52 Poems: Week 5 – Epic

Creeping dusk, a falling sun, hangs above the shimmering run.

The crystal clear flowing stream, flanked by trees all manner o’green.

Within the shadows created there, two figures crouching, faces austere.

Their stillness hiding them from sight, no woodland creature they mean to fright.

On quarry darker with ill intent, their focus lies, their spirits resent.

With ears listening, eyes searching, their patience keeps them calmly waiting.

The hunters take no time for rest, as shadows deepen and sun now sets.

And with the darkness comes a gloom, a deathly presence, like a tomb.

But no reaction make the two, until the beast within their view,

Walks boldly under moonlit sky, right ‘tween a trees and where they lie.

The two remaining patient still, this beast, one chance, right here to kill.

A chill, unsettling, from their right alerts them to their foe’s near might.

It’s aura reaches to their core, emitting like a silent roar.

It causes doubt, it causes fear, and even though their prey is near,

The two feel doubt within their hearts, resolve wavers and duty departs.

Now in sight appears their foe, unaware of the two brought low.

It roams the woodland cautiously, the hunters rooted beside their tree.

As evil marches on its way, it’s dread appearance their fears obey.

Then suddenly, swiftly, on the wing, an owl swooping, hooting, sings.

And with that sound the spell retracts, if for a moment, their resolve intact.

In that gap they move their feet, movements silent and yet still fleet.

One springs up into a tree, from bough to bough the beast she sees.

The other running on the path, seeking to sate his burning wrath.

With every minute, ground they gain, at last their vengeance to attain.

Now up high, her bow she strings, and reaches back, an arrow freeing.

Stopping, calming, heartbeat slowing, the bowstring drawn, its tension straining.

But before the arrow is let to fly, the beast, its head turns with an eye,

Trained solely on the archer who with quick release aims strong and true.

It plunges deep into the flesh, as with a shout she seeks redress,

For all the wrongs that came her way, this beast she knows shall now repay.

It’s snarl turns to a ghastly howl, as pain now pierces its toothy jowl.

The beast enraged, snaps shaft in half, and the fletched end falls to the path.

In startling speed the creatures makes, its way to her who sought to take,

The life within, the purpose grim, to kill until filled to the brim.

Anger and fury courses through, it’s body, thick of muscle and sinew.

Swiping with claws razor sharp, it seeks the archer to rip apart.

But as she leaps down from her perch, the fell beast takes a stumbling lurch.

A sword sunk deep within the hide, by her companion to the side.

The two with blades bared glimmering straight, intend the beast to meet its fate.

Quivering now, its weakened frame, the beastly blood theirs now to claim,

As tribute for the blood they lost, yet never will it meet the cost.

And so with rage, their bearing cold, the two strike out a thousandfold.

From blow to blow the beast falls low, it’s life force spilt on grass below.

The creature only to death they send, as body slumps with a final rend.

A cowardly form before them lies, beneath the shadow of moonlit sky.

Their hunt complete, the journey done, the two walk on to await the sun.

52 Poems: Week 4 – Free Verse

Floating, flying, flicking, flipping,

Boxing, bodying, breaking, boosting,

Scoobering, skying, sprinting, scoring,

Cutting, catching, capping, clapping,

Heckling, hucking, hammering, ho-ing,

Laying, lasering, lofting, looking,

Pivoting, playing, positioning, passing,

Faking, forcing, fouling, firing,

Diving, d’ing, discussing, defending,

Zoning, zooming, zipping, zigging,

Poaching, pulling, puking, podding.

52 Poems: Week 3 – Sonnet

In watching the motion of a sunrise,

And feeling the gentle caressing breeze,

A thought occurs that leaves quite the surprise,

Amidst all the roaring waves on the seas.

Achievements of greatness satisfy,

But will last no longer than a moment.

When one thing is gained, success passes by,

Until goals reached once more bring enjoyment.

Through life we seek occasions of success,

The daily offerings of the present

Ignored while after triumphs we obsess;

Yet given us are treasures most pleasant.

In the day to day these we must employ,

The little things of life hold timeless joy.

Correndor: A Beginning

Hi there!

Welcome to Correndor, a WordPress for my writings. Here you’ll find short stories, novellas, poems, and other writings that I pen in my free time. Correndor is an effort to be disciplined in subject of writing, whether it’s projects such as 52 Poems, Here There Be Dragons, or even highlights from a Dungeons & Dragons campaign I’m working on. At the moment there will likely only be poems posted. I have two stories in the wings but they are taking quite a bit of time to finish and polish. When I feel like they are as complete as I can make them, I’ll publish them here!

About the name: Correndor was the first fictional setting that I wrote in creatively. I had never finished a story prior to creating the kingdom of Correndor. I find it fitting that another start, here on WordPress, should follow in it’s footsteps.

I hope you enjoy the posts!

Timothy