"Winged guardian, levy us up!"
Kaos jumped off of the short stump he was standing on and promptly fell on his face.
Mazar, who had been watching from a safe distance with their friend Shiren, shook her head.
"I told you," she said, "you need pixie dust to make that spell work."
Kaos grumbled and stood up, brushing off the dirt and glaring at Mazar.
She laughed a little and said, "Good thing you don't know the 'staring daggers' spell."
Shiren scrunched up her face, "Is there such a thing?"
Mazar laughed, "Gods no! I was kidding."
The girls approached Kaos and Mazar asked, "We could help you search in the l
It was a dark and stormy night as I sat in front of my typewriter. With little effort I wrote my thoughts....transcribed my thoughts...I pronounced...no..deciphered my....
In disgust I tore the page out of my typewriter and tossed it to the floor.
Of course, prior to tossing it down, I very purposefully crumpled and mashed it into a small ball to show just how angry I was.
My swollen eyes nearly teared at the idea that, for an hour, I had been fruitlessly trying to write anything of substance. The closest I had gotten to an interesting beginning was a bit about rabbits' lifetimes mirroring our own. That, however, was prompt
The Power of Web Sight by JohnnyCurcio, literature
The Power of Web Sight
Adamastor and Sebastian were twins, sons born of the Spider King.
Their existence marked a new era for the old empire of shadow.
Despite its intimidating name, these lands were full of shaded trees.
The lush greenery was populated by subjects of the Spider
and all were peaceful until the arrival of exploring wizards.
The magical creatures' power was a force wizards found enticing
and they invaded en masse for trite reasons both petty and shallow.
Adamastor tried negotiation, the wizards ignored his pleas,
Sebastian called for war for he had always been a violent fighter.
The Spider Kingdom was no match for the supernatural blizzards
I've broken my funny bone,
the most humerus, while a
jester's jape gestates in my
joke uterus. In time the gist
of the jest begets some gut
busting. Busts heave, bellow
and cogs turn despite some
rusting. The cogs grind their
teeth and refuse to keep
working. Then all is smoothed
over by greasy palms. In the
dark recesses where shadows
stay lurking; a lone soul, full,
Red Drum of the Blood Hunter by JohnnyCurcio, literature
Red Drum of the Blood Hunter
Somewhere upon the soils of combat, stained by the entrails violently freed,
stood a figure of jagged contours outlined by armor comprised of blade.
Insatiable in sanguine hunger and more than happy to feed the need,
she skewers her opponents gleeful and eats of supper morals forbade.
Fibrous gore have clothed her body in a grisly costume, atrocious.
The sound of her voice is replaced by guttural groans befitting a beast.
Primal hardships have hidden the child who once wandered in play precocious,
forcing her to survive by way of murderous gorging at a grim feast.
Where the innocence once existed, now only sounds of battle
Through time, and tied to earthly seasons,
I have set my bed for the last time.
I give no sermons based on reasons
and confess to no one every crime.
I sleep and recall the kindly surprise
of morning sunlight's streaks crashing in.
Here, on the eve of my calm demise,
dark overcomes me at last again.
Arise will I, from my confined flesh,
my soul alights and burns to sever.
Ascend now towards the resplendence, fresh
immortal coil...I live forever.
I'mpassion and I'mpassive by JohnnyCurcio, literature
I'mpassion and I'mpassive
I am impassive, a wall that no one can break,
but inside I've made a most regretful mistake.
Stuck in a suit of fallible flesh,
marrow and sinew entwined in a mesh,
and buried deep down in the depths of me
is a burning storm of impassioned energy.
Much like lightning, electrical pulses, ignites
my blood stream like oil, it lights and excites.
Burning now like a mass of brilliant beacons,
soldiers shrink back at the sight of my legions.
Inside I'm passion and fire and battle...
outside I'm passive, the kindred to cattle.
In spire old and young at once,
concurrently here and gone,
standing reflective near glass
mirroring, on surface long,
my face engrossed in thinking,
fights my melancholy.
In a tempest of brainstorming
both private and squally
I churn inside, with whirlpools
of emotional distress,
and let the roiling waters'
pressure on my blade compress.
Now my points, honed and sharpened,
emerge like cliffs from the sea
quenching the molten slag that
burns inside invisibly.
Tamalynd sought council from Kruna, that she might possess answers from the hidden spirit world and wisdom unknown. Kruna kept himself isolated near the pools of Sess. She would walk a full day before arriving at his home. He was brother to a tribal chief akin to her own, and some rumors persisted questioning if he was sane. Kruna's wisdom was vast and he preferred to be alone, investigating answers concerning life granting rain. Tamalynd entered Kruna's sparse burlap tent cautiously, unsure of how the reclusive bone shaman would react. Against all assumptions, he welcomed her in raucously. Kruna listened to her aspiration with focus rapt. The shaman consulted his collection of withered bones and conjured the knowledge of past shamans and tribal chiefs. His evidence was found lacking, eliciting from her groans, and in frustration Tamalynd stared at a gold relief. The panel was Kruna's single piece of decoration. Six figures stood under the ancient sigils of each tribe. They
On This Dark Summit Sits the Queen by JohnnyCurcio, literature
On This Dark Summit Sits the Queen
There exists worlds beyond our own, home to beings not unlike ours. Inside dark forests overgrown, where a man of conscience cowers, rests beasts of every varied ilk and wanders every vagabond. Sons, set, drink deeply mother's milk surrounded by floral sites spawned. From the center of existence, jutting up from the Normal Sea, a dark summit of some distance stabs far upward accusingly. Stained by dark webs of crude cut gore, and promoting the thoughts of men, the peaks reflect forgotten lore until it is recalled again. Sitting complacent and quiet, in unmoving circles of thought, are those against lively riot who quell the righteous fight you've fought. They abhor the chaotic din of free thinking and expression. They invoke the right of censorship and employ potent suppression. There once came small rabble-rousers who in turn followed a lost child. They chuckled at their torn trousers and found her trembling threats mild. Her earnest resolve was misjudged to how far she would
My sorrow became And black was its existence Manifesting rose Tears of happiness Purity revives my heart A white rose blossoms My left hand outstretched Shadows dance within the smoke Comfort in moonlight Open my right hand Bathed in sunlight and ardor Innocence returns
Spring, Upwards, into the Air by JohnnyCurcio, literature
Spring, Upwards, into the Air
From the vault, into the air, earth's germination supplants, so too, 'sup plants, with insects over bodies of water. Swallow, swallow, and migrate on the magnetic signal. Signal the welcoming tide. May time be outside our door. Leap, frog, over infant trees and then, as I land hopping, devour fertile insects land. From this we earn mettle springs.
The Golden King's throne Centered inside the earth's void Source of gravity His form is brilliant Invisible to mankind Creator dragon Dark King of winter On a black throne in the North Water and icefall Nightly appearance His form is mysterious Tenebrous dragon Crimson throne of flame Southern King of desert lands Master of summer Fiery temper Burning impassioned embrace Perfervid dragon Throne of emerald Entwined with lively branches East King of spring Nurturing nature Guardian of the gateways Chthonic dragon Throne of polished steel Set in the West forest lands Harvest nutriment Bringer of rebirth Sower of new beginnings Dragon of autumn