I forgot about these pages. Wow. I wonder if i'll ever draw or write something again? Feeling pretty stagnant these days, and who cares anyway? I am the only one. But I confess, I do like to look at my own drawings and read my own stories and poems. So I guess it is true what they say. You have to do it for yourself. By that logic, I can safely declare to those who do not think that I am prolific enough, or are disappointed that I do not pursue what minuscule talent I may have further. "Bugger off!" I do it it for me!
Aug 29, 2015
Sep 30, 2013
Aug 25, 2013
My tent in our camp at an Uprising. Uprising is a gathering held in June by the Barony of One Thousand Eyes, in the Kingdom of Artemisia. The Kingdom of Artemisia is one of 19 kingdoms collectively known as the Society for Creative Anachronism. On the left hand side you can see the camp of The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything. In the foreground you can see a portable-potty as hundreds of people gather here. In the background you can see the banners lining the entrance to the camp of Broken Rock.
Jan 28, 2012
There is nothing like the infinite possibility of a blank page.
How to fill the empty space
Magic runes that form a tale
With mighty deeds of heroic age?
A formula for brewing ale?
A secret script locked away
To be read on a gloomy day?
Or shall we paint a peaceful scene
Some imagery to be believed
With subtle shades of blue and green?
How to fill the empty space
Magic runes that form a tale
With mighty deeds of heroic age?
A formula for brewing ale?
A secret script locked away
To be read on a gloomy day?
Or shall we paint a peaceful scene
Some imagery to be believed
With subtle shades of blue and green?
Jan 27, 2012
"Oh where is the master of the inn?
The leaping fire lays low.
We are thirsty and need more gin."
This from a traveler fresh from the road.
The stable-boy said with a childhood grin.
"He's soused sir.
He lies with his head in the loo.
I fear he quaffed all your gin.
And there is naught a small boy like me can do.
The porcelain god has claimed his due.
I'll stable your horse sir and show you in.
The good-wife's awake and keeps a hot stew.
And if ye've got gold she'll tumble you too.
But there is naught that a boy like me can do.
With no gold in my pocket to trade for some stew.
I sir, shall have to settle for Soup."
Shaking his head the tired traveler said.
"Thank ye son. I just need a bed.
But if you'll bring stew to a quiet room
a hot pan of water and some linens too,
I may put half of that gold in your pocket for you.
What is this! There is a goat in my room!!
"Don't mind her sir."
The glimmer of gold in his sly grin
"And I've managed to pilfer a measure of gin.
I'll be back right quick, with linens and stew."
Snapping his fingers he yelled to the goat
With a fancy ribbon tied at it's throat.
"Get out of here you!
Come on come with me!
Come on darling Soup!"
Jan 24, 2012
Summer Solstice
On The Longest day of the year.
Ever spurring the firy eye
Sol flees Skoll
And thus the judgement day.
To Ragnorok
The wyrd-winds blow.
Nott holds no sway.
Ever spurring the firy eye
Sol flees Skoll
And thus the judgement day.
To Ragnorok
The wyrd-winds blow.
Nott holds no sway.
Winter Poem
Frau Holda
I am cold.
You shake the down from your blankets,
To much snow.
And your fellow Jack
Frosts my soul.
The dryads will sleep
In the ever-green tree
Inside in the warmth
Through cruel winter deep.
Oh Snow-queen,
Jultom calls,
Old Juleniss.
So release thy cruel hold.
This hard ice-road, cracking my bones
Was ne'er for me.
I can not hear what thy ice-maidens sing.
Just burning kisses my heart to freeze.
Sun-king lying with virgin spring
Forgets his squabbling brood
Leaves us to Frost as he dreams.
But oh what that wicked lady will bring.
Now Red-cap his sleigh of delight
Loaded with lies
From the Fae-realm will ride
Perhaps to snatch him
An unwanted child tonight.
Our doors are circled and crossed
From thy sting
And we remember those lost
In thy season of grief.
Now then from thy ring
Of torture release!
We call on gentle Danu
And winter appeased!
I am cold.
You shake the down from your blankets,
To much snow.
And your fellow Jack
Frosts my soul.
The dryads will sleep
In the ever-green tree
Inside in the warmth
Through cruel winter deep.
Oh Snow-queen,
Jultom calls,
Old Juleniss.
So release thy cruel hold.
This hard ice-road, cracking my bones
Was ne'er for me.
I can not hear what thy ice-maidens sing.
Just burning kisses my heart to freeze.
Sun-king lying with virgin spring
Forgets his squabbling brood
Leaves us to Frost as he dreams.
