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Long Poems
Long poem by Kim Rodrigues | Details

A SNOW QUEEN TALE

Part 1: FORE SIBERIAN FATE silk wings wet - angel on the lake. starlight glitter separates from the golden wheat. her docile hair, prophecy of ice. winter pink, pinched cheeks. ice skate scrapes - flecks of flakes. the snow queen before her relentless reign, a pretty thing. her smile warms the water, her eyes true glacier blue. Part 2: APOCALYPSE glacier blue eyes thunder, icy waves surprise the tow. it goes under… homemade flakes, bitter bite of solid shards, assails the wicked night. it’s her laugh that shackles the wind, splitting islands, toppling icebergs. her marionette claws control the climate. her blades precisely suffer the ice. mercurial avalanche. thermometer drops. children burrow under blankets. atmospheric fear. dry lines, etched into the snow-white canvas. Part 3: COLD SHOULDERS entrenched in idiopathic insanity a steadfast echo ‘he lied...he lied’ when she could cry no longer her tears crystallized, her iceberg eyes - epic blue. friends’ cold shoulders like disembodied shrugs. misery she cannot shake. one thing she managed to stand over mountain peaks graceful with siberian tiger teeth, shoulders perfectly rounded. her slight figure wrapped in majestic blue - the raw color of her bondage. curiosity of wool-white hair. she often dallied with it’s softness, in the mirror. it could fall to her feet in umbrage, or be whipped up blizzard-like - placated as a braided crown. ‘the fool - he hides!’ she tortures any reminder of his kind eyes, warm smile, kissable lips. Part 4: NO ONE KNOWS she bleeds deep inside - a cavern of stalagmites. her warm heart plunges into an echoing abyss. ‘no one knows…’ sharing would be death. and so she’s buried that bloodied embryo, in the gallows grip of fate. he’d promised her silver, gold, diamonds and pearls. he’d promised her forever. she sought his child. she’d only sire sorrow. thus fate would kick her to the ground. he didn’t know his seed lay in her soil. a fist of fury would pummel all dreams. there’d be icy jewels where eyes pretend. her clairvoyant blues burn for her unborn son. her innocence lost in her north pole irises. she’d not even pause to release him from the grave. evermore, she’d cradle, the doom in her womb. she live for him. the queen vowed to find the absentee father. she’d make him pay, then she’d shatter. spine trembles as the wind howls with increasing fury... Part 5: DESPERATION a tomb buried under snow. the villagers wear eskimo overcoats. unaware that despair drives them ever colder... stern snow whips at lashes and outstretched noses. no longer playful little snowflakes. the tongue cannot endure the sting of ice. knees tremble through compacted snow. shovels a commodity – crippled wooden handles splinter and break. those near the equator also shiver and shake. Their tormented orb hangs precariously in the darkened sky, as the villagers wonder out loud, “why?!” (the snow queen has seasonal rests. she collapses upon her slab of stone. her mind in requiem - cold and comatose.) villagers furiously plant, chop, eat everything green. winter has no habit. it comes and goes with caprice. committee selected to search out answers “when and where did this insanity start?” “is there a who or a why?” they fret not over words, for emotion has become their friend. Part 6: SNOWMEN AT ARMS contact made, with each icicle tap on a man’s shoulder. just in case of age or disguise, she examines the face, the eyes, the expressions of love and hate. she shakes the women, wraps serpentine around their waists, jealous of their size, their youth, virginity. each child she doth despise. her own would be greater, more talented, more handsome. in the winter’s mind these ideas greedily sold, like the shape of a perfect flake. snowmen armed with icicle spears ready to go to war. the village that lends itself to this selfish man will pay. its walkway would become snow-covered gravestones. the one thing that makes her frozen lips curl upwards - the thought of death. her heart of stone does not beat. it bears down like an athlete’s barbell sitting upon her chest. she seems wretched and regal atop her empty sleigh. like an eagle perched, ready to swoop down upon its prey. Part 7: THE RECKONING he laughed when she found him, “snow looks good on you,” humor bit her in the jaw. he had no remorse for his sins “why you were just a pitiful lass.” “look at you now, much lower class.” he grinned, serpentine smug. and she saw her coldness reflected in his eyes. ‘what had she become? his queen?’ an ice queen, indeed! the child she lost, forever ago, bled onto the death pallet of snow. her inner ego humbled. not before him! but before mankind... she recognized the epitome of evil and once again, saw her own shards in his eyes. she didn’t blink, just stared until he broke, splinters from his icy mirror of glass. a minute ember felt in her unbeating heart: ‘they could never forgive me’ ‘winter will fade away’ ‘the best i can bless them with is spring’ ‘they will wonder where i’ve gone, but should not spend one second on that thought’ ‘i shall leave reminders in the stars, in the trees, in hidden caves, not of myself, but reminders of how to love.’ ‘that’s the best i can do, not for me...forget me!’ and winter turned into spring, with lovely things, until the people needed autumn and snow. cookie cutter shapes of hearts, diamonds, and lucky clovers in blue, orange, yellow, red leaves. and love could be smelt again in honeysuckle, roses, lilacs, sweets, and fresh-baked bread. in caves they’d find no more war. just joy and happiness of families holding hands. filling their hearts with pregnant joy, turning them away from jealousy and hate. a time so great...and somehow the snow queen’s heart beats from far away, far below, forgotten but unfrozen, still. The End

Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details

The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Sunshine Smile | Details

- The Old Dark House -


This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!








Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Dorian Petersen Potter | Details

The Book - The Narrative Style

~The Book~ ( Narrative / Short Story) Shhh...Be quiet! please...or you'll wake up everyone... Did you see what that young man did all this evening at the table while taking some of his notes? Yes, sure we did, and so what? a volume of 'Poetry for a Lifetime'replied quietly. After all, we are all books and we are very important to mankind, everywhere.Yes, we are all very important, no matter who we are. Yes, but did you see, that he was only going through those old, dog-eared magazines, that are piled at that left corner table? I am telling you that most people are just browsing through all those computers.I think that they're kind of forgetting about us.I know I should be happy to take this dream vacation.No more prying eyes and hands touching and knowing my most privete thoughts.I should be in heaven! A volume of 'Paradise Lost' remarked. The 'Gone with the wind' book, just frowned and started laughing.Look at me and remember my lines. Tomorrow is another day! You should all be quiet, and go to sleep! Merrily a voice said in a whimsical manner.Everybody looked up at one of the highest shelves, where the voice seemed to have sounded from. Yes, it is me, you knuckles heads! A 'Grim's Complete Fairy Tales' Volume book, spoke in a playful tone.He opened up one of his pages and showed one of his most beloved fairie tales. Come all over here and pay me a visit.Which one you would wanted me to read you tonight? What about me reading you, Little Red Riding Hood or perhaps you would prefer, 'The Sleeping Beauty' I am just telling you that I am a very important book indeed.All my stories make children all over the world very happy and parents love me since they find my services more than welcome every night at bedtime.I am very important, yes, Sireeeee.And saying all this, he chuckled with a most contented sight of relief in his very merry and child-like voice of his. The rest of all the books just fell silent for a moment.A 'Pride and Prejudice' snorted loudly all of sudden, and retorted in his very conceited and masterful voice.Well, they all say that, they all think that they're important.One of my sisters ' Wuthering Heights' thinks the same too, I am telling you.She's always scoffing me and thinking that she's better than me.But I tell her that she's wrong, because I am better than she is.That's for sure.I am a much better classical read than most of you here, just laying around gathering dust. Wait a minute, hold it right there! A very thunderous voice just said that.Everybody book shuddered at the sound of that very ntimidated voice.I am very old, and I am very important too.I am much older than many of you, just gossiping around, wasting your time and mine.I can't fall sleep with all the racket you're making down here.Can you have some consideration for the ones that need a little more sleep everyday? A ' Tale of Two Cities' volume, took a royal bow to everybody around, while paced back and forth in his most comfortable upper shelf.I am a very important book too.Iam considered a classical among book readers all over the world.So now please go to sleep! and let's end all this nonsense about who's more important or not.Saying this, he yawned so loudly, that he woke up some of his other books that were before dozing in either side of his shelf. Who dare to do this and woke me up like this in such a rudely manner? A ' Cronicles of Narnia' volume in a roaring voice moaned.How dared you to to do this and believe that you are more important than me.Well, let me tell you, mister, than you're not and never will, more important than me'.A tale of Two Cities', let me tell you, that 'Romeo and Juliet' think the same, and are spitting mad about your delussion of grandeur and self- pride.You know you got a coming anyway, even 'Hamlet' thinks that is better than you are.Take that for a change! Now saying that, I can go back to sleep now.I bid you all good-night ladies and gentlemen! I don't really care, if you are young or very old, perhaps you may be older and more experienced than me, in many ways, but still I believe I am the most important of all the books in this library, and elsewhere in the world too.A very comanding voice, and full of authority said.Everybody turned around to see the 'Half Blooded Prince' lifting one of his fingers in self- importantance, and saying 'I am the most important book in the world and all my brothers are too.Look up my ratings and our movies too.Everybody wants to know about me, from beggining to end.Everybody wants to read us and know all our upmost hidden secrets in every chapter I have and possessed.So you see, people of all ages like me a lot and bring me to their homes.So that settles everything now, be quiet and go to sleep and stop all your shouting and whispering about.I am the most important book ever! Is that understood? I guess it is... Not so fast, you fat head! I am the most important, not you.No way! it can't be you.I am the most important book in the whole wide world.I am the 'Lord of the Rings' and I am very full of adventures, wars, death, heroism, magic, betrayals, self-sacrifice, love, and mistery too.I am the one that saves mankind and the whole world from darkness in the end.Remember that! One of my greatest citizens saves the world.His name is Frodo and is a Hobbit.So you see, I am the greatest among all the greatest here in this whole library and all the libraries in the whole wide world. So, please, go to sleep now! I see you tomorrow, my brothers and sisters.Saying that 'The Lord Of The Rings' closed all his pages quietly and with a big smile went to sleep. Meanwhile in one of the main upper shelves in the library, a very old, wise and worn out 'Holy Bible' just chuckled very softly under his breath... Amen! Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2005
September.17.2017 “Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” - Mark Twain

