auros-writing

[auros-writing]

Black Blade Aldwin

This was a ballad I wrote for a creative assignment. The entire piece is in tetrameter-trimeter, so each pair of lines is 4 beats followed by 3 beats.

One merry morning midsummer’s day

A fleet doth dock in landing

For King Edward’s great French campaign

Had come to a beginning.

The bright July sky-beacon shown

The port of which they met

The great men of Saint Vaast la Hogue

Who would see no sun set.

Bretons, Germans, Welsh, English,

Did Edward send to fight

Did take the port-town those great men

Who fought until the night.

What anger seethed under his skin?

What upset that great lord?

King Edward wanted Gascony

To stay upon his board.

And so he marched his many mounts

Down South into French ground,

And on he marched towards River Seine

To sack a lovely town.

From town to town they came and went

And burned down every home,

For Edward wanted Gascony

To keep an English throne.

In Caen they burned and drank and stole

And ate their own good fill,

They all indulged save one good man

Who not had the same will.

He stayed and watched from a distance

With disdain in his heart,

This Black Blade soldier, his good soul

Denied that he take part.

That great sword, Aldwin, held his hilt

He looked over the town,

And as the smoke poured into night

Could not he but look down.

“Not ye want to take your fill

Do not ye want indulge?”

Asked one soldier unto the Blade

So did the Blade divulge:

“I take no part, this vile game

Does not entice my soul.

Had I stolen and drunk my fill

My heart be not but coal.”

The soldiers sacked Caen for five days

Yet not did Aldwin once,

He led the capture of the town

Yet not he led the hunts.

The first of August did depart

King Edward’s many blades,

And leading the front of the march

The great Aldwin’s brigade.

Across the Rivers Seine and Somme

The English fought their way,

For they needed to feed themselves

And North they made their way.

Black Blade Aldwin led the charge

That broke the French’s line,

He was no knight nor man-at-arms

Yet still he spilled blood-brine.

Further North outside Wissant

As night blazed into day,

King Edward held a council meet

Which chose to take Calais.

“Hark here my good kin, listen close,

For we have decided.”

The great King spoke, his men agreed,

No opinions divided.

“We’ll siege their gates and block their ports

Deny them any goods,

We’ll cut off all their food and drink

Deprive them of their woods.”

And so as the leaves fell from high

And changed from green to brown,

Great Edward sent his hefty men

To rupture Calais’ ground.

The men-at-arms and cavalry

Went charging at the gate,

Yet Black Blade Aldwin led no charge,

He chose to lie in wait.

Calais’ walls were heavy wrought

With moats and marshy swamps,

The charging forces stood no chance,

Their boots no place to stomp.

So settled then did King Edward

A settled camp he built,

Dubbed Nouville did the English stay

Till’ Calais’ red had spilt.

Yet Edward came and bade of him

That fabled blackened Blade,

He asked for Aldwin’s swordsmanship

Under his small tent’s shade.

“Aldwin I come to ask of you

To lead one final line.

I wish to break Calais’ thick gate,

That great door’s armored pine.”

Aldwin sat and rest his helm

Upon his leathered knee,

He thought about it long and hard

A decision made he.

“Great Edward, sir, I will oblige,

I’ll take your final run,

But do not expect blackened blades

To glisten in the sun.

I honor thee with my own soul,

I offer it to you,

For loyalty to my great land,

I’ll birth my blade anew.”

And so he led his men in front,

He tamed that wild crew,

He manned Edward’s tough men-at-arms

And led them through cold blue.

Through water, mud, and embankments

He marched his plate and steel,

He led the knights and cavalry

To Calais’ wooden seal.

Aldwin came upon the gate

That blocked his return home,

To take down this final defense

He’d sacrifice his bone.

Unleashed upon great Edward’s men

Calais fired its volley,

And out came iron pike-bearers

Who led Aldwin to folly.

Fight hard to breach the walls did he,

Did Aldwin wish to fight,

Yet to the ground his left hand fell,

Sliced by a nasty pike.

The English slayed those pike-bearers,

And fended from the arrows,

Yet before they could make their way,

Calais’ entrance had narrowed.

