Four Fools Press: #poetry

Showing posts with label #poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

The screen swept clear on a gentle breeze.
Sapphire jewels burned peacefully in the sky,
I ran a hand through golden sheaves,
My lady would soon be drawing nigh.

Over ridge most rugged and ruined by time,
I rushed upon my silver horse to see,
Where stood my gallant lord in tender clime,
M’lord most surely stands waiting for me.

The hills bow low and dales give courtesy
All richly hemmed beneath heaven diademed
I look afar for greater star, full of expectancy,
For work is done and house is trimmed.

Many mile passes by on to another road,
The lanes rutted by many wayfaring carts
Borne down by a hundred heavy loads,
I race on toward the lover of my heart.

Clear the heavens be, above my open eyes,
Brightly shines the fields of unending gold
Where I wait to claim my dearest prize,
Oh, my lady I long to soon have and hold!

I come to you, beloved lord, come to you soon,
I wait for you, dearest darling, I wait in full moon,
I am here below silver starling, my glorious groom.
I am here, true to word, I am here, sweetest bloom.

Answer me this, my brothers, is she not the best?
Answer me this, my sisters, is he not most dear?
Surely, I can say with honest praise I’m blessed,
For under this sacred night my lady draws near.

***

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Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78

2-14-15 Writing Warm-up

6:14 AM

2-14-15 Writing Warm-up

#AmazonBestseller #ballad #Blankenship #Corey #folkmusic #MMWW #poetry #romance #valentines #valentinesday #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey mmww

Monday, January 19, 2015

1-19-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Adventure is out there! You should go!

Beyond all those fun places you know,

Out into the wily dark in deepest night,

Up into the eerie woods in dim light,

Under the seas with their hidden floors,

Through some old house's closed doors,

Adventure exists in every place you see,

One only needs an ample dose of curiosity!

Find a kooky friend to join your trip,

Give your rutted relationships a slip,

Forge deeper bonds in a novel land,

Take life and friendship by the hand,

Look at the challenges as a great gift,

Believe in adventure! Let your spirits lift!

How can your make today a sublime treat?

Where could you go that would be neat?

Who would you take on a journey today?

What games should you take with you to play?

When will you go and realize your dreams?

Why not dive into opportunity's streams?

Adventure is out there! You should know!

There are loads of places you could go,

So gather together a light, little pack,

Collect some snacks to add to your sack,

Together with friends your joy will be full,

When you join in the traveling life's school.

Yes, adventure is out there, why would you wait?!

Tackling the world of adventure is always great!

***

If you enjoyed today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest AMAZON BESTSELLING release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

Want More? Join the Four FOols Mailing list NOW!

Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78

1-19-15 Writing Warm-up

12:01 PM

1-19-15 Writing Warm-up

#adventure #Blankenship #Corey #MMWW #poetry #steampunk #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup adventure Blankenship Corey mmww poetry steampunk writing exercise writing warm-up

Saturday, January 17, 2015

1-17-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Seas lap with mournful kindness,
Draped about as a silvery necklace
Around the Land of the Loving Countess.  
The scent of sage, the runes of mages
Forbodes ill for the unraveling ages,
I glimpse a book rent of its pages.
 Sweetly come Her words afar off calling:
Return to the beginning ere the Ending,
So that in rest you will find rejoicing.
Scree jostled the fifteen feet down to the grassy hillock. A swath of green marsh and shimmering rivers danced in a coruscation of silver and emerald. Opposite of the two travelers’ perch lay a grand monolith. Little resided around the forlorn jut of fractured stone. Birds surveyed the broken crown of stone from high above, their cries lost to the ears of the wingless far below.

“Oh no...”

The surprise and sadness stung Cèrson’s heart.

“I’m sorry, Geneviève. How could I know…”

“Know? Know?! That everything would...that She would....oh, Cèrsi. Why did all of this have to happen to us here? Now? After we’ve come so far.”

Geneviève’s shoulders shook with anguish as her eyes poured out hot rivulets.

“The price for the portal key back into the Ethereal cost us everything. Everything...for nothing. We’re too late.”

“Gen, I do not think our venture to Her domain was for nothing. We are the first to see this world. To see Her. Perhaps this is what She wanted…”

“Wanted? How can you speak of my Mother like that! She’s gone! Gone. What is a world for the One who created you?”

The seasoned warrior placed a firm hand on his beloved’s shoulder. He knew the pain that spurred her rage.

“I think She knew what was coming, Gen. I may not be Her avatar, but I can see the wisdom of calling Her only daughter back to a safe place--a place She had prepared. I think...I think She knew the Closing would destroy Her.”

The beautiful shield-maiden turned and clasped her hands around his scarred face. Her eyes as piercing as midwinter scrutinized his soul.

“How can you believe such things? I am of Her, and I did not know. Did not see. Did not sense...How is it the outlander She hated perceives intent that Her daughter did not foresee?”

“Because we both love you.”

Cèrson took her hands and kissed them before placing them on his chest and drawing her close. The smell of lavender and evening always permeated her presence. He breathed deeply and let his adoration for this demi-goddess to wash over his rugged heart, even as he sought to stretch forth his own fierce and protective aura.