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Laura Loo | Details

The Ivory Castle

Once upon a time there was a castle made of pure ivory. Pillars of pale and barren holding a surface of grace and elegance. This castle was the home of a mighty unicorn named Stardust. She also was pure white with a black beauty mark in the shape of a star above her right cheek bone. Stardust held the honor of being a princess. Stardust grew up in the outskirts deep in the harsh parts of the poverty-stricken village called Dark Province. She was abandoned by her mother during her youth and had to live on her own and fend for herself. No mother, no father or any family to call her own. One foggy day she was galloping through the forest and met a stray dog. A strong Golden Retriever. He was such a gentle giant. His coat softer than silk and his eyes deep honey with a splash of hazel. His name was Bo Bear. He had no family as well, and very quickly they became great friends. Around the time Stardust turned fourteen, a delicate maiden unicorn found her and took her in her home as family. Stardust wouldn’t go anywhere without Bo Bear, so he also lived with them. She became her mother. She was Queen of the Ivory Castle and her name was Cashmere. She also was covered in beautiful white fur except her mane was shiny silver and reached down to her shoulder bone. Stardust had become the Princess of the Ivory Castle. Cashmere taught Stardust the ways of the castle. She kept up with her chores daily and took lessons on how to race in the yearly games. These games were famous for seeing who was the strongest unicorn and whoever won was then part of the castle. They became very close and Bo Bear fell in love with Cashmere as well. The unicorn, King Ebony, had died in war deep in Dark Province. Cashmere was left alone to run the castle, until Stardust and Bo Bear came along. Every day the three of them visited the fairies in the emerald field in the back acres. The pixie dust fluttered around and created magical rainbows. The rainbows led to lands of Fantasy Fairyland with fields of daisies and lilies. The damsel fairy, Missy Mae, brought so much harmony and balance to the land. Missy Mae, Bo Bear and Stardust went on adventures in the Fantasy Fairyland all the time. Each time they followed the rainbow they encountered a different world of utopia. There were day beams and streams of chameleon rivers drifting down toward the Mount of Slumber. That is where they pranced and danced forgetting all the worries life offered. One day they encountered a strange storm. “There are never storms in Fantasy Fairyland!” Missy Mae exclaimed. She threw up more pixie dust for another rainbow to follow. Just then lightning struck the dust and the rainbow disappeared! Missy Mae said, “oh no! This is the day that we have all dreaded for years!” Legend had it that when a dark storm hit the land, that meant the end of Fantasy Fairyland. “What are we to do?” Stardust asked. Missy Mae fluttered up the moist pixie dust and a spell book appeared. “All three of us must sing this verse out loud.” “Behold the beauty of Fantasy Fairyland, where harmony and balance go hand and hand, may the dream of peace pour from Mount of Slumber, strike away the lightning and thunder! For now, we stand tall and command you leave, so we may return to the land of make-believe.” Stardust, Missy Mae and Bo Bear shouted this verse three times and still, the outpour of rain spread across the whole land. Now it was so wet the pixie dust melted in the air and turned into a pixie puddle on the muddy ground. Back at Ivory Castle, Cashmere noticed Stardust and Bo Bear had been gone a very long time. About two hours after searching she knew what she had to do. King Ebony left Cashmere a special wand. It had a spell cast on it to be able to enter Fantasy Fairyland without the help of a fairy. She knew something terrible had happened, Stardust was never late for her galloping lessons. She ran in the back through the acres and struck the wand and a rainbow appeared. “Wow, I can’t believe it actually worked!” Cashmere thought. Upon entering the muddy and flooding land, she saw the three of them hiding under a mushroom taking cover. Missy Mae’s wings were starting to disappear. Cashmere decided to try to use the wand again. She held it up high and struck it reading the verse from the spell book, but backwards. "So we may return to the land of make believe, for now, we stand tall and command you leave, Strike away the lightning and thunder! May the dream of peace pour from Mount of Slumber, where harmony and balance go hand in hand, behold the beauty of Fantasy Fairyland." Just then the storm receded and the sun came out with skies of azure. “Oh my, Cashmere, thank you so much! You saved us and you saved my land!” Missy Mae exclaimed. Cashmere ran and held all three of them with all her might. Missy Mae’s wings started to reappear and her pixie dust was dry enough to be used. So she threw up more dust in the air and the rainbow appeared to go back to the Ivory Castle. Missy Mae stayed in Fantasy Fairyland while Cashmere, Stardust and Bo Bear hurried back to their home. Even though Stardust never met King Ebony, she knew he was special. For he had saved them and Fantasy Fairyland. If only she could’ve met him before he died. Upon entering Ivory Castle, they couldn’t believe their eyes! There he was! King Ebony! “Oh, beloved, are you really here with me?” Screamed Cashmere. “Yes m’ lady, it is I, your beloved and I am home now forever.” King Ebony didn’t really die in a war in Dark Province. He had planned this reunion all along. He wanted Cashmere to venture out and find Stardust and knew she never would’ve if he was there. So, they spent days catching up and getting to know each other as a father and daughter should. "Once upon a time in an Ivory Castle, Princess Stardust lived in no fear- she galloped and pranced all day, with King Ebony, Bo Bear and Cashmere." -and they lived happily ever after... January 26, 2017

