Udulo's Wars 1 - Udulo's Rise Stanzas 9-10 - Day 26 by Adam White, Poet

His life was then set swiftly on a path unknown.
Whisked away by soldiers to a strange and greying place,
Where, like all younger orphans in these dark and trying times,
His days were bent now all towards the mighty craft of war.
The boy excelled and grew to be strong and broad and tall.
He also grew in to a furious lad, that no other could fell.
His temper often flailed about, rampant and unchecked
But rarely he acknowledged the loss that he raged for.
Ten years. Ten years had passed and on his proving day,
His day of birth as well as far as any other knew
He broke in single combat the quartermaster's blade,
Knocked his elder down and, graceless, beat on his own chest.
It was thus his fate was sealed and he was made a front line grunt,
Too impatient, too untrustworthy for any other work.
This suited Udulo just fine and at last he had his way,
He'd have his vengeance or die trying in his long and violent quest.

This led him to the eleven souls that sat around him then.
They had warred as one two times before and never lost a man.
As expert as soldiers could be, they knew each other's ways,
And his rage was made a weapon that his brothers knew to use.
They'd smashed a fort at Ebon Reach, which traitors made a home
And decimated Varrisport, a city lost to plague,
Confident, he cleaned his arms, so blind to things to come,
He never thought upon all the things he had to lose.
Ten years. Ten years since and he was galvanised,
Hardened and embittered at eighteen years of age.
His eyes were mirrored glass that made his foes consider well,
Inside their final seconds the great extent of all their sin.
Such relish he would find inside the coming hours kills,
For every body smashed would bear the face of his great foe.
Every scrap of Udulo's strong will was bent now to the day,
That he could crush Morrovore's throat until his monster's eyes would dim.

Follow me on Twitter @adamwhitepoet

Tanka - Break My Nose by Adam White, poet

The ground is icy,
Dangerous, I fall face first
And I break my nose.
The world filled with treachery,
Wherever good people go.

If you're interested, I'm currently posting the first 20 stanzas from part one of my epic poem. Stanzas 1-8 have been posted yesterday and today. Check out stanzas 9-12 tomorrow and 4 more on both Sunday and Monday. Click on the Udulo's Rise tab above and get reading :D
Follow me on Twitter @adamwhitepoet

55 Flash Fiction Friday - Blood and Bandages by Adam White, poet

"Blood and bandages" he'd said. "Should never wear red and white if there's a risk involved. Blood and bandages."
I'd ignored him, as I was prone to do and got on the plane in my handmade England flag. Can't help thinkin' I'm responsible for all these peoples lives now. Why's my dad always gotta be right?

If you're interested, I'm currently posting the first 20 stanzas from part one of my epic poem. Stanzas 1-8 have been posted yesterday and today. Check out stanzas 9-12 tomorrow and 4 more on both Sunday and Monday. Click on the Udulo's Rise tab above and get reading :D

What If? by Adam White, poet

What if nobody looks? What if they do?
What if nobody likes the words that I use.
What if others are better, or I can't relate?
What if I'm doomed to fail and I'll never be great?
What if my words have impact on nothing but me?
What if I die and my poems fall in to the sea?
What if I didn't share anything? What if I hid?
What if I climbed in to a box and pulled down the lid?
What if I did that myself, grabbed years worth of work,
Put it into a crate and filled it with dirt,
Took it up to a cliff overhanging the void
And hauled it on out to be wrecked and destroyed?
Would anyone care? I like to think so.
I'd like to think some one would notice and know.
I suppose I'm conceited. Maybe I'm shit.
Oh my word, what if somebody notices it?

If you're interested, I'm currently posting the first 20 stanzas from part one of my epic poem. Stanzas 1-8 have been posted yesterday and today. Check out stanzas 9-12 tomorrow and 4 more on both Sunday and Monday. Click on the Udulo's Rise tab above and get reading :D

Posted for Friday Poetically on www.onestoppoetry.com

Udulo's Wars 1 - Udulo's Rise Stanzas 5-8 - Day 25 by Adam White, poet

Blue and beautiful, the open air reigns above
Green grass, covering vast vistas of howling winds,
Interspersed with great grey cities to house the brave,
Those travellers who chose new life among the stars.
With grand investment, the human race rode out
To settle worlds and start a better life anew,
With peaceful intent and a greater kind of heart
Than we have ever had for this sorry world of ours.
But no, their naive dream was doomed to fail,
And Apollo, like many worlds, stands divided now,
The ground torn up in chunks of smouldering sod,
The building just a maze of ruined concrete walls.
No remains but for the settlers weeping souls,
Hounded in to hiding by the traitors chattering guns,
Borne at the shoulders of Apollo's fallen kings,
Her soldiers corrupted by the hands of Morrovore.