But oh what that wicked lady will bring.
Now Red-cap his sleigh of delight
Loaded with lies
From the Fae-realm will ride
Perhaps to snatch him
An unwanted child tonight.
Our doors are circled and crossed
From thy sting
And we remember those lost
In thy season of grief.
Now then from thy ring
Of torture release!
We call on gentle Danu
And winter appeased!
Jan 22, 2012
Its Only a Matter of Time
Thy skin and bones are laid to rest.
Whilst thy soul flies free of the dust.
Ashes to star-stuff so we must
All fade away.
The noble dead are trapped in our hearts.
Their songs linger in our mind.
Pleased to play the part.
They beckon us join them in kind.
The mortal weave being complete
Is only a matter of time.
Use thy pen to a pleasant end.
Let not thy colors bleed.
When the serpent has swallowed his tail
And you wander the worlds between.
Will we in our earthly gardens
Remember that your weeds were watered,
Well planted and green?
Jan 21, 2012
Books
So I have piles and piles of books. I cant bear to part with some of them but what do I do with them all?
Really thats almost all I own.......books.
Sleeping Beauty, The Fall of The House of Usher, The Norton Anthology of English Literature, books on art, lots, and lots of Sci-fi and Fantasy novels from Asimov to Zelazny, books about wildflife, a few books of Mythology, the list goes on.................
And its still snowing....a week and a half before Imbolc and we are finaly getting snow.
Really thats almost all I own.......books.
Sleeping Beauty, The Fall of The House of Usher, The Norton Anthology of English Literature, books on art, lots, and lots of Sci-fi and Fantasy novels from Asimov to Zelazny, books about wildflife, a few books of Mythology, the list goes on.................
And its still snowing....a week and a half before Imbolc and we are finaly getting snow.
Hastings
Well Duke William came a sailing one fine autumn day
Across the English Channel from nearby Normandy
But Harold King of England
Far away in Stamford
G’ainst a mean old king of Norway
Who had the very same name.
Now Godwinson secured the north
Harralds Vikings afraid of thier blades
He turned his troops abruptly about
And double-timed all the way.
They marched and marched and marching south
They deserted along the way.
They needed to reap the harvest for a hungry winter day.
Now Godwinson with weary troops to Hastings
To find his doom or defend his noble claim
But Kings by God or the Pope are made.
And William believed in his crusade.
He would have that crown for which he’d prayed.
See Harold covered in clay.
Well William charged and charged again
The English they broke ranks
They Chased old William down the hill
Exposing there ass and flanks.
So the horses came a galloping in.
And to the Huskarls put an end.
A third of the fourth of the firth
Laid into their graves.
Young King Harold Godwinson
Alas he too was slain.
And arrow from an unknown bow
Into his royal brain.
Jan 20, 2012
A Knicker in the Woods....A Tribute to Master D.M. Cornish
Little Keldoran shivered, it was not so cold on this night but he had fallen into a frigid irrigation ditch in his haste to report what he had seen to the good folk of the Glastongrimmine Manor. The offending channel ran beneath a rickety old corral fence that divided the yard proper from the cart path and enclosures and he had slipped right in on his way over, he was streaked with mud and a little of his own blood seeped from a nasty scrape on his left arm.
“There now, have some hot cidermull and explain yourself” cooed mistress Orrin as she brushed Keldoran’s sodden hair from his face and daubed at the grime around his newest wound. This was nothing new, a bruised up peasant boy in her kitchen. Bathtilde Orrin cared for most of the farm boys who came from the near by village of Scyldis to work her masters fields for the growing seasons, boys always had cuts and contusions to be cleaned and bandaged, and she kept a good store of healing salves and various oppilatives, along with Lordia and Levenseep at a modest cost to Master Glassman who owned the summer-manse and the fields and forest around it.
Chief Parminster Aldwin Grump stood near, hunched over a wicked looking pitch fork. The device was decidedly made for more than tossing hay and grain around. The elaborate set of proofing he wore about his stout frame suggested that he was used to more than just cuffing farm boys and shepherds. A steep of bloodmarks trailing a thin line down his thick neck bore testament to more than one victory over nicker-kind. He was eying Keldoran now with a keen look of anticipation. A sighting of boggles in the woods was often reported first by the simple field hands who toiled next to the terribly threwdish Matsch-mire. The hour was late, just after sun down and it was known that the more malicious of nicker folk took advantage of darkness, using it as cover for their heinous acts of trippery.
