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

A Life and Art Update


I turn 28 today, and to mark the life changes I have made with my new artistic direction, I present you with the following…

Pt 1 – The Valley of Colourless Secrets
Today…today I have uploaded my first YouTube video after a few months of work. Those projects I’d been mentioning before?

Ahh, a series of poetry videos made completely by me are due to come, the above link being the first of them. In time I’ll have a separate, proper channel for them, but this is just to get it out there. 

Poetry written by me.

Music made by me.

Videos made by me (thank you, FilmoraGO :p)

Please, let me know what you think of my work.

Thank you for stopping by.


Poison of Choice – a poem

Tides from a star tyrannical pour

From skies otherwise bare sanguine,

A crude colour mostly buried under

Tones darker than real, or pale

As the viper’s belly, poison dripping;

Ready the glass.


Choose what evils you wish for

Or such tendencies curtail tidily

With ramparts of fine barometrically

Tested mind-matter, the soul a somnambulant’

Silent witness, bearer to this;

What we wish.


Vertical, super helical light spins

In formations foreign and diabolical,

The pour of abyssal plains weight

In such light sunbeams dash

The little fears of many decades

Brewed on dank ocean beds, such as

We oft overlook.


Those gestating virii dream in abysses

Darker than black mayst suggest or

Those living in the heady light may

Wot of, visions without tincture formed

From the viper venom kept in glasses

Sheltered from light.


Drink up, and let more than we know

Fill these rusted veins, tired relics that

Call post-poison shuddering paroxysm,

Amidst lacerations before the necessary balm,

The bitter become death stench heavy;

By far untenable.