Young Lions and Southern Pirates

Young Lions and Southern Pirates

  By Bonnie Mutchler

  Copyright 2014 by Bonnie Mutchler

  Cover design copyright Joleene Naylor 2014. All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

  Other poetry collections by Bonnie Mutchler:

  A Rose Upon Water https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/405051

  Blood on the Moon

  There was blood on the moon

  When he rose from the ranks

  Of the black hearted destined for hell;

  There wasn't a clue

  To his coming doom,

  Just the vision he now beheld.

  For she rose like a dove,

  All silver and pale,

  With her wings spread across the blue sky;

  His heart was inflamed

  As he whispered her name,

  And he vowed that for her he would die.

  He stood all alone

  On the bare plain of stone,

  His passion burned hot like a brand,

  But she cast him no glance

  From her wintry eyes,

  Nor did she acknowledge the man.

  In her blindness she glowed

  In the radiant light

  Of an immortal purity,

  But his eyes could not bear

  To behold such a soul,

  While his future lay cold and empty.

  In the depths of despair

  The barb shattered the air;

  The arrow plunged deep in her heart.

  She dropped from the sky

  Like a crushed butterfly,

  And his world ended there in the dark.

  For her light was displaced

  By anguish and fear,

  And remorse could not buy back her life.

  He lay in the void

  Of eternal damnation,

  Abandoned, forsaken, destroyed.

  Dalava

  The flowers still bloom and the wind still sighs

  But there's one less ray to light the skies,

  Though there's none of us who thought he'd die

  When he blew through the arc in November.

  He said he came from everywhere.

  If you named a place, why, he'd been there,

  And he'd talk about it, though we never cared

  To hear all the tales he remembered.

  Then one day he took the Aubrey sword

  And held it aloft against the lord,

  As we rode to the stronghold of Allangord;

  I think 'twas sometime in December.

  There was snow on the ground, I'm sure of that.

  We could see the whole field from where we sat;

  Like a frosted cake, it lay glimmering and flat

  ‘Til it tapered off down by the timber.

  They met with a crash and a roar of might

  As they fought through the day and on through night;

  By the sun's brilliant blaze, by the dim fire's light,

  Where there glowed in the dark a lost ember.

  Then he fell to the ground and there he died,

  And I wished then I'd listened to more of his lies.

  He was just an old fool, but an old fool who tried,

  And that's something I'll always remember.

  Fallon

  Fallon wore the robes of white,

  Her moment was at hand,

  When destiny came riding

  Like a gypsy o'er the sand.

  He sat there like a mountain,

  All wrapped in leather clothes,

  Then he flung her 'cross the saddle

  And like the wind they rode.

  Down valleys draped in velvet,

  O'er the dappled forest paths,

  Winding like a twisted river

  With not a backwards glance.

  Far from the ancient temple

  That demanded sacrifice,

  Far from the golden idol

  To whom she'd pledged her life.

  For he'd seen her in a moment

  With the blade pressed to her breast,

  The sunlight in her autumn hair,

  Making patterns on her dress;

  His heart beat ever quicker

  As he raced against the knife,

  Plowing through the startled Faithful,

  To save the maiden's life.

  He took her to his kingdom

  Where the grass grew tall and green;

  To the castle on the hill top

  Where he made Fallon his queen.

  Gideon

  "May all the winds of hell blow wild

  If Gideon escapes my wrath!"

  She panted as she stumbled, blind,

  Along the twisting weed-choked path.

  She topped the rocky crest at last;

  Perched perilous upon the peak

  And far into the town below

  They heard her shrill, unearthly shriek.

  "Fair Beelzebub and Satan's Hand,

  With all the power of Hector's ghost;

  Spirit of night and king of death,

  Bring forth your mighty spectral host!

  Into the dark I beg you, come,

  From moldy graves in which you sleep;

  Come all you fiends and Devil's kin

  Who dwell in places dank and deep!"

  Lightning split the shroud of night,

  The wind uprooted shrub and tree,

  And trembling earth belched fire and blood

  As it roared in primal ecstasy.

  Then from the shadows pale shapes rose

  To form behind in martial ranks;

  She led them in delighted spite,

  Dry bone's creak and sword blade's clank.

  Into the village nestled deep

  Marched the dreadful warrior band,

  Past bolted shutters, doors locked tight,

  O'er cobbled streets and roads of sand.

  Up to the steps of St. John's church,

  They paused, reluctant, 'til she urged

  Them on with sneers of fine disgust;

  On to the victim of her curse.

  Into the nave she proudly strode;

  The old priest stood at the altar,

  In his hand was the Holy Book,

  And Satan's servants faltered.

