Bathsheba – a poetry preview

***

Greetings.

Today I am bringing to you a piece which some of the readers from my previous blog may recall. It is only a little piece of the first part, edited slightly for grammar and presentation. The work is 23 parts long so far, written in August of 2013, telling the story of a lone warrioress in the desert. It is called Bathsheba – Queen of the Desert.

It is a strange style, kind of alternate rhyming couplets, nothing formal, little of my work ever is, but it remains an interesting record of a narrative poem series from myself as a different man to who I am now, who I have become. I have changed much in the past 7 months and I turn to Bathsheba with a different mind, a new perspective. I am planning to edit the whole of this narrative poem series and publish it as an ebook

I hope that you enjoy this small preview.

Raviera.

***

Goldset in late summer

As the desert guitar calls over

The dunes woven by winds

Caressing baked sands.

*

A masked wanderer makes tread

With rough shod feet,

Crests a dune without dread,

Though not as others before her felt.

*

Sunshine coming down,

Falling all around

And its weight is a tome unbound.

*

Weary with the long trek directionless,

The wanderer saw the board,

A long while ago in time fathomless

And has set out with at her back a sword.

*

Her hips bear a revolver each,

Solid grips of dark crystal rock,

Weapons of her far reach

While the blade is her close lock.

*

If she finds the one she would beseech

Before the desert clock

Ticks night-time over the breach

Then she is sure that no others do there flock.

*

Face a masked thing,

Hair all silver under a hood

Atop the cream colour robes bringing

A lighter top to the light flood.

*

Heat, heat, heat all around,

And nary a less inviting sight

Is there to be found

Than the crows in flight.

Final Pt – The Wolf’s Lair – a poem series

***

I hear the forge hammers ring out

Across the woodlands, waves loud

Languid and soft, branches shake

From the anvils beating on stone

To make these swords, so puzzling.

*

More of us have forth come to care for

This land of twisted trunks, poison

Oaks and devil willow barks black dry

From stored up curses let loose, spread

Round like witch’s brew jam, jelly fire.

*

We see the hidden ways of forest hoards,

Willing to change all from resignation

To the horrors done, hardly forgotten

Over the years seeming without end,

A force for the new, to this garden tend.

*

Howling at a gibbous moon so high, no

Silver now but golden shine foams through

Clouds clumped in the leaden skies, heroes

Recognised under these painted scenes realised,

A land to be new, newly made and freshly seen.

*

The work is begun, the group reined in,

A high world upon this plateau spreading

Far, far, far about, taking in all now

For a dream to be achieved, absolve this

Old ache of dead curses left to linger.

*

As if by the granting of a mad god’s boon

The scum of the waters is lessened, clear

Like the lakes were never muddied, sere

Moments of sunshine illume trunks less

Twisted than their as yet unblessed cousins.

*

 We Wolf Lords wander