Tag Archives: Death

Saccragast (Second Draft)

My first revision to Saccragast, let me know your thoughts on the revision below.


Tonight insomnia holds my hand, for he hunts.
In a daze I relive when I was his prey;
A theatrical drama, I wish was staged.
The play opens on the night I was snared and bagged

Act I Scene I

In darkness: musky air drowned in blood and wee;
The sack’s hairs scratched like witch talons;
With every step, as waves pound against cliffs relentlessly,
the sack crashed into his back, hard as granite;

Pain etched in broken bones, the taste of blood
but I was not alone in the sack, I was blind
still I could feel dead limbs ebbing against my life.
Whose blood wet my cracked lips? Why did I drink?

To be continued …

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Posted by on Thursday 26th September, 2013 in Poetry


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Saccragast (First Draft)

I wanted to write a bit of a scary poem about the bogeyman / sackman. I think the imagery needs some work on this poem, however the theme and essence of the poem is there. Thought I would share with you how I write. I generally write a first draft, such as, that contains the essence of the tale I want to tell in the poem. Then I will re-read it and create imagery, explore words, improve the flow and meter, add similes & metaphors, and generally just evolve it. I will share the evolution of this poem with you … so you get a little inside to how I write. Enjoy!

I lie awake tonight, for he is hunting
Once I was the hunted,
The night I was snared, fresh
Musky smells of dried blood & urine
Itchy hairs of this sack prickle my skin
No light, rocking against his back

Wide eyed I stare, crimson
Scares mark my friend
He doesn’t breathe, so
I hold my breath too

Bugs crawl under my clothes
Gnawing at my nerves,
Tasting the blood of the other
Boys mouth, and ear

A scream nearby stirs my thoughts,
Their voice is swiftly stilled
Footsteps approach, the bag opens
The night sky blankets the moon
A lifeless body collapses on me

We are lifted with ease, now moving fast
Dead eyes stare, I don’t want
To die, I will be good, too late
We have stopped, and turned
Upside down we fall

Cascading down like a rockslide
My body lands heavily on the dead
Atop of me my friend falls
He doesn’t move, he is silent

His eyes are closed, I can’t
An old man walking in shadows
At his feet I meekly grovel
“Ye shall keep” he mutters

Now each night he hunts
I lie awake, waiting to hear
The sullen thud of his meal
Each thud means I live another day

Each meal I eat I see
I see dead eyes staring
Bugs drinking bloodied ear
I taste the gristle of pointed fingers

Ma warned me of serving him
I chose to ignore her, now
Pale skinned I slave for him
For he is the Saccragast

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Posted by on Thursday 29th August, 2013 in Poetry, The Struggle Within


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Njóttla Tales (Part 1) – First Draft

“Tonight all of Ersnon will have a restless sleep.  Wolves will be silent as they stalk, bears will awaken from their winter slumbers, and the feirguls (dead birds) will rule the skies for Njóla.  For tonight belongs to her and hers to command.  All that is natural will be corrupted tonight, so stay close to home and keep your fire strong.  On Njóttla (Night of the Dead) even the Vándr Náttúra (evil spirits) hide, for they fear the feivakr (the undead) that may roam Ersnon tonight.” Old Gimli boomed the start of the tale so all the children across the Great Hall could hear.  Although the children had heard the tale many times, it still was special to hear the tales of Njóla and Njóttla, which could only be told tonight.

Haakon (one of the main characters in the series) patiently sat at the head of the children.  He was the strongest of all the boys his age, and a greater warrior than all, even those 2 cycles his senior.  But the tales of Njóla were something that he still feared, and never tempted fate by roaming the blackness that She blanketed the stars and moon tonight.

Old Gimli continued Njóla’s tale “To understand Njóttla you must first know the tales of Njóla.  Her story starts in Mærrlopt (their fortress heaven) and as the daughter of Ǫrvar (their creator).  She was our Creator’s most beautiful daughter, and destined to be a goddess of greatness, but she chose a path of betrayal, evil and deceit.  Our Creator gave her everything that she desired, she never went without.  How did she thank Her father, Our Father, with going behind His back and trying to help the Vándr Náttúra to steal Mærrlopt.”