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details

Divine Comedy, second canto

The day was going off, and the brown air
To the terrestrial animals gave rest
For their labors; and only me was there

Just ready to withstand the war at best
Both of the journey and of the torment,
Which by my mind will be rightly expressed.

O muse, o high genius, help my intent;
O mind which tried to write the things I saw
Here of  noblesse you will show the extent.

I then began: ”Poet , that guide  me and draw,
Look at my virtue if it has the power, 
Before I try the high step with no flaw.

You affirm that Silvio’s father not this hour,
While he was living, to immortal place
Just went, and was with senses free to scour.

But, if of any evil the adverse base
Favored him, accounting the high effect
Which had to come from him, it was the case

Well worthy looking to any mind perfect;
So he was of alma Rome and its domain
In the empyrean heaven father elect:

Both city and man, for real truth sustain,
Were then chosen: Rome as the saint ground
Where of Peter’s successor must remain. 

This going for praising him made it sound,
Things were achieved which allowed after then
His victory and the Pope’s mantle round.

Later on went the elected Bard just when
Had to give strength  to the true belief
Which is the principle to salvage men.

But me, why should I come? Who gives motif?
I’m not Aeneas, and nor Paul I am;
On this is mine and others’ disbelief.

Because, if to come there I do not stem,
I fear that coming will prove I’m insane
You’re sage; that I don’t reason you should pram”

And as who wants what then has to restrain
Following new thoughts with proposal change
So that all things have to begin again,

Similarly I did it in that obscure range
Because, by thinking, I rapidly succeeded
In the way which at start was to derange.

“If your words I have correctly heeded”,
Answered the shadow of that noble man,
“Your mind to dastardliness has ceded;

Which many times man hardly overran
So that diverts him from any honored deed,
As when see vicious beasts wrongly you can. 

From this alarm in order to be freed,
I’ll tell you why I came and what I heard
In the prime question to follow your need.

I was within the ones suspended herd,
When nice and blessed woman called out me, 
Such as to ask hers commands I preferred.

Much more than stars hers eyes were bright to see;
Then to talk she started gentle and low,
With angelic voice, in hers language free:

“O gracious soul from Mantua shiny glow,
Whose worldwide fame power to stand has still
And long time shall last as the world will go,

The friend of mine, and not of venture skill,
In the desert space is hardly entrapped
So that he is giving up for scare thrill;

And I fear for him to be already flapped,
That the rescue from mine might be too late,
As far of him from heavens I have kept.

Now you must go there, and with your speech straight
And giving him what needed to survive,
Help him, I will be free of anguish weight.

I am Beatrice and your step I drive;
I come from where I want be back again;
Love, making me speaking, made me revive.

