August
And we knew what we
Were doing

Blue skies
Rich soil
Hills like
Gold foil

Yet this doesn’t feel like home
To us
This endless sunshine and white
Clouds in the ocean blue

We work with what we’ve wrought

When the weather rots
And clouds enrage
At the prospect
Of having not rained

These are the seeds we’ve got
Growing relicous vines and fruit
With a taste that makes cheeks hot
Against an autummnal chill

These seeds that grip and root
Entrench and shoot
Through the dirt
And cobble rocks

We work with what we’ve wrought

Cherry plot ploughshares
Beaten into swords to defend
Our fields from thieves
Looking to steal our bounty

The fields are our quarry
In September it’s us and no worry
Some fruits are for harvest
Ripe already

Skies tint a poppy hue
Days are shorn and more rouge
Seeds sprout everywhere
In bloom the dirt’s deluged

This is our joyous spring
Our warm summer
And our jolly winter
All in this fallish weather

Meadows in infras and yellows
And fierce copper fields
Rife with ripe-wroughts
Shimmering in somber breeze

We work with what we’ve wrought
Into October

When the wind cannot still
And our ploughs
Beaten back again will
Work the ground now colored
Charred and hazel

November and

Swords stand like gargoyles
In the eroding chill
Above a bounty of copper crops
Bearing delicious hot fruit

Our livelihood and sustenance
Brave vermillion
Valiant harvest

No matter what
Come bad crops
Or storms nonstop
Hell or high water


We Think We’re So Valiant

Lights floating in the dark
Like Chinese lanterns

A varitable peace among skies
Where the things shine

Glints of a blade in violence
Brightening the dark world
As it cleaves through
With easy strength

Glowing heavens hellfire


A hack
A slash
A hock
A stab

Aghast the darkness
Tools used are


Two knights stood in the center of a burning village. The raid had taken place, and the defenses were overwhelmed. Somehow, when the attacking force moved on, one knight from those numbers had remained. That knight had yellow paint on his helmet. The other knight had no paint on his armor. He belonged to no army, as he was a man of the people who once lived here in the village.

The two held their longswords pointed at each other, fifteen feet from each other. They circled each other savagely like there were prey to one another. Two predators battling in the food chain. One would enter. One would leave. No holds barred.

Precious seconds passed. The two men were waiting for the other to attack, to parry or perhaps counter attack. Every movement was intentional.

Suddenly, Yellow began to rear up with his blade as Nopa went to guard, but Yellow stopped himself. “Wait, wait…” He stepped back and lowered his sword, and it seemed to sag in foolishness. “I can’t do this if you’re going to be an asshole about it.”

Nopa also lowered his sword. “Fucking what? Me be an asshole? You’re the one that attacked us!” He pointed his sword at Yellow. “Your whole army swarmed and picked my people off like they were mosquitoes!”

“Yeah, I know,” Yellow looked around, noting the dozens of dead bodies that were strewed wantonly around the area. Fires freshly burned, taking down the structure of the village’s nearby mead hall as he looked around. The ash drifted up in a small, sad plume. “We came in, basically destroyed the place, but I mean… I wasn’t a dick about it. I had all clean kills.”

“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Nopa’s helmet shook in outraged confusion.

“All my kills were honorable. I didn’t kill any civilians, and when I did kill soldiers, I did it with my sword. Honorable kill.” Yellow noted the blood that stained his armor, moving his hands from up to down to make a point.

“Is there any difference?”

“Well, yeah.” Yellow pointed to a nearby fire. “You see that right there?”

“The fire your men set on the old pastor’s hut? Yeah, I see it.”

“I’m not going to throw you into it.”

“What?” Nopa was completely speechless to this dialect.

“I promise, no matter how close you get to that fire during the fight, I won’t throw you into it.” Nopa turned his head to look at the withering blaze. “That’d be dishonorable.”

Nopa paused to take this in, looking at the burning hut and then back to Yellow. “Thanks..?”

“And I can’t be fighting you like this if you’re going to be an asshole and throw me into it. Get what I mean?”

“Because that would be dishonorable?”

“Right! So you’ve got it, then!”

“I guess so,” Nopa shrugged. “But I still don’t get it. You don’t fight for survival?”

Yellow leaned on the hilt of his sword, the blade sinking slightly into the harsh ground. “Why would I do that?”

“Because maybe someone wants to kill you! Or, say, an army fucking overruns your home!”

“I fight because it’s my job, man. I don’t give a shit about these stupid villages.” He stopped himself, and raised his hand in apology, “No offense.”