The children gasped at this revelation, for their whole life was centred around earning the right to enter Mærrlopt and defeating the Vándr Náttúra in an eternal war.  The thought of assisting them was great evil, and she wanted to assist them in stealing Mærrlopt, the home of their Gods and warrior ancestors. Old Gimli paused a little as the children digested the evil deeds that she had undertaken.

“Our Father however was not blind nor deaf, and heard of her deceit before she could help them steal His home.  As much as He loved His daughter, He could not let her actions go unpunished.  Her level of deceit was unheard of, and Our Father was angered that His most treasured daughter had transgressed.  He was going to be lenient on her, but she insisted she’d done no wrong and that the Vándr Náttúra were not that evil.  This threw Him into a rage, in which He savagely whipped her across the back.  He then took her sight, as she was never to be allowed to look upon the beauty of Mærrlopt again.  Finally He banished her from Mærrlopt.  She fell down to Ersnon, which at the time was only water.  The salt water scarred her still bleeding wounds on her back.  Yet she made no noise, for she did not want to give Ǫrvar any satisfaction and already the evil that she had allowed into her heart had quenched her pain.”

“She was condemned to spend her immortality in the depths of Ersnon’s waters, alone and blind.  That was until Ǫrvar saw the strength that Ersnon’s water had in imprisoning His daughter.  So He decided to cast the Vándr Náttúra into the waters too.  It was too late before He realised that he had reunited Njóla and them.  They both reach an amicable relationship in their watery graves, and it is said that the offspring of Njóla from the Vándr Náttúra would lead their fight against the Gods, when the dead moon rose.”

Ǫrvar saw this alliance form and in His fury cast down His spear to create land and the people of Ersnon.  It is said that Ǫrvar had however thrown the spear so hard that it had pierced the skin of Ersnon and opened a hole to Ofantún (the underworld).  The warmth that escaped from this hole aroused Njóla‘s interest.  She drew close to the hole, and was pulled down.  In Ofantún She felt warm for the first time in centuries, and she was dry.  She found her strength again and became the Goddess of Darkness and Death.”

To be continued …

Check out the Legends of Ersnon glossary for some descriptions of creatures, I have put quick names in brackets (the problem being that this isn’t the first chapter and the creatures would be explained earlier on in the book … however I haven’t written those chapters yet).  I welcome any constructive criticism, as this is only a first draft and I want to improve on it for the reader.  Remember the reader would be introduced to most of these names and creations prior to this chapter in the context of the full story.

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Posted by on Tuesday 5th March, 2013 in Creative Writing, The Struggle Within


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Planet Hell (Poetry Challenge)

So this challenge was to write a poem about “my” hell. It couldn’t be about the stereotypical, devilish underworld but what would be hell to me here on Earth. Have a read … not sure if the tone suits (or perhaps that is part of the poem’s purpose?)

meerkat posts are vacant
lions meow with glee

sheep choose their own path
wolves shepherd the flock

bats feast in sunlight
lizards tan by moonshine

flies pester no one
seagulls bore of scraps

cats obey every command
dogs abandon masters

children lie still
parents can not stand

embraces empty today
pain no comfort

life lost in youth
death makes a mistake

a eulogy never written
tears never to be shed

earth an alien planet
parents burying their child


Posted by on Tuesday 8th January, 2013 in Challenge, Poetry


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Buried Affection

I just love the deadI previously found this awesome digital artist (Nailstream).  I found them through the cover album work they did for some metal bands I liked.  I downloaded the art thumbnails, and unfortunately I can not find them online anymore (have even tried image searches with little luck).  Nonetheless I thought I would randomly select an image of theirs and write a poem for it.  This is probably one of my least favourite pieces that Nailstream created, however the poetry flowed.  Enjoy!

A seat among wisps of spirits
I embrace the cerulean skies,
Safe in arms with no limits
When all around me dies.

Gaunt hand upon my knee,
I turn to kiss a face
Drawn and sunken, is he.
Cold lips bound with grace

On a lawn of marbled stone
A bench of rapture does sit,
Here I never lie alone,
Shadowed by lost wit.

I crow, I lament and dream
I just love the dead
I calm, I hearten and beam
I just love the dead



Posted by on Thursday 8th November, 2012 in Poetry


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