Category: Filí my pockets
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages IV – Last Charge of the Ferrathian Glyders
They told no one their name that was not of their tribe It was I who slyly bribed their scribe, he saw I was not a rival but a learned man He could not speak it but took pen in hand and wrote it there on the animal-candied margin banding his annals Ferrathians of the…
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5DARKSTARS
I was born to a dark star, born to practise dark arts Other children found me scary I was inordinately hairy, I was shaved twice daily and still resembled a monkey Hirsute below my white communion suit, soul black as soot I consist solely of dark parts, I stalk dark parks where deer walk in…
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages III – Beliefs and Customs of Feathermen
Virididerms with drawn faces from places you and I cannot place on any map Their mountains formed by ruins marking our world’s devastation They believe in diminutive elder races, first to walk the face of the earth Their faces were turned from Sol, they never returned from their subterrene halls Beneath the mounds, centuries sleeping,…
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages II – The Gleoman’s Story
They tell campfire stories of Noah Huzzar on his barded silver, Tintreachcogadh His quiet mountain home abode of ranging men, demesne of crop-dependents Depended on his protection Elected Lictor, his visored helm’s image fixture on every household altar His grand manse flanked by grated covers and lion gates Peasants, peons, freemen and serfs prayed to…
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Chronicles of the Dusk Ages I – Ends of Earth Prior to Earth’s End
A moment to consider perception in our conception of our origins Convex time mirror distorts an eye’s intake, slakes only a beholder’s tastes If there was ever a snake it lived there in the neck’s nape, changing all we see into a reflection of our obsessions Stimulated by lights from rising lanterns we have forgotten…
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Durty Priest
Evidence I spent Lourdes trip money accrued from our Lenten fete On two fire-breathing hooers, they, reputedly, flew down from Glasgow For a weekend of beer and blow They write that I wrote to an agency describing myself as a middle-aged priest looking to get back into his mojo Allegedly I wanted two girls who’d…
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Hills we die on, hail to the freedom fighters
Floozy is our floating rock, thigh-shower Cold shower, grower not a shower Groves of bee-loud clover and smothering vanilla-headed heather Sacred hawthorne resplendent and thorned, adorned with whitefeather petals Every verdant blend abounds, as if one wore lenses of augmented ferns to lend extra green to what’s beheld. Hills we die on, Ireland our zion…
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Flyer Tour of Hell
I have drunk sacred ox blood and fasted long to cleanse toxins Three days spent encoffined so that cough-inducing atmosphere at fox-red origin of all poxes and toxins does not instantly rob me of life I blessed my knife and prayed never to draw it Impressed brands to my naked chest, mark forever etched there…
Alchemisland 