“So people are paying people to fight battles for them?”

Yellow corrected, “Professional people.”

Nopa started again, “Yes… paying professional people to fight battles for them. And you are one such professional person.”

“Why yes!” Yellow gleefully replied. “It’s just a job to me. But you’re the last one in this village, so my job here’s not over yet.”

“Why didn’t you just leave with all the others? They left about fifteen minutes ago!”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t had a nice duel in some two years. Saw you, and, if I do say so myself, you look competent, so I decided to wait until every one else left and you crawled out of your hiding place so we could duel!”

“I don’t get it. You think this is fun? All this bloodshed over gold tender? You could have bashed my head in while I was unconscious and made just as much in coin.”

“Ah, but that would have been…” Yellow motioned for Nopa to complete his thought, like a mentor. “… Dishonorable.”

“I see.”

Awkward silence followed as each of the knights idly kicked dirt and looked around at the burning surroundings. Yellow had leaned off of his sword and now simply stood up, unarmed with his hands on his waist. Nopa stood still slightly guarded. The wooden walls of one side of the village were mangled and broken. More structures collapsed from the fire. Flies started to gather on the bodies. Yellow smacked one that landed on his hand.

“So, uh…” Nopa spoke after a moment. “We gonna do this?”

Yellow looked up, wiping the fly’s corpse from his gauntlets. “Why of course!” He grabbed the hilt of his sword and overdramatically pulled it from the earth. “As long as you’re not going to be a dick about things! Steel on steel only! You versus me! Mano a mano!”

“Fine, for Christ’s sake, steel on steel. Honorable. Come on, then.” They both assumed ready positions again, circling each other.

“Deus vult!” Yellow yelled, and lunged at Nopa. Nopa casually stepped out of the way, pushing Yellow’s back as he went. Yellow ran uncontrollably off of a ten foot drop, his plate armor clattering loudly as he landed. Nopa walked over to the edge to look down at the other knight. “What happened to honor?!” Yellow stood to dust himself off, seemingly unphased from the fall. He would have been unable to get over the small ledge in all that heavy armor.

“You were between me and a way out of here.” Nopa turned from the ledge and walked away. “And I’m not the one bitching about it, you loser!” He turned back for a moment and continued walking away, to cup his hands around his mouth and yell even louder, “Be less shit next time!”

“You chancer!” Yellow shouted after him, trying and failing to scale the tiny ban. “Are you kidding me?! After that whole monologue about honor! You don’t play by the rules! War is supposed to be like a sport! Bet you don’t have a duke that gives you a wage, you absolute bastard! Your mother would be so disappointed that her son wouldn’t stand and fight! Your father should be ashamed, and your sister…” And his cries faded out of earshot as Nopa left the village, leaving the honorable man complaining in the dust.

(PDF version, 2/28/17: Honorable)

Stoke the Forge

Stoke the Forge

Unrefined, rough, jagged scrap
Set into a firebrick sand trap
Atop a crucible of graphite
An invader on smoldering coal light

Billows depress and blast the furnace
Metals rest and slags surface
Sitting atop a thermite pillow
Sleeping until the husk is yellow

Pneumonic pressure blowing cinders
Embers stoke and winter withers
Graphite is set and brass is poured in
Preparing alloys to hammer bombard it

Onto an anvil cooled ingots are placed
Crystallized ore in bars are cased
Unto bronze mixtures sparks are incited
From battering fixtures elements guided

Violent lightning cracks from iron
Smashing warm rods with rumble pyre
Luster diffuses, tenacious infused
Made to heat ferry and transfuse

Longswordslinging Drills

Longswordslinging Drills

Leather gauntlets on,
Armor strapped down,
Headpiece fastened,
Sheath unbuckled.

Step up.
Gather back.
Pivot your hands
With fingers slack.

Sweep across.
Lunge garner.
Raise to strike.
Swing forward.

Block with
The crossguard.
Jab ahead.
Let your vessel flow and ebb.

Arms up now.
Do it again.
Transfer your weight
And shift your feet.

Compel your legs
To move so sleek,
Maneuver a blade
To foil retreat.

Vom tag, dodging back,
Ochs, pflug, alber;
Langort: long point;
Eisenport: iron door.

Switch your stance,
Adjust your guard;
Advance, sword dance,
Cut quick, and charge.

Close the angles,
Bid discipline,
Clout your power,
Speed escutcheon.

Move and weave,
Splice and heave.
Combat with honor
Under virtue’s banner.

Arcing Ark Archangel

Arcing Ark Archangel

Legends were told of your sort
Who roamed the land long ago.
Angels which rose above mountains,
Scorching everyone with awe.

When the demons came into
This world, you were one
Who was called upon
To serve and garrison the ark.

Legends say that they swarmed.
One angel fell for every ten demons.
The struggle at last ended
When the heavenly claimed victory.

They told stories of that day.
Wrote novels in dark inks.
In frames and canvases
And holidays we celebrated.

I hesitate
To complicate
A clear-cut

Other-dimensional beings
Found resurgence in weakness.
Once again they clung as shadows,
And found power in the people.

My shoulders aren’t as strong
As they used to be.
The air is again a venom.
I must become stable once more.

Picked up right where we left off.
The familiarity is evident
Even through I’ve only heard
The stories from a time before.

A phantom pain
Began to dissipate
As I saw feathers
Coasting by.

My seeker’s garb shedding
With every step
Down the long
And snaking road.

You are sweet; a veteran of conflict.
A humble survivor.
You practice aggression
In the name of tomorrow.

You have a comfort around you
Which extends like wings
From your back.
I can only float and watch you fly.

You have an eye of attrition
Which grinds my resolve into dust.
Such lovely dust which cascades
From the air beneath your wings.

You scabbard a sword of induction
That pulses with transistors.
Its semiconductors shimmering
In bright, aurelian lattices.

With that aegis you had slain
Many enemies to this plane.
Yet it has two edges:
One of thorns, one that is rosy;

Each hilt branded in the serial
By monks that witnessed the battles,
Who commissioned these blades
For use by the ark angels.

A guard acts as venom’s bane
As the arc of sword swings
Curves into beasts
And into devil’s shields.

It murmurs and hums with electricity.
Cloudfire contained and now
Wielded by you.
The only one of your type.

You use that sealed blade to protect
And direct currents to my hourglass.
Grounding a crystal defibrillator
To snap and shock a ravenous chest.

Listening for a beat
Beneath the sparks.

Then dust beneath your grey wings
They revived.
They came alive.

Molecules split.
Elements combined.
Forged by bright light,
My charged skin took flight.

In the center of the maelstrom
Compelling shards collided.
When the vortex at last ceased,
You saw my lovesome eyes.

I knew you from the old myths.
You’ve saved kingdoms.
People from my region
Shout shanties of your praise.

A sigil is engraved upon your armor.
Cast of refractive silver,
The mere symbol of your power
Is well recognized by all.

It appeared as a stellar’s jay
Appears in the cold air.
Jolt-colored and black ink-breasted
Below the gusts of icy mist.

A soul of gold under the silver
Armor and ruby robes, glazed with
Teachings in colored inks
For use in telling true stories.

You took all doubt and cast it away.
With glowing authority, you
Took me and told me that
This thought will not decay.

You floated, triple-robed.
Fluttering, were layers of silver,
Bleached and reddened cloaks
With insignias on glittering armor.

You carried the electric sword
And bandoliered ink bottles for words.
On your blade was inscribed
The marks of your brave deeds.

It pinned me to the ground.
It anchored my thoughts.
When I thought I would float away,
Ink put me in suspended invigorance.

A presence expunged doubt.
A mark and sigil stole
The air from my chest
Over and over again.

I, the dust, could see you now
As your span stretched out.
Shining above the others
And rising with the wind.

Your words make my guise.
Your scent is my aura.
The way home is tall
And this free fall is long.

Snow whips as wind drifts up
Rock cliffs beside the passage,
Marking places where others
Collapsed long ago.

Thunder rages and lighting strikes,
Chaining between all of me,
Looking from a mountain peak
As you elevate above the worthy.

The rough road runs out,
And my regalia has been torn
To scraps by the journey
I’ve adventured upon to be here.

An umbrella I’ve had since the start
Is the only thing left intact,
Apart from gilded luck
Yet to ever become useful.

Even though I’ll never escalate,
I can always watch from
The summit as you ascend
And venom cleanse.

Attachments abound,
Particles combining,
Sealing scorching feelings
In its popping sounds.

Caught and released,
Suspended and set forth,
Thinking of a future me
At the snowy mountain peak.

The road home I coast on
Is provided by safe currents.
This mist is so smothering.
I could drown in the ink.

Even through character lapses
And the missed connections,
I can see the two red lights
Above the snow caps.

You look impeccably gorgeous
When I can catch glimpses
Through the blinding gales
Of my dust

In the
Your wings.