Much longer did the English wait,

Yet not could they shed blood,

They kept trapped the town of Calais,

Encased in bloodied mud.

‘Twas a rough day for Englishmen

For a defeat they felt,

Still not could they breach those thick walls

Yet further, Aldwin knelt.

No longer could he join the fray,

No longer his sword swung,

That Black Blade soldier, now a knight,

Was sent to see his young.

He returned to his English town,

Far sent from his short home,

Yet the battle still followed him,

And came for his land’s throne.

King Philip wished to save his folk

And act as such did he,

He called upon those noble Scots

To venge that land of thee.

And so the Scots, noble in deed,

Did they choose to comply,

At Neville’s Cross King David came

To light ablaze the sky.

The English had very few men

To protect their homeland,

Yet outnumbered ‘round two to one,

Ralph Neville did command.

He led those men of Edward’s kin,

Struck Scots from far and wide,

And of those men who Ralph had led,

The Blackened Blade did ride.

Although he only had his right,

His left did still do work,

For a plate shield mounted his wrist,

Under a blade doth lurk.

Upon his hilt, that blackened blade,

As wrought as it was born,

He entered for the final time,

A battlefield long torn.

For countrymen and kinsmanship,

Aldwin chose to protect,

The slaying of his families

A concept he’d reject.

For country, honor, and the crown,

Aldwin did dedicate,

For just a man he truly was,

Yet death he’d aggravate.

For long did he with scratch and wound,

Continue on his steed,

Until the final Scotsmen fell

And David’s push would heed.

A sad day for the Englishmen,

Again did the skies gray,

For no longer did Aldwin breathe,

Nor live another day.

The next midsummer did arrive,

One morning they did go,

His family sought to honor him,

And flowers did they grow.

They took them to his burial

And laid them on his grave,

Then came a many men for him

They wished to do the same.

For honor, glory, rectitude,

For kinsmen and for young,

The great Black Blade gave up his life,

Brought silence to his tongue.

For honor, glory, rectitude,

For family with no strife,

Great Black Blade Aldwin gave himself

For his young’s gentle life.

[auros-writing]

Wiglaf's First Battle

This assignment involved creating the first battle of Wiglaf, the loyal warrior who succeeds the famous Beowulf in the story of Beowulf.

Rising from his throne, the great King

Wiglaf felt the earth shake below his greaves,

Trembling with the might of Hell itself,

Clawing its way from the fiery depths,

Burning the land with its flaming fumes.

His people came crying, weeping to their Lord

For his hand, his guidance against this beast

That had risen; through his castle’s gate he saw

A giant, the mountains moving, marching onward,

A titan of stone and earth, tearing his forests and

Torturing his people with its torrent streams of 

Steam and flame. Beowulf’s chosen one stood

At his gate and swore, spoke to his people and

To the heavens; “This great beast shall know nothing

But the bitter taste of the earth, no smell but the stench

Of Satan’s fiery kingdom. I shall send him back from

Whence he came, back to his horrid pit, struck down

To lay forever in his filth, an endless black slumber.”

The great king then went with his men,

Searching until he happened upon the greatest

Smith he could find; Wiglaf brought with him

The great horns of his long-felled foe, the spears of

Beowulf’s killer, the great and furious dragon,

To forge the strongest sword, the toughest steel,

The edge with which the people’s great savior would end

His gentle land’s powerful peril. The smith

Took that twisted ivory, those charred

And cursed thorns, and beat and bent them, 

Brined them in hell-rock until they

Glowed with an angry blaze. He took them,

That skilled servant of salvation, intertwining

Them with the finest metals, pounding and

Polishing until the blade itself gleamed with a Light

Only known to shadowed life, only shone from

The eyes of the beast from which this cursed

Blood-bringer was born. Wiglaf, with his great

And holy touch, gripped the blade by its hilt,

Held that cursed root until it bent to his will,

Fought with his spirit and lost, and came

One and all under his mighty command.

