A Thorwalson braves Spookwood – The Dark Eye fan-poem, kinda.

Inspired by: Author Heidi Schmitt-Lermann’s poem “DER GEISTERWALD”.

A Thorwalson braves Spookwood, experimental translation
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, alle rights reserved

His loving wife could not accompany him on the quest,
she had to guard their home from any unwelcome guest.
Still the dread legend of the Spookwood was his path,
for no ghostly forest should teach Swafnir the ‘math’!

Armed with battleaxe and shield he ventures forth,
facing the horror of the night in the frozen North.
Because no horror of our sacred fatherland Thorwal,
could send more folk than cowardice itself to hell.

Damp fog suddenly arises, as if by dragon’s breath,
the brain assailed by raptures of dread and death.
Still unshaken the bold son of Thorwal marches on,
for a loud werewolf’s howl offers a duel to be won.

Berserk robber or moonlight skald it will be known,
unveiling a truth by combat as it’ll soon be shown.
The frosty fey, she witnesses like worried wives,
as Norse and werewolf foolishly risk their lives.

Indeed the Thorwalson overcame the raging beast,
a close call still, leaving the carcass as crow’s feast.
Now the ice fey nears, enthralled by her curiosity,
‘Behave, ghostly lady, I rest and bleed as courtesy.

Her lethal kiss, she considers it merely Rahja’s gift,
but Norse choice of duty before death comes swift.
To banish this ethereal visitor it needs a holy shake,
made from salt and warding oils of the mandrake!

The witch observes it with a smirk, this man’s way,
for this night it is not her whim to curse or slay!
‘I spare your life, if you’ll swear to me this night,
you won’t return here until it is by danger’s might.’

A man of honor the Thorwalson proudly takes his leave,
the witch watches him, then retreats stealthy like a thief.
Returning home he sees his armed wife as she had sworn,
That long night, dear child, we ensured you will be born!

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Cthulhu – My Acrostic Testimony

Cthulhu – My Acrostic Testimony
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

C for Chanting his name and sharing his dreams from R’y’leigh!

T for Testifying what the greatest minds didn’t dare to realize.

H for Horrors on the cosmic scale encroaching unto our humanity.

U for Us who embrace the perilous, obscure path they call madness.

L for Lusting after forms of satisfaction no vagina could provide!

H for Haunted, hated, and hunted, as the normalcy we left behind.

U for Unquestioning faith in our holy tentacled messiah and his call!

Fallen Angel (Group Contest Poem)

Biographical Note: Some women proverbially touched my life in more than a temporal way. And such can totally exclude sex, as some lessons of life simply happen, and others need a mind wresting the emotional onslaught or focus on surviving the real threat!

  • Acrostic Poetry is where the first letter of each line spells a word, usually using the same words as in the title.

 

 

Fallen Angel (Group Contest Poem)
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

F.. Fallen not felled, and with dignity beheld

A.. Angelic by your own doing not gods hand

L.. Lucifer’s envy, felt as you walk the Earth

L.. Life & Land you’ve freed from their curse

E.. Enigmatic, and wondrous, to visit us here

N.. Nothing left we could regret, scorn or fear

 

A.. Alluring female, gorgeous, smart, and wise

N.. Nuns pledge faith to you to reach paradise

G.. Gentle and great how you inspire us fools

E.. Enmity lurking at envious Devil’s command

L.. Leaving us to return to a salvation at hand

Sharky – “Some like it raw!”

Sharky – “Some like it raw!”
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

I feared your dark rise from Leviathan’s Deep –
Your wild moves disturbed my humble sleep.
In such dread I stared at your predatory form –
As for me you simply crushed the ruling norm.

My mind was drawn into the deep you prowl –
Bestial Devourer, Significant of the own Soul.
Once, long ago, hunting you became my test –
Great savage onslaught which I had to wrest!

Now that I look upon your fallen, lifeless form –
bloody on asphalt, still a sacred, silent storm!
Your cruel Death my failure, as by now I know –
Without you this life has just Hell left to go to.

Routine drains us all and by now it is so clear –
I killed a true friend, blinded by my pain & fear.
Hence I must be strong & now I must strike true –
For: Now I must be me and the very best of you!

Vampirehunter – Fates worse than Death; Variant 2

Vampirehunter – Fates worse than Death; Variant 2
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Enervating city-life clad in pseudo-occult symbolism…

At night streets of every city have become  hunting grounds of sorts
For the camouflaged vampires only let us live as prey for their sports

From old, Carpathian nobility to deceptively modern elite-universities
Fangs, thirsty for blood, clawing us down due our darker dependencies

Oh that just has to be symbolic’, ‘Oh my God’, or: ‘They do not even exist
Craven smartmouthing, while another needed person dreads to resist

Still some of us, daringly, decided to bring the monsters to the stake
While faith and science waste time accusing each other to be a fake

Mortals can’t debate-away poverty, nor can one simply shoot it dead
Demon Drink, too, is a fierce fiend, so the lost souls enjoy it instead

Wrath, born from an injustice faced, or loyalty to our ancestral line
We’ve sacrificed normalcy, to become avengers of undeserving kine

Nocturnal cold-war best unmentioned, we’re sure just deluded fools
Withering, trapped in dutiful routine, as we played by their evil rules

And in this weird line of duty there is a dark truth we all risk to find
If vampires can’t kill us they turn us into their own, bloodbound kind

So, like a knight during his holy vigil, I gather my inner strength anew
To remember whom I shielded why, and what far-gone monsters I slew

If I’m not slain, nor brutally converted, then I keep it going on and on
This is like maintenance, not just a movie war which can be easily won

A part-time vigilante, worried father, plus a man of duty, and regrets
The fiercest vampiric drain I know is what doubtful hesitation begets