  She hissed his name, "Ah, Gideon!"

  Black ashes spewing from her mouth,

  While vipers danced among her hair

  And rats hung 'round her like a blouse.

  She gazed with hard and scornful eyes,

  But Gideon bravely stood.

  Enraged, she rushed and stumbling, fell

  Beneath the holy rood.

  The building trembled, doors flung wide,

  As an icy blast burst through the room.

  The chains snapped on the golden cross

  And sent it plunging through her womb.

  Darkness descended like a cloak

  As candles flickered, then went out.

  The howl of every soul once lost

  Roared from her blood-encrusted mouth.

  Then all was silent, black and calm,

  As Gideon relit the wax

  But naught was left of all the host,

  And naught disturbed by witch or blast.

  Heartsong

  Was there a time when I danced for you?

  Was long ago it seems,

  Lost somewhere in the red swirling mist

  Of old, forgotten dreams.

  Though I buried it and marked its grave

  Where passions lie at rest,r />
  Late at night, sometimes, I wander still

  Along the crooked paths.

  In the howling of the raging winds

  Against the barren stones,

  'Cross the shrouded moon, the black clouds fly,

  With melancholy moan.

  And I'm standing on the precipice,

  While somewhere down below

  Comes a crying from the darkest pit

  That echoes in my soul.

  Helgar At The Bridge

  Did Helgar falter at the bridge

  When fair Elias fell,

  The shaft protruding from the breast

  That manhood proudly swelled?

  When his last cry shrilly rose

  Did all of Gillan wail

  And stare in awe struck disbelief

  As death's black mantle fell?

  How could the promise of the West

  Lie broken in the sand,

  His golden hair all caked with mud,

  The sword still in his hand?

  Did Helgar pause for just a breath

  To watch the hero die,

  His heart a lump of agony,

  A mist upon his eye?

  There must have been a moment

  For then the horde broke through;

  They left not one man standing

  When across the field they flew.

  Mighty Gillan fell before them

  Like dust upon the wind;

  They left it a burnt off'ring

  To their coarse god, Saramend.

  Did all the blame on Helgar hang?

  Has hist'ry deemed it so?

  It matters not what man might think

  To Helgar's grieving soul.

  Eternally he sees the horde

  Strung out across the ridge

  And Helgar's ghost stands silent watch

  Alone upon the bridge.

  Her Highness

  She sat upon her little throne

  Commanding every sigh or moan

  Uttered in the palace.

  All lay beneath her watchful eye,

  That never blinked, nor slept, nor cried;

  That never offered solace.

  Regal was her silhouette;

  A profile one could not forget,

  Cold, but with appeal.

  Her every mood was marked by men;

  Her smile was bliss, her frown condemned,

  According to her will.

  And everyone her favor sought,

  With fawning words and presents bought,

  Still she gave them nothing.

  No gentle word escaped her lips

  Hard with contempt for the hypocrites;

  Her puppets on a string.

  Still, they danced her tune with hollow eyes

  While she mocked and teased and criticized

  And put them in their place.

  She could not dream the hatred hid

  Behind dark eyes and half closed lids.

  When at last she went to rest

  They laid her in her finest dress

  And hacked away her head.

  They mounted it upon a pike

  And celebrated through the night;

  The queen at last was dead.

  In Search Of the Petulant Stranger

  In search of the petulant stranger

  He walked through the drizzling dark,

  Though the feeling of imminent danger

  Hung around him white and stark.

  There was never a mumble or whisper

  Heard among that motley crew,

  For their eyes spoke well their feelings

  As the discontentment grew.

  Still he led them through the jungle,

  Through the bugs and through the heat,

  And he pushed them to exhaustion,

  While their swollen tongues and feet

  Moved eternally in silence,

  But they cursed him in their heads

  And each man swore in vengeance

  He would see the bastard dead.

  Still, they followed where he led them

  And there was no other sound,

  Just the hacking of the thick brush

  And their footsteps on the ground.

  From the promise of the idol

  Was like the Lorelei;

  Their greed was overpowering

  As they planned how he would die.

  And it wouldn't be too pretty,

  He would pay for each abuse.

  Still plans don't always work out

  When you're living on short fuse.

  Was about midday in April

  And the heat was getting worse

  When they flopped down by a river

  And began to quench their thirst.

  He shouted at them, "Move out!

  You're a worthless, lazy crew!"

  There were five men with machetes

  And they cut him right in two.

  Their anxious fingers fumbled

  Through the pockets of his clothes,

  And they argued 'bout the gin jar

  'Til they nearly came to blows.

  But Macky sat apart from them;

  He could read a little bit.

  Now he sorted through the papers

  That were in the dead man's kit.