Keldoran began his tale, drawing himself up to appear brave before Farm Chief Aldwin. “Well we was late herding the livestock into their night-pens.” Keldoran’s brown eyes were wide, and he trembled slightly as he spoke. “A goose sir, tried to take wing, it hopped about something fierce and made for the open pasture headed for the Brundle-stream. I chased it all the way to the Matsch-mire. Then I saw something, something big, on the edge of the deep wood creeping through the shadows of the ancient oaks.” Here Keldoran shifted in his chair and pulled away as Bathtilde ran her wicken cloth over his now stinging abrasion.
Chieftain Grump interjected with a sharp intake of breath. “It was that Stoopback Widderlichen they’ve been seeing down by Scyldis. Were’nt it boy? I’ll give my best triquarter if it was’nt! Young Murlow was saying how Master Glassman’s pigs shied from the forest this morn, when normally they is wote to go charging in after acorns straightaway!” He started for the solid oak door leading to the yard, clearly meaning to deal with the nattering beast as quick as he could. “No time to wait for a Writ of Singular.” He exclaimed. “We know where it is. Bathtilde, send to the far meadow house for Mr. Fricke, and his gang of scollops.”
“Wait!” cried Keldoran in an excited tone. “The blighter is done in! I saw ‘im put down sir.”
Grump halted dead, and slowly turned, peering at the sun browned farm boy. Keldoran hurried on, his eyes growing wider and his voice more lilting at his next statement, truly a boy in wonder.
“It was Sir Eschelon Flowers sir!” Now he hopped from his stool and began to illustrate his tale with wild gesticulations, a bright grin on his now clean mug. ”Lord Aster, The Star of The Empire!”
Lady Bathtilde Orrin shushed him in the way mothers and wet-maids have. “Don’t use that title Keldoran!” She exclaimed, abashed.
“Aye lad” Aldwin said in his gentle tone. “I don’t give a wits bald arse, but it’s not something to be said around your average everyman. Keep up with what ye eye-balled son.”
“Yes’m Grump, sir. The boggle spied me sir and leapt straight for me, springing from the woods. I reckoned’ it was the Widderlichen, for I that’s almost all I reckd’ a wolf’s face with four wicked horns like a goat’s and a grinning sneer, with enough teeth to smatter a whole brace of conies. I thought it was knickers-end for me sir, but it snatched up the goose and paused to shake it down its gullet. Then came lighting sir, and I thought I was done in twice!” Keldoran’s exuberant simulation of what came next almost upset the pot of cidermull steeping on the kitchen’s permanent laborium.
“The Knight of Flowers did it! He sizzled the nucker and leapt in with his heater and bustard. He knocked away two blows of vicious claws and broke a horn.” Keldoran fumbled in sack cloth trews and produced a piece of black ivory. “Then the thing lit the ground, backed up and ran at The Lord Aster. Aster sir, he just stepped aside and slid his bustard into the beastie’s shoulder, there was burst of sparks like a Midtide reporter and an awful stink settled onto the turf.”
“Go on Keld”, urged Parminster Grump enthralled with the story now as if he were watching one of Pendrift’s panto-play’s in far off Boschenburg.
“Well that was it sir. His grace stood for a moment with his head bowed as if he were sad to have smitten the dastard, his long mustachio drooping.
Then he turned and looked to me, he had a fabulous harness, the like of what you never saw!” Keldoran’s oration took on a tone of admiration, and Bathtilde smiled a knowing smile. Many a young boy in these parts exchanged stories of The Knight of Flowers the famous Haacobian knight, who hailed from this very region all be it a little farther to the west in Braumschtick. And all of them knew full well that he had been put to the pillet for sedition and forced to flee the capitol and now roamed about the Half Continent lending his fulgarities where they needed to monster and every man alike.
Grump helped himself to a pot of steaming cider mull and dug about for a cold beef clumsy as Keldoran carried on. “His habiliment sir, it was brilliant! A thick sable and claret brocade, it must have been made by the finest cloth-smiths sir, no cloth or leather glimmers like that. And it had wondrous small flowers in silver filigree all about it, of many colors sir, so many that rainbows danced across its surface when ever he moved about and when he would arc, those filigree flowers would light up like burning star coms. ” Keldoran’s eyes could not get any wider the brown orbs fairly bulging from his sun dark dial. “Then he said to me. ‘Wretchin’s will be wretchin’s lad, and it’s not every every-man as deserves to be wretched.’ He turned into the halt-mire woods then sir, and I thought I caught a glimpse of Esquires Autumn, and The Bittern of The Mark his factotum’s sir, in the deeper gloom beneath an hoary old oak tree’s branches. And then they were gone, melted into the night-scrub and shadows, with only a small jingle of Master Eschelon’s spurs.”