When I will be in front of my Lord main
Often I shall praise to him your valid soul”
She then got silent, and I had to explain:
 
“O woman full of virtue , who is sole
To fill for human beings any empty space
Of heaven, which of  less rim has its bowl,

I like so much whatever is your trace
That obey, if it were, it would be late;
You have only to open me your case.

But tell me the reason why you took the rate
To descend down here in this dark center
From the wide site which  you dearly wait” 

“Since your knowledge wants so deep to enter,
Will tell you in brief” , she answered then,
“Why I don’t fear to bring here my mentor.

We can be afraid of things but only when
Show to be aggressive to others much;
If not, don’t fear, they cannot hurt the men. 

I am a Lord’s construction, thanks God ,such,
As your wretchedness cannot now me hurt
Nor flame of this hot burning can me touch.

Heavenly woman to tears must convert
This very hard task where you I send,
Compelling her a judgment to divert. 
 
She pleaded Lucia helpful commend
And told her: - Now your faithful man help needs 
From you, and him I warmly recommend-

Lucia, opposing any misdeeds,
Moved, and rapid came where I was
With ancient Rachele already sitting.

She told:- Beatrice, true God’s laud and  luz,
Why don’t you help the one who loved much you,
The vulgar herd so leaving for this cause?

Aren’t you hearing his painful tears undue,
Neither you see with death how hard his fight
Goes on the flood on which sea never flew?

Nobody in the world was rapid quite
To have a gain or a risk to escape
As I was, after such words I heard right,

I came down here from my blessed agape
Trusting your honest speaking good indeed
Honoring you and those who caught your shape-.

After these words to me wanted to cede
Hers shiny eyes than moved weeping with tears
Which pulled me to come with greater speed.

And I came here then following hers cares:
I took you off from facing up that beast
Which you to climb the hill impeded airs.

So: what happens? Why, why aren’t  you released,
Why such cowardice in your heart admit,
Why your courage and baldness are not pieced, 

As on three blessed women you can commit
Who care take of you in the heaven court,
And so much good  I’m talking to transmit? 

Like little flowers in the night chill fort
Are bent and closed, after white sun light,
Suddenly all open their stems are sort,

Similar I did with my tired virtue slight,
And so good boldness in my heart then came,
That I started speaking as I was all right:

“Oh indeed piteous and helpful dame!
And you that soon accepted hers request
With the true words which proffered in my name!

You have my heart with such desire stressed
So much to join you according your talk,
That my previous purpose I reassessed.

Since we have the same will, then start to walk:
You leader, you lord and you master main”.
So I told; when pace started to unlock, 

The path I entered savage and arcane.

Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details

Canto XXIX Hell translation

So many people and the various sores
Intoxicated in such a way my eyes,
That wanted open to crying their doors.

But Virgil told : “What for you look this guise?
Why now your sight is so carefully brought
Down there on those sad broken shadow guys?

You did not act this way before by naught;
Think, if to stay here more you now believe, 
That twenty two miles the valley is thought. 

And yet the moon under our feet could leave;
More time is given almost short to us,  
Something else there is to see and achieve”

“If you had just”, I answered him then thus,
“Known the reason why I was looking there,
Perhaps I was allowed to stay and glance”.

While he was moving, and I back to fare,
The duke, giving then answer already,
I added: “In that cavern just where

I put my eyes so firm and so steady,
I think a soul to me kinsman might cry
The fault for which much pain is there ready”.

Then master told: “You should not much apply
Your following thought from now on to him.
Else you should watch out, and leave him thereby;

Because I saw him at foot of bridge rim
Show and threaten with finger toward you,
And heard Geri del Bello name with vim.

At that time you were prevented in view
Attentive to whom Altaforte kept,
You did not watch at there, so he left through”.

“O duke of mine, his violent death swept
Which has not yet been avenged”, I told”
For any who of shame consort was apt,

Made him disdainful; to stay didn’t hold,
Went off with no word, as my judging goes:
For this he made me more pious behold”. 

So we conversed up where the view arose
Above the rock where new valley is seen,
If more light there were, to the bottom lows.

When to the top stone rising we had been 
Of Malebolge, so that the damned there
Could be then shown us in a full scene,

I darted was by such kinds of despair, 
Which strongly shod with pity had their tip; 
So that with hands I shut then my hears pair. 

Same pain would be, if the hospital rip 
Of Valdichiana in summer time 
And Maremma and Sardinia bad strip 

Were all together joined in a tip lime, 
So it was there, and came out a stench such 
As the one coming from rotted meat grime. 

Down with the last bank we got in touch 
On the long rock, taking just to hand left; 
And then my eyes could now observe more much 

Down to the bottom, where the regent deft
Of high Lord justice which never has foul
Here smites the fakers of truth bereft.