But these short-sighted fools, in their hastened greed,
Were not the only men to hear her cries,
And so, in droves and crashing through her skies
Came the silver ships of good and righteous men.
Blazing with the holy fire of golden suns,
They raced toward Apollo's scarred and broken skin,
Like regal birds that soar through aquamarine skies,
Flying far to rescue their lost children found again.
Aboard one of these craft and lit by soft green light
Sat eleven heroes, ready to lay down,
And in the name of goodness fade and die
To protect the ideals man should represent.
Great honour, goodness and bravery sat among them,
And fear too, for no good heart would fail to quake
In the face of such terrible and unfair odds,
That they faced at the end of this, their great descent.

Their names, for many of them all that does remain,
Were known as follows, Lycus young and blunt,
The brothers twinned, Aeron and Acheron,
Mayala, silent, plain and beautiful,
Jonah, strong of heart, Gantz, a hardy soul
And Homer, the poet of them all.
Cezar of the strongest temperament,
He was their leader, solid as a wall.
Their sniper, Marcus, quiet in his ways,
Sat by his friends, the jokers, Rad and Craig.
Among these heroes sat their twelfth and true,
His name is Udulo, the only one
Among these heroes who's motive isn't clear.
Less humble duty or a sense of pride
Than a rage that's lived inside for many years
He'd wished revenge to be delivered, done.

Our Udulo, was once much his father's son,
Talented were his hands when working wood,
They lived at the frontier and carved a life,
With his mother there beside them, giving her love,
But this was not the life that fickle Time had touched,
This life was terminated by her petty hands,
As Morrovore, when Udulo was eight, did fall upon,
Their village, and cauterise Time's wound with flamed wreathed gloves.
Among the chaos, the child hid beneath his parents bed
And heard and witnessed his father's cruel demise,
While fighting against so many worthy foes
While his mother raped and broken and then finally dead.
Poor Udulo, his world on fire, dragged their bodies clear
And huddled to their cooling flesh for many days,
Unsleeping, unmoving until long absent rescue came
To harshly tear him from any life he may have lead.

Udulo's Wars 1 - Udulo's Rise Stanzas 1-4 - Day 24

Over the next 5 days, I will be posting Stanzas 1-20 of my epic poem Udulo's Wars. This will compose around one quarter of part 1, known as Udulo's Rise. I hope you enjoy reading it as I have enjoyed writing it. This part may be familiar to my earlier readers, but from here on out it's all surprises. 

Time. Time is a fickle beast who would see us fall

And laugh again like she laughed at our fathers passed.

Her hand does pluck the strings of everything we do

And she is not alone in her cruel, meddling ways.

Through emotion and our own wanton selfish acts

We cut a path through life that has only one end,

Invisible to all save our own mortal grace,

Inspired by the web weaved through all our waking days.

Many walk on, undaunted by this final truth

Until the telling is told by their aching bones

And, weary, they lay down to take their final rest

Terrified of all they ignored until too late.

But this is not the road for every living man.

Some hesitate to walk at all, ever in fear,

Where others, undaunted, sprint for the finish line,

And precious few choose eternity over fate.

What follows is the story of a man who did

And the trials on his quest for most eternal life,

The blood he spilled in the name of selfish desire

And of a warrior who would oppose him so.

But not always were these two men destined for this

And like all things there story has a humble start

Of soldiers singing songs of glory great,

Before diving in to disaster down below.

But wait. Before we even come to talk of this,

Let us speak again most fondly of our mistress, Time.

Her nails tapping loudly on her looking glass

As she, unentertained, so wearily looks on.

Upon it's mirrored surface, these two men stand tall,

Of different times and different motives, ways and thoughts,

Who, by her grace alone, could be remade as gods

And see all of their petty, mortal concerns gone.

On one side, large, powerful and feline, he stood

Firm of feature and clearly too of iron will.

Handsome and Adonis-like with his rusted skin.

His name is Morrovore and he wears passion's guise.

Here, he works the fields as Mistress Time looks on,

Before dipping her finger in the polished glass,

And stirring up his lifetime to please herself the more

Making him a soldier, wars fires in his eyes.

The other man, a carpenter before this change

Would carve beautiful works of artistry in wood

Was changed as the ripples of fate washed over him

Erasing everything poor Udulo would be.

In his place lay a child near a broken home

Tears streaming down his distraught and disheartened face

Before Mistress Time waved the sorry boy away,

Deeming the soldier's tale more interesting to see.

The years of Morrovore's reign lost to us all.

Only tales of his strength and cruelty remain

To remind us of his most dark and heinous fall,

From legend to terror in the space of ten short years.

His most meteoric rise to head of state,

Then tainted by betrayal of the common good,

Mankind's spread across the bright and distant stars

Arrested as his greed for power became clear

He was opposed and cast down by more loyal men

But he escaped with many shamed and loyal kin,

Each the equal of any great warrior then

Fated to become murderers, every one of them.

These Void Ravens, pirates and villains to a fault

Wealthier, more savage than you'd care to imagine.

It is in this state that our story finds it start,

And on the world Apollo, war torn skies open.

The News - Day 23

By as simple a thing as a bead of sweat on your forehead,
I am drawn to you, arms open,
Unforgiving in my own way,
Leaving the most bitter word unsaid.

It is a small wonder that the tree bends the way that it does,
Crooked backed, arms outstretched for them,
Reaching for a sign of brightest day,
Giving the reason "just because..."

I close the lids of my eyes and recline in my manly glory,
Coveted, tended to, indulged,
By silken hands, marked with white paint,
Ejaculated by the free.

We are truly, as one, the great society, are we not?
Our whims fulfilled, our pockets bulge,
Able to spill blood or oil with no taint
On our ever increasing lot.

Quest - Day 22

There it goes, tumbling end over end.
The stone makes it's way down the mountainside,
Onwards, onwards, in to the great divide,
Onwards, onwards, through fate's merry bends.

There it goes, tumbling, lonely and grey,
Plummeting downwards down in to the dark,
Onwards, onwards, in a descending arch,
Onwards, onwards, from the light of the day.

There it goes, tumbling in to the sea,
Carries on deeper down in the abyss,
Onwards, onwards, where the sun won't be missed,
Onwards, onwards, where there's nothing to see.

There it goes, tumbling, coming to rest,
So far from the world down here in the black.
Lonely, lonely, wanting so to go back,
Lonely, lonely, at the end of it's quest.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday on http://www.onestoppoetry.com

A Haiku - Watercolour Mouse - Day 21

A cold winter scene
I so lovingly painted
Of a mouse, for her.

Four Souls - Zero - Day 20

Unflinching, unmoving unlife,
He's an image of failing God
Encased in skin of purest white
Splattered liberally with dirt and sod.

What is his name?

Deep black runnels mark his flesh,
Where rainwater nightly flows
Over him. What sorrow? What a mess
He's made of himself. Who knows?

What is his name?

He stands and stands and stands,
Statuesque, static and morose.
No reaction to the world's demands,
Unaware of the speed at which time goes.

Beautiful - Day 19

The paint flakes from the walls.
All that is bright and steel does rust.
The ceiling and the roof do fall.
All that lives becomes as dust.
But not you. Not you and never you,
Remaining vivid, vibrant in my world,
Kissing chaos with lips of truth
And smiling through hair cascading, curled.
You're perfect. You're beautiful and sweet,
Scented softly of jasmine and burning oil.
You send my difficult world in to retreat,
Covering my wounds with sand, then soil,
Then planting pretty things in the earth of me,
Knowing that with time and tender care they'd grow,
In to something better than I used to me,
As beautiful outside as I can be below.

Senryu - War God - Day 18

I am the War God,

My eyes burn your weakness out.

My fist is your doom.

Howl - Day 17

The hour approaches at such a pace.

 I suppose it always does. It fuels me.

A tiny giggle hides behind my face.

 The full moon is rising incessantly.

I howl. Not quite a howl. I'm broken voiced,

 Like a teenager in pubescent throes.

It comes out at a variable pitch,

 Unlyrical, entirely uncomposed.

The wolf comes, bares his teeth so I can see.

 I imagine his brutal will is done.

Another night where I'm anything but me.

 It is craven, animal. It is fun.

Her skin is soft. Pale and delicious,

 I devour her entirely. Such sweet flesh.

I plunge my maw in to her tenderness,

 Tear it all out and reduce her to less.

So that she can be less than even me.

 Another month questioning my own will.

He comes, bares his teeth so only I can see,

 We will howl together until we take our fill

Senryu from the Alien Hive #3 - Day 16

Silent corridors,

Dust motes in my rifle torch.

Just a case of time.

It's always like this,

A calm before a great storm,

A typhoon of claws.

A distant scraping,

The clacking of bone talons

On tight, steel gantries.

Just a case of time.

I remember yesterday

And the day before.

My comrades faces,

Frozen in rictus horror

Or slashed to ribbons.

The sound comes closer,

I raise my rifle up now,

Just a case of time.

The first bark of fire.

The echoing halls make lies

Of how close they are.

I might die today

If not, surely tomorrow,

Or maybe the next.

Just a case of time.

My rifle torch finds chitin,

A flash of purple.

I squeeze the trigger.

The alien blown apart,

The first of many.

Screaming, ours and theirs,

For different reasons of course.

Ours at the horror.

Their cries are baser,

The thrill of the hunt, the chase,

The great, bloody kill.

It's over at last.

The closest is feet away.

Just a case of time. 

No Cease

There is no enjoyment.
I turn the hourglass,
Sand pours and the minutes pass,
There is no enjoyment.

There is no relief.
Every quiet tick
Is filled with voices dark and thick.
There is no relief.

There is no silence.
There is no release.
Only agony,
Only torment,
Only me and my grief.

There is no platitude.
Heard it all before,
No common words I can live for,
There is no platitude.

There is no cease,
Only the passing season,
That drifts onwards never to be done
A bitter winter six months long
With no sign of being gone.
There is no cease.
No warm April shower
No grateful March thaw
Just me and the hour,
Watching the sand pour.
There is no cease.
There is no release.
There is no relief
And nothing to live for.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday on One Stop Poetry

Youth - Day 14

Shoulder to shoulder we would walk, kick cans, climb trees, insult and talk,
But time does change all things, take you away, dissolve the chains that tie,
Leaves us to drift slowly apart, not caring for our youthful hearts
That bleed and feel in fits and starts. Why must we hide our stealthy sighs,
Alone in our rooms unchanging, where we can sound our solemn cries,
For all things, even youth, must die.

Senryu - Window - Day 13

You frame the whole world

Better a window than door

What are you good for?

Sleepless - Day 12

I'm sleepless another night

You talk, I try not to listen,

Sitting at the end of my bed

Whispering your cruelty in my head

'Til inward creeps some crack of light

And morning breaks so bright.

I'm sleepless another day,

You talk, I try not to listen

But you follow my every step,

Explaining your torment in some depth

'Til I somehow find some tiny way

To block you out and break away.

Then I'm sleepless another night,

You talk, I cry and try not to listen,

Sitting pretty at the end of my bed,

All frail and pale and looking so dead

'Til, guilty, I collapse under the weight of my plight,

Needing but not wanting you out of my sight.

Tenderness - Day 11

My comfort comes late in the night
When your lips likely press
Against my cheek or aching arms
And show such tenderness.

My Blue - Day 10

 My blue,

It leaks and pools,

Slowly spreading over

Every inch of my papery

Wet skin.

Haiku - Trippage - Day 9

The crisp snow trips me,

Such depth, such variety.

It's always the way.

Breakdown - Day 8

It's the way that tiny worm grinds it's teeth
On the rocks that, unchanging, form your brain
A nibble, then a bite, then some chewing.
And just like that I'm breaking down again.

The frequent repeating a devourer,
My hands raise to my face for self comfort
But become glued there by thick claggy tears,
All matched with the decreasing in my gut.

Slender fingers would draw my palms away,
Were they stronger or like some medicine,
But the overt signs recede with no trace
My mask reset, I am perfect even.

Still, my innards remain a broken mess
My self opinion all ragged and torn,
So for the hundredth I tell myself
It is darkest always before the dawn.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at http://www.onestoppoetry.com

Ballad - Sliding Down - Day 7

He was no man of means at all,

A farmer's son and good,

But meddling hands came all dressed as

A woman in a hood.

She said she had no name to give

And told him of his fate,

Should he go off to war and fight,

His name would soon be great.

The farmer's son thought long on this,

He was a gentle soul.

This harvest year was weak again

And was taking it's toll.

His family were hungry, poor,

His mother taken ill,

His father was a stubborn man

And of a foolish will.

For this his son did go away,

To fight in pastures new,

And before long he rose above

To ranks held by so few.

Known as a hero, Morrovore,

From such a humbling stock,

Most people soon came to see him

Like he was carved of rock.

So idolised, he changed inside,

Became unmodest, cruel,

A leader of others his ilk,

A calculating fool.

He lead these men against his own

The war a fight to mark,

But Morrovore was beaten back

And fled in to the dark.

It's here he met the hood again,

That woman cowled in black,

She promised him the means by which

He'd get his power back.

Agreed he did and signed in blood,

She smiled and pressed her hand

Onto his head all slick with mud

And pushed him to the sand.

A pain then wracked his body whole,

His muscles ripped and tore,

His bones reshaped, his blood did burn,

Changed wholly to his core.

He stood no longer just a man,

Now tall and dark and thin,

With wings of black and gore red eyes,

A demon made to win. 

Colour Coding Problems Day 6.2

In a stumbling dream I once did trip over your mind (sorry)

And saw for a brief second through your flickering bright eyes

That for you the maize is never beige, but more a plum instead

And the yellow light that issues forth is actually a red,

That the wood that paints our stinking barn a grim and nasty grey,

To you is blue and neonish, all beautiful and gay.

It gives off a vile greenish light that I can not describe

As anything but unnerving, both sickly and alive

In a stumbling dream I once did trip over you mind

And at last knew why your taste in decor is so bloody shite.

Posted for One Shoot Sunday on http://www.onestoppoetry.com

Four Souls - Lionheart Day 6.1

You roar

And it's a lie.

Nothing but air and spit,

A mocking shout of a bellow,

That's it.

And you call yourself Lionheart,

Lionheart of all things!

You're more coward

Than king,

Running away

From life, just as you do,

Feigning bravery with a face

Brand new.

You don't get away from us though,

You're under that thick mane,

That sandy skin,

That name.

Lionheart. Ha!

You're further dividing,

Splitting into broken pieces

Of sin.

Triolet - Frozen Eden - Day 5

In paradise, I live for you
In Eden made of bitter chill;
I find it forges me anew,
In paradise, I live for you,
My life turned cold and frozen through
Persisting on through force of will,
In paradise I live for you
In Eden made of bitter chill.

Sonnet - Wordsinger Day 4

Your eyes may spell out words that I can't hear
 With letters formed of glass and hearts that race,
 Yet all I wish for is to feel the grace,
A passing glance to lift my deepest fears.
No writing of mine to your heart endears
 My crooked form, my scarred and malformed face.
 No boon will come to end this sorry chase.
Too good for me. Too good for what lies here.
With pretty words you send me on my way.
 What resolution can I take from this?
  My heart is left a bleeding broken mess.
No sunlight shines upon my heavy day,
 Still, you reside inside a heady bliss,

  While I do more and feel like even less. 

Seeing things 1 - Day 3

The car rests on great blocks,
Made of fat, human heads.
I wonder if there is something in that,
And sincerely hope not.

The War in a Fantasy - Poem a Day for February - Day 2

The golden fingered Autumn wind
Plays havoc with the joyful Spring,
And weary Summer's waxy leaves
Do fall and fade and break beneath
The bitter Winter's frosty heels,
Whose blades are brutal, bright as steel
And sharp as glass to slide between
The ribs of Gods all dressed in green.

"Wet Hair" and an announcement

Announcement! - I've decided that, following my move, I haven't been writing enough. As such, I will be writing a poem a day for the month of February. Today is the 1st so here is poem #1. Enjoy!

Heavy, it slaps down as you rest your head

And touches me, triggers a memory,

Then I'm gone.

The moment doesn't pass for a few days.

I ache, stare at the ceiling, ever awake

Just for once.

The fur. The thick clot of it. Pleading eyes.

Not understanding, always demanding

To know why.

The choice was mine and mine alone to make.

Innocent? Naive? No excuse to take

Any life.

Heavy, it slaps down as you rest your head,

An unavoidable pain I must take

With a grin.

Wet hair spilling out like blood on our bed,

Orange stained fingers coloured by the past,

By my sin.

The softness. The scent of a week outside.

The years rolling on English garden grass

Gone away.

Both me and this poor little animal

Lose our lives, but we're not equal victims

Of that day.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday on One Stop Poetry