“By the Glassmasters arse” exclaimed Grump “I don’t know why lad but I believe ye don’t be telling me a fantastico. We’ll be out to skrive the area tomorrow Fricke and me, we’ll find if the blighter had any shard-born gibbert-jacks lurking around with him.” He put fond hand on the boys shoulder. “Well a night to ye lad, get decent rest-over. I’ll roust ye come morn to show us where the Widderlichen was vascerated.”
Lady Orrin slyly tried to slip an obtorpe into another pot of cidermull for Keldoran, but not sly enough. The perceptive lad tossed it back but held the draught in his mouth until he was out the door where he promptly spat it to the dirt. Then it was off across the enclosures toward the far meadows.
Day light awoke to find Chief Parmister of Glastongrimmine Manor-House Aldwin Grump stalking across the yard, casting dirty looks at any early rising faraday that caught his eye. “Bathtilde!” He was hollering as loud as his pipes would blow. “Have ye seen that nearly wretched lad? He is naught to be found, and Mister Fricke’s scads’ is missing a fowling piece and a flammagon.” Behind him stumped the rotund Mister Fricke, his almost elephantine corpulence oozing around his lacquered harness, cold eyes small and hard in his puffy face.
Bathtilde emerged, swishing through the divided door of the manor kitchen and across the threshold into the yard; a well used broom poised in her hands her cheeks rosy in the crisp morning air. She had her famous knowing smile writ upon her face, and Aldwin could almost guess what had transpired. “He left a note sir, and eighteen scruples.”
Aldwin sputtered. ”Bu but where?”
Mr Fricke snorted through his wide flat nose.
Mr Fricke snorted through his wide flat nose.
Bathtilde’s smiled gently. She had seen last night how the lads eyes had sparkled while he wrought his tale, A heightened sense of nervous excitement had fairly leaped from him. ”He’s run off with The Duke of Flowers, of course.” Her matronly smile grew wider and Mr Fricke snorted again.
Jan 19, 2012
Three Brothers
Once there were three brothers. They were unfortunate and misshapen
The first brother was very tall with enormous hands and feet. He was so clumsy that he broke things every where he went.
The second brother was of average height but he was a hump-back and tended to let his hair grow long and unruly, he never combed it or washed it. He was not hire able.
Third brother was well enough in body but he had great big ears, and bulging eyes that were yellow with sickness, and when he had a beard on he was quite frightening indeed. No maid would look at him.
Rather than lament their unfortunate states, the brothers decided amongst them selves to make their abode far away in the high mountains. Taking what tools and supplies they could gather, and a few goats for meat and milk they removed themselves from other folk and were content to live a life of seclusion.
Now first brother, though he was clumsy was rather clever at certain things, and fishing was one of them. Often he spent his days snatching salmon and gronling from the mountain streams and lakes to smoke for the winter.
Third brother favored long walks in the woods where he could forage for mushrooms and sweet onions and smell the fragrance of the earth.
Second brother was happy to tend the goats all through the lazy day, and became good at making cheese and kefir. He kept bees and could make a fine mead as well.
In this way the brothers survived and were happy.
As progress is ever the way of human-folk, a small village soon appeared not far from the brothers’ secret home-stead. Eventually the folk of the village began to discover signs left by the brothers.
The first evidence was foot prints, twice as big as any normal person down the valley on the shore of the lovely lake. 'It has to be a large creature' thought the villagers.
One day third bother was ambling through the dark forest early in the morning just before dawn finding fresh morals and savoring the mist rising from the rotten forest floor, never noticing the drunken farmer stumbling home in the early morning fog.
"It has bulging eyes and huge ears and digs in the earth" cried the peasant when he woke up that same afternoon.
And then second brother was spotted by a small girl one evening just after sunset. He was carrying a large Billy-goat over his already humped shoulders and the horns curved sharply, tangling in his shock of messy hair. He must have been a frightening sight for such a small child.
Now the village counsel thought long about what to do with a troll in the mountains near their ever expanding farmland.
No one wished to fight it. Every one agreed that trying to slay a troll was folly. And the best thing would be to try and keep it's belly full so it had no need to gobble up poor stringy peasant folk.
So it was decreed that every one should leave what extra they had each week down near the lovely lake by a tall pile of stones for the troll.
The three misfigured brothers knowing how they frightened regular folk remained hidden as well they could, deep in the high mountains and gratefully stowed away the strange offerings that the villagers left each Frejday. In this way they were able to live in the way simple folk imagine kings do, never suffering the pain of hunger or lack of decent drink.