I do not think to see worse pain to howl
Was in Egine all people ill to be,
When air was then with everything afoul, 

That animals, to smallest worm to see,
Fell wholly, and then peoples of the past,
According poets who report and agree,

Used to eat as food just ants’ seed amassed;
That was to see  in that obscure valley dark
Languish the souls by many pains harassed.

Someone over belly and some on back arc
One on the other laid, and some fours all
Painfully moved in that pathway stark.

Pace by pace we went, no word to install,
Looking at and hearing those guys so sick,
Who could not stand up a way to appall.

I saw two of them sitting brick to brick,
As platter is put on platter to heat,
From head to feet fully stained with sores thick;

And I never saw a currycomb beat 
By a stable lad rushing for his lord, 
Nor any who reluctant has to treat, 

As each one was beating often the sword 
Of his nails on himself with a great rage 
For the itching, which has no relief chord; 

And nails so ripping the scab to assuage 
Akin to a knife that rips the bream scales 
Or of any other fish whose scales upstage.

“You who rub yourself with fingers and nails”,
Started then my duke aimed of them to one,
“And you use them as a tong which assails,

Tell me if any Latin is outdone
Between those here, if nail is just enough
Eternally for this work you make run”.

“Latins we are, you see suffer rebuff
Here both now”, one of them answered with cry;
“But who are you, asking of us so tough?”.

And duke then told: “I am one coming by
With this living being by cliff to cliff,
And hell to show him as my task I try”.

Then body sharing they broke in a jiff;
And quite trembling each one turned to me
With others who heard it as rebound stiff.

The good master then came close as with plea,
Telling: “Tell them what now you want to know”;
And I told, after he looked turned to be:

“If your mind is not to vanish in a blow
In previous world within all human minds,
But it lives longer at many suns below,

Let me know who you are and what mankind’s;
Your just obscene and bothersome too pain
To show don’t be afraid, me ready finds”.

I was Arezzo’s, and Siena’s Albero, I explain,
Responded one, “Made me to burn in fire;
But I am not here for that faulty strain. 

Truly I told him, as joke to inspire:
“I would be able to go in air and fly”;
And that, who had beauty but sense of mire,

Wanted I showed the art; and for that by
Since I didn’t him Daedalus, made me
Be burned by who had him as his son tie.

But in the last circle of ten as fee
Me for the alchemy in world I used
Damned Minos, who never wrong can be”. 

And I told poet: “Was ever cruised
Futile people as the Siena’s one?
Surely not the French much more to be bruised!”.

And other leper, who hearing had done,
Answered to me: “But Stricca is except
Who was able wise to spend with waste none,

And Nicolaus of the rich fashion adept
Of carnation discovered for the first
In the garden where this wild seed has leaped;

And consider the party in which burst
Caccia d’Asciano’s vineyard and land,
And Abbagliato his wit nursed.

But so that you know who so gives you hand
Against Sienises, sharpen your eye to me,
Thus helping my face  right words to expand: 

So I am Capocchio’s soul you shall see,
Who metals falsified with alchemy shape;
And you remember, if I well judge thee,

How of the nature I was a good ape”. 

Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details

Divine Comedy translation Hell Canto XIV

Because the charity of my native place
Obliged me, the broken branches I the picked up
Them giving back him, who was to debase.

Then we finally reached where had to leap
From the second turn to third, and just where
Horrible art of justice you can seep.

To best describe new things I saw then there,
I tell that now we arrived at a site
Which any plant destroys and impair.

The painful wood is like a garland tight
Around it, like is the sad moat to it;
Here we stopped step after step nearby quite.

The space was of sand arid and thick split
Not quite so different shape from the one
Which was by Cato’s foot canceled to grit.

O God’s vengeance, how  much you ought to stun
And frighten whoever is reading now
What to my eyes then manifest was done!

Of naked souls I saw many flocks to bow
And all together wretchedly to cry,
As they were subject to a wicked law.

Some people of them supine to ground lie,
Some other sitting down fully curled up,
And other walked around with no why.

People who wandered was a larger group,
And the less ones lying to the torment,
But expressing their grief with louder weep.

Over the sandy soil, with slow descent,
Were pouring  of fire very large flaps,
As snow on mountains with no wind extent.

Like Alexander in hot lands perhaps
Of India over his army saw
Flames solid down to ground  to collapse,

So he designed pawing the soil to draw
With his arrays, so that the vapor hot 
Faster lapsed if let alone to withdraw:

So fell there the eternal fire spot;
Making sand to ignite, like the tinder
Under fire, to double the ache shot.