The Lady let his strength support her as her sorrow streamed down his heavy plate-mail. Long had been her mission as her Mother’s emissary to the realms. Longer since she had left this pocket dimension hidden amid the multiverse to adventure. This blunt soldier had stood by her and had even slain his own father, a titan, to protect her. Now, at the closing of all things, he joined her in fulfilling her Mother’s vision.

Return to the beginning ere the Ending, so that in rest you will find rejoicing.

“Cèrsi, why must all good things end?”

“Only to bring forth another, better beginning, dearest.”

She raised her eyes once more to study his brown eyes.

“We cannot leave. The Doors have sealed.”

“I know this in my heart as well,” Cèrson replied.

“Then, Mother has given us a gift,” she whispered.

“Yes, love.”

The warrior woman stepped back, taking her husband’s hand in her own.

“Let us go see what Mother may have hidden for us within this world...our world. Our home.”

***

If you enjoyed the poem in today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest AMAZON BESTSELLING release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

Want More? Join the Four FOols Mailing list NOW!

Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78

1-17-15 Writing Warm-up

7:20 AM

1-17-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #MMWW #Planescape #poetry #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey mmww Planescape writing exercise writing warm-up

Friday, January 16, 2015

1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Blood-cauldrons burning in angry flame
Heaped up agony, overflowing shame
Foul are the kindred hauled from hills
Vile are the Vil’hal who villagers kill!
Blessed Braddox, Breaker-of-Beast,
Slaved the Wicked to save the least!
Yes, Braddox Will-Snapper spared all
When he clapped Grond with iron maul.

 Grond had had enough.

The vermin race bound, used, and killed his people for sport. Vil’hal. тролль. Peikko. Gnomo. Troglodytarum. Tröll.* The tribal slurs' nuances mattered little; they all meant the same. Monster. Yet, who had cut off his hands and burned unbreakable cauldrons onto his limbs? Who had heated metal to glowing white and placed it upon his brow, the last thing Grond would ever see? Hatred was not innate to his kind. It had been cultivated. Grond fed its flame with each new grievance, and today it burned pure inside him. 

The villains had tortured and murdered his wife and his children.

The fiends had made him listen.

The quiet footsoldier in the High Lord’s Helborn Legion stood up in the pit he had been caged. He heard the dull clunk of forged metal rungs against their housing. He raised his ram-fists and struck his own ankles with blows that would flatten men and break troll bones. Agony, the taste of iron, and mud smashed into Grond’s mind. Pain nearly betrayed his plan, but his steeled will clamped back the anguish within him. He lay in his own blood for long spans. A sickly pop announced marrow rejoining bone. The warrior leaned against the wall, recovering from the grizzly ordeal. He took a ginger step and heard nothing beyond the plop of muck protesting his titanic paw.

Grond smiled as he had not in years.

Twenty men-at-arms hurled like flies in summer, shattered bone and broken mail tinkling on the stony ground. No guttural roar heralded Grond’s escape. He gave no alarm, no quarter, no hope. Ears keen by constant use picked man-breaths from horse-neighs, even as the stench of sweat and fear marked the cowards’ paths. The son of titans arose from his prison with judgment for the mortals who dared to chain him. Grond’s hammers shook the foundation of the hills and soon cries of dismay answered his blows.

Men scurried like smoke over stone to either escape or hamper the raging feral-troll. Like wheat before the scythe, smoke upon the wind, rows of men withered from his mammoth blows. Spears whistled, arrows howled, and Grond’s seasoned reflexes turned steel against steel. The thump of poisoned barbs against unflinching mail incited a chuckle from the living mountain. Weak lords these vermin had been. The flecks of their lifesblood hardly tarnished his mauls. The warrior forced the survivors into the wind and advanced.

A final chorus arose from the remnants. Grond understood his plan had succeeded. Standing upon a spire of rock, the victims and their victor loomed over the man-halls below. The giant could hear the bells and shouts down in the city. Grond raised his iron limb and smashed men and stone into dust. Another ironfist rose and fell. Another mortal and shale broke. At the last, Grond opened his mouth and released the pent-up rage of years of enslavement, torture, and murder. The timber of his warcry roared curses generations’ long and nine realms’ high. Man, beast, and mountain quailed at the voice of the trollkin’s hate. Hammer and shout pounded in a terrible crescendo, pouring forth slabs of stone upon the hidden vale. Death rained upon the halls of men with unrelenting speed. Silence followed the sickly echo of their screams amid the thunder of stones. The warrior’s wife and children’s smiling faces flickered within the haze of his mind’s eye. Whatever gods remained in Asgard had honored his cry for justice. The sacrifice upon the fire of the troll’s rage smelled sweet to his bitter heart. 

Grond had not yet had enough.

*Variants of Troll.

***

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Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78

1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

6:53 AM

1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #juggernaut #MMWW #Planescape #poetry #TheAfter #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey juggernaut mmww Planescape poetry The After writing exercise writing warm-up

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Four Fools Press is tremendously excited to announce that another of our releases has rocketed into the Amazon Top Ten on its initial release day! We're tremendously proud of Fool, Corey Blankenship, as well as top-notch Four Fools Team! Also, we're very happy to announce that Sketchbook of Scrivenings has already garnered its first Five Star Review!

