Poem A Day: Wyvernswift Gnomes—Gnomish Drinking song

Ganymede and his mount,
Tore the witch from the sky,
And dropped her on the stones.
Thunderhaven shall stand free,
Not bend on its knee.
Tyrosis must run home.

Good gnomes, one and all,
The throne has its king.
Good gnomes, bards and guards,
Always standing free.

The war has gone,
Not all survived,
The wyverns are in the skies.
With ruin and shame,
Our lands have been maimed.
It is ours to heal.

Good gnomes, one and all,
The throne has its king.
Good gnomes, bards and guards,
Always standing free.

The price has been paid,
Empty the Mithril Throne,
Till a new king is crowned.
Pay heed Ganymede,
Vaqqed the king,
They rule eternity.

Good gnomes, one and all,
The throne has its king.
Good gnomes, bards and guards,
Always standing free.

***Author’s Note***
If anybody can guess the tune this song is written too then you’ll get a signed copy of Cold Lunch. First come first serve.

If you enjoyed your daily dose of Kinsgrove please feel free to check out my other blog on Medium. Also stop by my Facebook page and give me a like. This will keep you hooked up to the up to the minute Kinsgrove news. It’s almost as much news as you’d get if you followed us on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram. And don’t pass up the opportunity on awesome prizes, exclusive content, and more me than you can stand, sign up for the Kinsgrovian Press now. Next to last, if you haven’t noticed the celebration, my debut novel was recently published, click this conveniently placed link to check out Cold Lunch and see exactly what happens when you piss off the most powerful vampire in the world. And, I promise I’ll shut up after this, I just wanted to ask, if you really enjoyed the content think about liking and sharing the content on all your social media channels.

Poem a Day: Waiting + Announcement

 

Is it going to be today?
What about tomorrow?
God, I need the pay,
So I do not have to borrow.

Cold Lunch is coming,
Long have I waited.
Lucien’s ever cunning,
Renfield’s thirst is sated.

Nervousness surrounds me,
Choking with anticipation,
Will they even like thee,
Can this be my occupation.

None can quench my thirst,
Cold Lunch comes on May first.

 

***Author’s Note***

So, my debut novel Cold Lunch is going to be released on May 1st and I am so on edge right now. XD

I’m filled with such a wild mix of emotions right now, and I don’t know which direction I should be going.

And, part of me is depressed, because I know this isn’t going to be a miracle moment. This release is going to change things for me, forever, but it’s not the miracle cure I’ve been dying for. I’ll still have to have a day job after the 1st. I have a long uphill battle with marketing coming up on the second. I put the book out there. I built it, now I need to let people know about it so they can come.

That being said, if you would be so kind, I’ve just started setting up a mailing list of like minded individuals. I thought I’d call you all my Kinsgrovians, and my newsletter will be the Kinsgrovian Press. Now, if you would, I’d like you to click right here, and sign up on my mailing list. That way you won’t miss an ounce of Kinsgrove.

Poem A Day: I Want To Go Home

 

I want to go home,
I will curl up and cry,
Finding myself buried in a tome,
The pages wet, tears fallen from the eye.

 

I want to go home,
I say that at home,
What does that mean?
Is something unseen?

 

Is home a place?
A time?
Somewhere in space?
A cloud of rime?

 

What does it mean?
To say, honey I’m home.
What factors are seen,
Are they nothing more than a roaming gnome?

 

I feel then, it’s lost for all time,
What it means to go home.
I sit here and cry as I rhyme,
There’s no place like…

 

 

Poem A Day: Topical, Personal, Is it Optional?

Topical or personal,
I don’t know what’s best,
Jeff tells us personal is terminal,
It can’t pass the test.

 

You want a big audience,
You have to have something to say,
You can’t just be a hobbyist,
Your list won’t grow that way.

 

But I like my poetry,
I like the random ADD fueled,
Midnight rants about pottery,
And how they may be jeweled.

 

He says topical is the option,
To make the best concoction.

 

***Author’s Note***

Image credit is from Amazon.com

Poem a Day: Flying Comet

Have you seen the sun before?
Shining bright forevermore,
There it rises beyond the moor,
I don’t think I can open the door.

 

I wonder if you would bow down,
To see me as I wear the crown,
Or would you laugh just like a clown,
Dressed in your evening gown.

 

Serious poems are for the birds,
Can you not see the words?
Filling the page with cattle and herds,
Or is that room all full of nerds?

 

I just like to write a sonnet,
Imagining it were a flying comet.

Poem a Day: Beside the Door

I’ve held you in my arms before
Long did we sit beside that door
Plastic pipes, artificial air
Tragic cuts to skin and hair

 

I’ve held you in my arms before
Your heart was beating, bleeding, broken and sore
Yet clung do life you did so
And told me how I ought to go

 

I’ve held you in my arms before
Long did we sit beside that door
Sirens blaring through the night
Boxes beeping with bright light

 

I’ve held you in my arms before
My arms held tight, you wanted to soar
With angels wings high in the air
The devil lost sight, you did not care

 

I’ve held you in my arms before
Then I let you go to see you soar
Now I’m waiting beside the door
For you’re not free of me evermore

 

We all must sit beside the door
I must sit and wait for you
Beyond the door lies heaven and hell
Beyond the door where your soul sets sail

 

***Author’s Note***

I wrote this one around the same time I wrote For My Grandma. The inspiration had been a friend who had been through a bad car wreck, and spent several days on life support. The speaker in the poem is supposed to be representative of death, and the door is naturally a metaphor for the thin line between our world and the next. And, something more along those lines XD I’ll let ya’ll decide how you read it.

Poem a Day: For My Grandma

Death sat beside her bed,
His hand resting upon her head,
Yet her heart did not fill with dread,
She found joy and happiness instead.

 

For she had a life well lived,
For ninety-two years she survived,
With six children who grew and thrived,
And many grand children who were pint-sized.

 

They were pint-sized all those years ago,
But now stand round, their eyes a glow,
As they watch the curtains end the show,
Mourn their hearts did on this day though.

 

Mourn they should not,
Tis part of God’s great plot,
They may all be distraught,
But the angel’s songs ease their thought.

 

For up their high above,
Her beauty is eternal and radiant as a dove,
She suffers no more wrapped in God’s silk glove.

 

***Author’s Note***

I wrote this when my Grandma passed away. March 18, 1923 to March 18, 2015. I miss you Grandma. Oh God, Grandma, I miss you so much.