Elfwood on Chaosmonkey

A small collection of poems

Thu, 01 Jun 2000 09:00:00 +0200

My Heart

My heart, it is made of stone.
It has walled itself in, my heart.
Few have made those walls shudder.
And none have made them sunder.
My heart, how foolish is my heart.

_{march, 1999}

Spring

A new spring,
Birds take to wing.

New grass grows,
New water flows.

All things blossom,
In Mother Nature’s bosom.

_{march, 1999}

The Wellspring

From a creative wellspring
Come one by one,
Fishes called story and song.

Elf?

Fri, 01 Oct 1999 09:00:00 +0200

Elf?
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

Walking in the mist, I suddenly came upon her. At first she seemed frightened, yet green fire jumped out at me from her eyes, telling me to tred carefully. Her long golden hair waved in the wind when she turned. She strode off into the mist.

At first I couldn’t find her. I walked on aimlessly for a while trying to find that girl. Without warning I cleared the fog and found myself standing on top of a cliff. The girl looked at me with those teasing eyes as if she was saying ‘Will you follow me even if I jump?’.

Priest Dun

Tue, 10 Aug 1999 09:00:00 +0200

Priest Dun
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

Pulling along his cart, the farmer reached the small village of Erisgate just before nightfall.

“Good”, he thought, “I’ll be just in time for the evening meal.”

The farmer, a somewhat older man with a nasty looking scar across his face, heaved for a last time and pushed his cart into place. Dropping the handles, he moved towards the local inn.

Upon opening the Inn’s door, a strong odor filled his nostrils. Meat. The smell of freshly roasted meat wafted out the kitchen door. The sound and smell of ale drifted over from the bar. Tobacco smoke you could cut with a knife hung in the air and conversations floated across it. The farmer’s attention fell upon a man in the center of the room.

Dead by claw

Sun, 01 Aug 1999 09:00:00 +0200

Dead by claw
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

Darkness descended onto the land and evil lurked everywhere. Or so it seemed, at least, in the imagination of the small boy wielding his sword. It was a simple wooden sword, one every small boy would have. One day however he would inherit his fathers sword and Dukedom.

“How are you feeling, my boy?” the man walking up to him said. “Practicing your sword again? I’ll ask your father tomorrow if we can’t start real lessons.” The man ruffled his hair and moved towards the doorway leading out of the small courtyard. Rounding the corner, he walked down the corridor. Upon passing a statue, he heard faint clicking. He stopped. Looking around, he didn’t notice anything out of place.

The Fallen

Sat, 10 Jul 1999 09:00:00 +0200

The Fallen
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

A man walking down the street. People swirving to avoid him. He looks sad and at the same time menacing. Black hair and black eyes, he stalks the street. People push back against the wall, cowering in fear as he passes by, yet why they do not know. This stranger dressed all in black invokes fear and screams of terror fill their minds. A big, killer of a dog regards the man but a bearest moment before yelping a plea for help and hurrying away.

Betrayed

Tue, 01 Jun 1999 09:00:00 +0200

Betrayed
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

The man shifted uncomfortably around his cushion. Perhaps his master would forgive his failure and allow him to live. Gloom set in. His master was not of the forgiving type. He done his best though, more he could not do. The empty room, in which he awaited his master looked like it always did, sparsely decorated yet extremely beautiful and elegant in its simplicity. His master’s love for flowers was evident. On the raised platform a small vase stood to one side containing a few delicate blossoms.

Asking questions

Mon, 01 Mar 1999 09:00:00 +0200

Asking Questions
^{by Martijn van der Kleijn}

Turning away from his practice partner, with which he was practicing his fencing, he looks you over for a moment. The young man then says,

“Him? He just moves me, literally. That’s just ‘bout as much as I know about him.”

The young man turns back toward his fencing with a smile. Wouldn’t do to let the Duke know he’d been neglecting his combat skills.