The sword claimed the title Fjällmördare,

And at once its fire burned in the hands

Of the people’s Lord, sang with fury

The strength of a thousand men,

Screamed forth fate to bring down

The terror that marched along its own

Path, a trail of horrid glory. Wiglaf ventured

With his men to the great mountain’s 

Violent pounding soles, drew his

Flame-forged fiend and proclaimed;

“I am the great King of this land

Of which you lay waste; the ruler

Of this emerald plain, protector of

This holy empire. Come now, beast

Of havoc and suffering, and feel the

Wrath of those you have left raging,

Weeping in your horrible wake!”

The people’s savior flew swiftly from

His soles of soiled earth; His great

Burning blade was brought down at once

At the mountain’s grinding knees, and

In an instant the air shook with a might

Only felt at the end of God’s last breath.

Rock and root ruptured and crumbled, falling

Back to the same earth that once imbued it

With its horrid life; That towering mountain,

Billowing over the hills of that great King’s

Pride, came crashing down, its legs fractured

And frayed, falling back into its cold and stony

Grave. The beast collided earth and Hell together

And sealed the gates from each tight and firm,

Never to be crossed again by God’s gross burdens;

The mountain again was laid to rest, its

Fuming torment silenced, its skyline

Replenished, another night now protected

From the horrors of Satan's favorite child.

Wiglaf returned home shortly, that last

Far-flung fighter, crowned again with

The victory and songs of his people,

Left to live another day, to see another sky,

To rejoice and dance the glory of his

Strength and honor, the likes of which

He carries ever onwards from the past,

To protect what was once stolen from

A great man, to prosper in his honored name,

To sing his fervent songs until

The sun rises no more.

[auros-writing]

Lifeguard

This was an assignment I was given where I had to "modernize" a poem titled Landlady by P.K. Page from the year 1943. I reused a few of the lines from the original poem for the sake of effect, but for the most part the words are my own.

Through blazing air families clump and thin,

cold like rain. Hide blindly

the thirsting silence drowning her thoughts;

towels flutter like hawks over prey.

Because of her their souls unwind;

dives and strokes wordlessly chosen;

sunglasses encrypting wandering eyes. Oh,

her ears, an uneven crash of waves.

Nothing is beyond her theory. They set their chairs

about them as they snack and frolic, each face

a facade of quiet thought. The edge of her seat,

stippled, curious, pounding chest;

heart rate increasing, pulsing on a table,

paces the poolside in their absence,

rummaging purses and pouches, searching

for clues, the soul, hitherto their return.

Curious in their shade, startled as they splash,

daydreams the day they overindulge, lusting

to know the currents of their thoughts;

swimming unto the mouth.

Even so, guesses better of them then their neighbors:

their swimsuits, the many rules of their games,

their favorite snacks, their deepest dives,

secrets, open and locked, theirs and hers.

Knows the extent of their energy, how frequently

they break, their curvature of health,

all that drives them onward, pouring,

but even so, is not content.

Parched like a beggar, crying, pleading,

yearning for the day one may slip;

to spill outward the yolk of their souls--

hoping the worst.

[auros-writing]

Cracked Glass

So, before I start introducing some of the projects I've been working on by myself, I wanted to upload some of the assignments I have done in school. This is a social commentary poem I titled Cracked Glass.

Finally, finally! The day had arrived!

The innocent could now join his friends,

the rest of the living world!

He was given a phone, so shiny, so sleek!

So pure and absolved, so far beyond naive.

To the innocent a land of grandeur had unlocked its doors,

yet to the world,

an omen of death had fallen upon the cold earth.

Carelessly he sought out the secrets of the world,

his soul, his eyes, gifting unto him endless euphoria.

Clear without restraint, naive and unsuspecting.

Those who flourish in suffering arose.

One wrong step, one click too far,

the innocent fell deep into the gruesome stench,

horrid, putrid, vile.

Falling, endless,

the rot imbued the innocent’s soul with hatred,

its sleek and shiny screen fractured, resenting.

No longer was the innocent pure,

the fallen rising, shattered fragments blazed,

darkness rose from the corpse of the light.

Never again will the fallen heal,

never will they dance and sing,

their shining, sweet soul,

broken, blinded.

Forever will the rot grow, forever will it fester.

Unto others a soul is blessed, and thus

unto others does a soul crack.