With no rest were waved around to hinder
The miserable hands, just side by side
To send away from self the hot cinder.

I started: “Master, who are winner wide
In all things, except with the demons tough
Who our entrance at the door before tied,

Who is that big who is careless enough
Toward fire and spiteful and grim lies,
So it look like on him fire to snuff?”

And just that one, as had way to comprise
That I was asking my duke about him,
Shouted: ”Like when alive, as dead my guise.

If Jupiter ha to remove his smith’s vim 
From which he took the lightning acute
That my last day me stroke with will grim;

Or if  is tiring others to pursuit
At Mongibello where is the smithy black,
Calling “Good Vulcan,help me, and be cute!”,

As he made at Phlegraean battle attack,
And he darted me with his strength at all: 
He couldn’t have his happy revenge back”

Then my duke shouted with his voice so tall
So tall, that never so strongly I heard:
“O Capaneus, since is not yet small

Your arrogance, you more with pain are spurred:
No torment, except your angry wrath bad,
Would certainly be to your rage concurred”.

Then turned to me, and better aspect had,
Telling: “He was one of  the seven kings
Who Thebes besieged; had and still to add

Contempt has to God, no regard brings;
But, as I told him, his despites are then
At his breast very appropriate things.

Now follow me, and careful not, again,
You put your feet in this hot and  scorched  sand;
But always keep your feet in wood as den”  

In silence passed over to reach the land
Out of the wood where is a tiny flow,
Whose reddish color  my mind still disband.

As from the Bulicame the waters go
Which women sinners then among them share,
Likely that runlet through the sand went low.

Its bottom and too both its steep banks pair
Were of stones, and the edges on the sides;
So I realized that the pass was there.

“With anything else I have shown besides,
After we entered the main door just through
Whose trespassing ever nobody chides,

You did not notice using your eyes too
Overt as it is this present river,
Which turns off all little flames not few”

Of these words my guide had been the giver;
So I begged him the dinner had to feed
After the wish he brought in me with shiver.

“In the sea midst is a place of misdeed”,
Then told me him , “which has the name of Crete,
Whose kingdom under was chaste world indeed.

There is a mount which was of pride replete
For woods and water, which Ida had as name;
Now is a desert as thing to deplete. 

Rea then chose it as cradle to acclaim
Of hers son, and she at best him to hide,
When he cried, she sound shouting overcame.

A grand old man stands up the mount inside,
Holding shoulders at Damietta town
And looks at Rome as in a mirror side.

His head of pure gold is done and crown,
Of pure silver his breast and limbs are done,
Then of copper is made to the fork down;

The part below is built of iron dun;
Except the right foot which of faience is;
And on that foot more stands, the other shun.

Each part, except the golden one, rift has
As a disruption which drips just tears’ flow
Which, gathered, drilling in that cavern does. 

Their course in this valley deep falls and throw;
Acheron, Stix and Phlegethon they form;
Then through this narrow penstock down they go,

At last, there where more drop cannot perform,
Produce Cocito, and how is that pond
You can’t see here, but you shall see as norm”.

 And I: “If this stream has to correspond
To a source like that in our world up there,
Why too in this fount we it see beyond?”.

And he: “This site is round, you are aware;
Although you already walked that much,
Even moving left, getting down to fare,

You did not yet complete the circle such;
So that, if it looks strange to you this thing,
Your face should not wonder and touch”.

And I again: “Master, where is the spring
Of Phlegeton and Lete? Of one are still,
Of other you tell it’s of this rain fling” 

“With all these questions, I admire your will,
He answered, “but the boiling water red
Should have just solved a question you made still.

Lete you shall see, not in this hole of dread,
Where souls go to wash out their pain indeed
When their sin repented  has then been shed”

Then he told: “It’s time, to move now we need
From the wood, so follow and come me back:
Road is done by borders, which let accede,

And on them hot vapor will of course lack”   

Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details

Canto XXI Hell translation

So bridge to bridge, of other things speaking
Of which my comedy does not take care,
We walked; and reached the top, when seeking
For watching the next slit, then we stopped there
Malebolge to see and crying vain;
And I saw it strikingly with no glare.
As the Venician dockyard attain
On winter boiling the tenacious pitch
To caulk their worn out wooden boats again,
Since these can’t navigate – differ by which
Has been renewed in wood and oakum has
In panels after trips with fixing rich;   
Or who cares the prow, who the poop whereas
Someone oars builds, other wraps shrouds around;
Who mizzen and main sails mends as well as -:
So, not by fire but by divine bound,
Was boiling there down a quite thick mud,
Which soiled the bank everywhere on round.
I could see it, but  in I saw no dud
Else than bubbles which for the boil came out,
And all swell, and deflate as a tide flood.
While there down my eyes tried closely to scout 
My guide, telling “Look at there, look at there!”,
Pulled me to himself from my place of stake-out. 
Then I moved as man who acts to late bear
To see events which avoid is better
And who is strongly undermined by scare,
But, when he sees, to escape can’t fetter:
And I saw a devil black behind us
Running up the rock faster than ever.
Ouch how his aspect seemed to be vicious!
And how ruthless appeared his act to be,
With open wings and so light on feet thus!
His shoulders, which were superb as was he,
With both his hips encumbered a damned then,
And he of feet held muscles with no plea.  
From far he shouted: “Malebranche again
This one of Saint Zita’s elders I throw!
Submerge him, since I go back to catch men
In that land where they much abundant grow:
But Bonturo, all barterers are there;
To yes, for money, they transform a no”.
Down he threw him, and on the hard rock bare
Turned round; and mastiff loosened was never
In so much hurry a thief to ensnare.
That dived, emerging upset however;
But devils who of the bridge had the top,
Screamed: “Here Holy Face can’t endeavor!
Here swimming like in Serchio is a flop!
But, if you do not want the bites of ours
Have care for any emergence to stop”
Then beat him with many whips and bars,
Told: “For you is better that covered dance
So that, if you can,  to steal empowers.
Not different from cooks who so enhance
Their aides in middle of caldron to dip
Meat with hooks, to avoid floatage advance.
The good master “In order that you skip
That you are here”, told, “you must crouch low
After a stone, so a screen you can grip;
And for offense to me any could throw,
Don't be afraid, already I learned,
Since the last time spent here I could know”.
Then he surpassed the bridge quite unconcerned;
And when he had arrived at the sixth bank,
Important was that all fear he had spurned.
With the same fury and with the same swank
Dogs come out against a coming poor man
Who help asks at once when he fears be yank,
Those so came out behind the bridge and ran,
Against him then directing their claws all;
But he shouted: “None of yours do harm can!
Before your hook could my body appall
Should one of yours come forward now and hear,
And then the clawing me should not befall”.
All screamed: “Malacoda must go, it’s clear!”,
So one then moved on – and the others stood –
And came close telling: “Why are you here?”
“Do you think, Malacoda, that I could
Show me when here”, my master replied,
If I had not to your attacks screen good,
Without divine will and lucky fate guide?
Allow us go, since is in heaven set
That I show to other this savage side”.
At this his pride was so hardly unset,
That he let the hook to fall to his feet,
And told the others: “with no hurt we let”.
And then my duke to me: “Oh you that seat
Well crouched down here between the bridge stones
Safely now with me can the way complete”.
By which I moved to him fast to unknowns;
And devils came on forward then them all,
So I feared the treaty fault in my bones;
Same way I saw the soldiers, I recall,
Come out from Caprona after the pact,
Seeing many enemies to appall.
I got me close with all my body packed
To my duke, the eyes well fixed with no turn
Toward their appearance making me racked.
They moved down their hooks and then “His back stern”,
Telling each other, “we ought to touch?”,
And answered: “Yes, I would do, no concern”.
But the devil who spoke that way such
Before with my duke, turned back very fast
And told: “Scarmiglione, to stop you must clutch!”.
Then told us: “Beyond you cannot go past
This rock, because it is completely gone
Just to the bottom the sixth arc at last.
And if going on you like as was drawn,
You now should go just up this cavern through;
Nearby you find a rock with new way dawn.
Yesterday, five hours more among now flew,
Twelve hundred and sixty six years ago
This way was broken while before was true.
To that end I send of my guys a row
To inspect if someone from pitch gets out;
Go with them, no bad behavior will show”.
Alichino, and Calcabrine come about”,
He started, “and Cagnazzo also you;
And Barbariccia will drive all-out.
Libicocco and Draghignazzo come through
Graffiacane and Ciriatto fanged hard 
And Farfarello and Rubicante mad too.
Around the boiling lime you have to guard;
These ones must be safe until the next rock
Which as a whole over stands the sinners yard”
“Ouch, master, what is  I see to unlock?”,
I told, “I pray, with no escort let go,
If you know how, I prefer alone walk.
If you are wise as normally I saw,
Do not you see that their teeth harshly gnash
And with their lashes bad intention show?.
And he to me: “I want you don’t abash;
Let them to gnash as much as they are sod,
Because they do so for the sores who splash”.
They turned along the left embankment odd;
But each first had his tongue to strict pass
Between teeth, toward their duke, as nod
And he had done loud trumpet of his ass.

Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems