Revising a poem; the past keeps you humble
I think I've decided to stick with yesterday's poem.
Is it good? Nah, not really, but considering how little poetry I've actually written--I think I've got something to learn by working it over, polishing it into something a tad better. I'll ditch those middle stanzas and rework 'em a bit. Kinda fun, really.
But nothing new and original to post tonight, despite my intentions to get some writing done. But wait! What's this? Rather than something new, how about a blast from the past, a relic drawn up from the deepest, darkest recesses of my hard drive? This little gem was hacked out on an 8086 (!) and has been transfered from floppy to hard drive to cd and back so often it's a miracle it's still intact--let's give it up for digital!
So here we go, the opening paragraphs of The Guardian, introducing the world to Dav (formely known as Dave), rescuer of princesses!
***
With a mighty battle-cry the shimmering blade slashed downwards once again, and dug deep into putrid flesh. The horrid, misshapen creature let out a pathetic scream, till Dav's mystical blade ended its existence by removing its skull-head with a single swing. Steaming, acidic blood splashed outward, hissing as it struck the warrior's armor.
He turned, oblivious to the melting scum that was all that remained of the chaos-spawned monstrosity. Dav, also known as the Crusader, looked around, searching for more enemies. Small skirmishes continued around him as his valiant army repressed the last of the demon-hordes that had been recently pouring out of the chaotic Hellands.
***
Not bad, I'd like to think, for a 15 year old. It's readible, at least. Ah, but just wait for some of the scintillating dialogue!
***
"Prepare to die, foolish mortal! None can stand against the hordes of Rakash, Demonlord of the third Pale, servant to none but Histhanar and those of the fourth and greater, and his minions!" His voice was terrible to hear, and a loathsome smell poured from his nostrils.
Even as Dav looked, other creatures, similar to Rakash, but seemingly lesser in status, rose from the ground, emerging next or in the midst of his armies. He raised himself to his full height, and turned to face to vile Demonlord.
"Rakash!" he thundered out in his most commanding voice. "Know one thing, before you attack! I am Lord Roberts, Duke of Shaminé, defender of this land, protector of its people. I am also known as the Crusader, savior of Kulmon, defeater of Chaos, rescuer of princesses. Furthermore, I am known as Dav, the demonslayer. And know that I wield Sekaon, blade of Power, wear the enchanted armor of Khavin, and bear the great shield Arkadiov. And I fear neither you, nor did I fear your superiors, as they fell to my Chaos-slaying weapons and magic!"
For a second, the great Demon seemed to hesitate, doubt creeping through its loathsome eyes....
***
Oh... my... God.
Is it good? Nah, not really, but considering how little poetry I've actually written--I think I've got something to learn by working it over, polishing it into something a tad better. I'll ditch those middle stanzas and rework 'em a bit. Kinda fun, really.
But nothing new and original to post tonight, despite my intentions to get some writing done. But wait! What's this? Rather than something new, how about a blast from the past, a relic drawn up from the deepest, darkest recesses of my hard drive? This little gem was hacked out on an 8086 (!) and has been transfered from floppy to hard drive to cd and back so often it's a miracle it's still intact--let's give it up for digital!
So here we go, the opening paragraphs of The Guardian, introducing the world to Dav (formely known as Dave), rescuer of princesses!
***
With a mighty battle-cry the shimmering blade slashed downwards once again, and dug deep into putrid flesh. The horrid, misshapen creature let out a pathetic scream, till Dav's mystical blade ended its existence by removing its skull-head with a single swing. Steaming, acidic blood splashed outward, hissing as it struck the warrior's armor.
He turned, oblivious to the melting scum that was all that remained of the chaos-spawned monstrosity. Dav, also known as the Crusader, looked around, searching for more enemies. Small skirmishes continued around him as his valiant army repressed the last of the demon-hordes that had been recently pouring out of the chaotic Hellands.
***
Not bad, I'd like to think, for a 15 year old. It's readible, at least. Ah, but just wait for some of the scintillating dialogue!
***
"Prepare to die, foolish mortal! None can stand against the hordes of Rakash, Demonlord of the third Pale, servant to none but Histhanar and those of the fourth and greater, and his minions!" His voice was terrible to hear, and a loathsome smell poured from his nostrils.
Even as Dav looked, other creatures, similar to Rakash, but seemingly lesser in status, rose from the ground, emerging next or in the midst of his armies. He raised himself to his full height, and turned to face to vile Demonlord.
"Rakash!" he thundered out in his most commanding voice. "Know one thing, before you attack! I am Lord Roberts, Duke of Shaminé, defender of this land, protector of its people. I am also known as the Crusader, savior of Kulmon, defeater of Chaos, rescuer of princesses. Furthermore, I am known as Dav, the demonslayer. And know that I wield Sekaon, blade of Power, wear the enchanted armor of Khavin, and bear the great shield Arkadiov. And I fear neither you, nor did I fear your superiors, as they fell to my Chaos-slaying weapons and magic!"
For a second, the great Demon seemed to hesitate, doubt creeping through its loathsome eyes....
***
Oh... my... God.
posted by Emlyn | 2:53 PM
1 Comments:
That is probably the most powerful piece of fantasy fiction I have ever read. It really is superb. What does Rakash do next? Shit himself? I would if I was confronted by someone as awesomely verbiose as the hero of heroes, the sayer of scary claims, the bringer of bullshit, the Lord of Lard.... wow.
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