  "Boys, I think we've got it made," he said,

  "For here's his maps and charts,

  And here's the diary he's kept

  To tell us where we are.

  I see no earthly reason

  Not to find it for ourselves.

  We'll all go back to riches

  While he's rottin' down in hell."

  He flipped the pages haughtily

  But his confidence soon slowed.

  "Why, I can't make heads ner tails o' this;

  The damn thing's writ in code!"

  They looked at him in disbelief;

  He flung the diary down.

  He lit himself a cigarette

  And sat upon the ground.

  "There's nothing we can do now, boys

  But head back down the path.

  We'll say the natives got him

  If we ever do get back."

  Bill Aidie was the first to speak,

  "Don't give us none o' that.

  You read right where the treasure is

  And you're plannin' to come back!"

  Macky shook his head, "You fool!

  What makes you think I'd lie?

  I'd like to have that treasure, man,

  But I'd rather be alive.

  They sat there for the afternoon,

  Half ate by gnats and flies,

  Their bellies full of rot-gut gin,

  Suspicion in their eyes.

  About midnight the drunkest one

  Faced old Macky down,

  All the others jumped right in

  And pinned him to the ground.

  "Now you admit you lied!" They screamed,

  "Or we'll leave you where you lay,

  All cut in tiny ribbons."

  Macky's face turned sickly grey.

  "All right! All right!" He shouted,

  "Let the jungle be your graves!"

  They started out next morning

  Heading south for many days.

  Soon the silence became deafening

  And Macky read their thoughts.

  They were like a band of crazy men

  Who only walked and watched.

  Was two weeks to the morning

  When they stumbled on the path;

  They saw the white skull grinning

  As it welcomed them all back.

  Like fiends the mad-men went berserk

  And chopped old Macky down.

  Then they all agreed to find the path

  And head back to the town.

  But they couldn't find it anywhere,

  It was lost 'mid shrub and vine,

  And the damn skull kept a-grinnin'

  Sending shivers up th
eir spines.

  At last Bill's nerve was broken

  So he shouted, "Here's they way!"

  But he knew it wasn't really

  And he wished that he could pray.

  Was near dark when they started,

  And near dark the next day,

  When they came back to the clearing

  Where the white skull lay in wait.

  They moaned and cried out loudly

  As to the ground they fell,

  For they knew that they were doomed men

  Who were marching straight through hell.

  Still, they couldn't stay, they had to try

  To find the way back home.

  Besides they couldn't bear the grin

  Upon that face of bone.

  No matter which direction, though,

  The ending was the same;

  The clearing yawned before them

  With that loathsome, stinking thing

  Ever waiting, ever watching,

  Ever grinning at their fate,

  It's hollowed eyes a-burning

  With the passion of its hate.

  Is It Any Wonder

  Is it any wonder that the fairies are in flight?

  That the dwarves stay hidden deep within their caves?

  All the knight with armor ringing boldly like a bell

  Have passed the long dark roads to moldy graves.

  Is there any doubt the elves hide, trembling in the mists,

  While the damp fog swirls around the rotting trees?

  Dragons are all gone, like the ancient martial songs

  That once echoed o'er the hills and down the valleys.

  The kingdoms all have fell and the kings have gone to hell,

  With their drums still proudly banging on the breeze.

  But the world that man has wrought hasn't really changed a lot,

  They slaughter beauty, but they save the cruelty.

  Miss Molly

  The kiss of spring's on the tulips

  And sunshine's in the breeze.

  Miss Molly sat down in the forest to rest

  Beneath the great black trees.

  There wasn't a soul to see her,

  There was no one around,

  As she tossed aside her heavy dress

  And donned the gauzy gown.

  She laced the ribbons on her shoes,

  Silver as the mist,

  And rising on her toes she danced,

  With a sway, a whirl, a twist.

  Around the mighty oaks and elms

  She twirled all through the day,

  And all the woodland creatures watched,

  Stopping at their play.

  But as the dusk came creeping in,

  Sunlight growing thin,

  Miss Molly gathered up her dress

  And went back home again.

  Nobody

  The wound may heal, the scar disguise,

  But there's always a fragment in the eyes.

  Don't talk about it, it hurts too much,

  'Cause nobody walks away untouched.

  Nobody walks away unmoved;

  Nobody's soul can stay unbruised;

  Nobody fights for an honest cause

  Without losing hide and growing claws.

  Nobody ever stayed innocent

  Who really believed and wanted to win.

  Southern Pirates

  Southern pirates are the things that dreams are made of.

  When the world is black and cold I hold on tight

  To the thoughts that ever weave their way around me,

  As I love my southern pirate in the night.