Pick up your copy today!

However, we could not have done it without our awesome fans, friends, and followers out there - thank you all so much! Keep an eye out for our next release next month, and if you want the scoop on what's coming, join our Free Four FOols Mailing List now!

Oh, and here's the screenshot of the rankings!

Sketchbook of Scrivenings hits the Amazon Top Ten!

6:48 AM

Sketchbook of Scrivenings hits the Amazon Top Ten!

#AmazonBestseller #Blankenship #Corey #poetry Amazon Best Seller Blankenship Corey poetry

Monday, January 12, 2015

1-12-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Stone chipped and churned as semi-solid breakers, sawing amid the chaos of the sea. The air convulsed and roared. Still, my feet continued to climb in the deepening gloom, upon the shattered pinnacle that had once been fair Mount Athelas.

My body protested the arduous defiance of Nature, but even she reeled as water replaced moor and timeless rock unhinged from ancient roots. The land--and its very spirit-- fell about me in shambles. I could not let my spirit tear apart with the disintegrating realm.

“No, you old fool, you mustn’t give up now!”

Athelas’ humbled crown tumbled yards before my feet into the swirling ocean. Spume, mist, and smoke coiled in frenzied whorls. Leagues ahead lay the buckled ruins of beloved Gol-Mora. The pinnacled crown of our people, the spired city-temple of our race, the home of knowledge and peace for generations...now, in an instant, a tortured, sinking ruin. How many still lived?

My eyes fell to the sickly cauldron that bubbled with a molten light between Gol-Mora and Athelas. The gate which tore open the Wall that kept back the Sea and Spirits. The portal that had spat out the Beast of Ending, Drak’anthi. With a withered hand to rheumy throat, I called forth to the beast.

Be Gone, Demon! The time of Peace has ended, but the War has not. Beware the might of ancient Athelas.

Wings of ash, scales of obsidian, and fangs of fire danced in terrible laughter. The twin ranges of spines rippled as the Beast swiveled his mountainous head to face me. A voice as mirthless and ravenous as tar pits burning seared the air around me.

And what tick has fled the dung hill to prick my ears? The War, if a Slaughter can be called thus, was won ere it began for you, Vermin.

Flee, flea, if you can. That is the only mercy you shall have from me.

His words gnawed in caustic menace. I felt my will retreating from its violating touch. I do not know what rose to meet the venom of his malice; I simply felt a pure spring of peace surge from deep within me. This hidden well cleansed, brimmed, and overflowed. Then came joy unfathomable, as a vision of a fairer realm in a greater time flickered within me. Athelas upon a field of endless green, and a city unnamed and beautiful between her protective knees. I soared on an eagle’s course, higher, until I saw green Athelas as an emerald amid a dancing chorus of colors. The realms flickered, then burned with unfaltering life. The vision vanished and returned to soot, fire, spume, and stone, as I held the dragon’s gaze with my own.

A world unhinged is not a world unmade. The time of endings has not yet come!

Bez-dul-ali, Drak’anthi! Bez-dul-ali, Drak’anthi, perez Athelas Al’nun-ali.

Thus, began the battle of Unspoken Fathoms.

Dragon roared a thousand curses,

from harrowed hill to desolate deep.

Of slaying, skinning, scaling, wailing.

Thunder-splitting, endless hailing.

Fire’s eager burning, rent rock overturning.

While I proclaimed healing sooths,

Of hallowed grove, sacred truth,

Of growing, sowing, flowing, blowing,

Sun’s rising, stars shining.

Hearths warmed, hearts’ glowing.

Air stilled and moonbeams sprouted,

As ancient power dueled and spouted.

Daemon’s roar and meteor’s flight

Burned against the oily night,

While minute man on broken rock,

Answered holy truth to demon’s mock.

Of first song, forgotten story,

Creation’s spark, ancestral glory,

Of blackened days, darkened nights,

Rebellions blazed, failing lights,

Repentant tribes reconciling,

Reclaimers who ceased defiling,

Of vile rites stopped and broken,

Of peace as penance’s token.

Of the snapping of elder ills,

Of returning Spring and daffodils.

The world already rent and roiling, had at the dragon’s words hastened its decay. Darkness curled back toward blackest night, and chaos called forth to Void long-hidden. Shadows danced as the last song had bidden. The rheumy voice of sage came calling, and the end of all things of-a-sudden started stalling. In the midst of breaking, the world remembered its first waking. Of fresh-lit stars, new-formed seas. Of blinking voles and buzzing bees. Clean blew the air around Athelas, father of mountains and friend of glens.

The sea calmed and the rocks ceased to rend. Demon howled and pitched as struck by sacred dart, down into the dimming gyre. And with one last gleam in his feral look, the Beast struck me down with flaming rock. We fell into the deep, both to toss in eternal sleep. What came After who can tell, for the rest is written in another’s story.

***

If you enjoyed the poem in today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

Want More? Join the Four FOols Mailing list NOW!

Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78