So one cold, cold night the brothers loaded a small cart with some frozen food and a few old stones that they had gathered for there own small walls and pushed and pulled it next to the new village gate-house.
When the villagers woke in the morning they were amazed to find a small feast stacked next to a pile of stones just out side the unmanned gate, as the foot prints in the snow seemed to belong to three different people the villagers did not suspect a benevolent troll.
In this way, with a weekly offering from the three brothers the village survived the cruel winter and the brothers were able to share the fortune so unwittingly provided them.
The first brother was very tall with enormous hands and feet. He was so clumsy that he broke things every where he went.
The second brother was of average height but he was a hump-back and tended to let his hair grow long and unruly, he never combed it or washed it. He was not hire able.
Third brother was well enough in body but he had great big ears, and bulging eyes that were yellow with sickness, and when he had a beard on he was quite frightening indeed. No maid would look at him.
Rather than lament their unfortunate states, the brothers decided amongst them selves to make their abode far away in the high mountains. Taking what tools and supplies they could gather, and a few goats for meat and milk they removed themselves from other folk and were content to live a life of seclusion.
Now first brother, though he was clumsy was rather clever at certain things, and fishing was one of them. Often he spent his days snatching salmon and gronling from the mountain streams and lakes to smoke for the winter.
Third brother favored long walks in the woods where he could forage for mushrooms and sweet onions and smell the fragrance of the earth.
Second brother was happy to tend the goats all through the lazy day, and became good at making cheese and kefir. He kept bees and could make a fine mead as well.
In this way the brothers survived and were happy.
As progress is ever the way of human-folk, a small village soon appeared not far from the brothers’ secret home-stead. Eventually the folk of the village began to discover signs left by the brothers.
The first evidence was foot prints, twice as big as any normal person down the valley on the shore of the lovely lake. 'It has to be a large creature' thought the villagers.
One day third bother was ambling through the dark forest early in the morning just before dawn finding fresh morals and savoring the mist rising from the rotten forest floor, never noticing the drunken farmer stumbling home in the early morning fog.
"It has bulging eyes and huge ears and digs in the earth" cried the peasant when he woke up that same afternoon.
And then second brother was spotted by a small girl one evening just after sunset. He was carrying a large Billy-goat over his already humped shoulders and the horns curved sharply, tangling in his shock of messy hair. He must have been a frightening sight for such a small child.
Now the village counsel thought long about what to do with a troll in the mountains near their ever expanding farmland.
No one wished to fight it. Every one agreed that trying to slay a troll was folly. And the best thing would be to try and keep it's belly full so it had no need to gobble up poor stringy peasant folk.
So it was decreed that every one should leave what extra they had each week down near the lovely lake by a tall pile of stones for the troll.
The three misfigured brothers knowing how they frightened regular folk remained hidden as well they could, deep in the high mountains and gratefully stowed away the strange offerings that the villagers left each Frejday. In this way they were able to live in the way simple folk imagine kings do, never suffering the pain of hunger or lack of decent drink.
Then misfortune dealt them another blow and their came some folk who were not afraid of trolls. Stout men with a lot of horses and weapons and shining steel. They used fire to clear the land so their horses could get at the stone. They built walls and towers and stout buildings. They claimed the land for miles and miles around.
The weekly offerings to the brothers were no longer left by the pile of stones near the lake for they had been hauled inland for the building of walls. Soon enough the cutting and clearing reached the edge of the brothers abode and the happy trio was nearly discovered.
The weekly offerings to the brothers were no longer left by the pile of stones near the lake for they had been hauled inland for the building of walls. Soon enough the cutting and clearing reached the edge of the brothers abode and the happy trio was nearly discovered.
Then came a hard cold winter. So cold that when the maiden of spring opened the high mountain pass the men and their horses rode away, leaving the villagers that remained many fine stone buildings for grain and roots.
Despite the extra storage, the next winter was just as hard and furious and the villagers that had been left behind began to go hungry.
Now the brothers were not greedy or cruel by nature and it soon became apparent that they would have to help the villagers if the villagers were to live through the terrible winter for they were well stocked with natures bounty and had saved a good share of the discontinued offerings as well.
When the villagers woke in the morning they were amazed to find a small feast stacked next to a pile of stones just out side the unmanned gate, as the foot prints in the snow seemed to belong to three different people the villagers did not suspect a benevolent troll.
In this way, with a weekly offering from the three brothers the village survived the cruel winter and the brothers were able to share the fortune so unwittingly provided them.
New Plan
Hello Friends.Nobody reads this but that is fine with me.
I have decided that I will indeed post my writing here on The Ouroboros. Most of it to begin with will be musings I have posted on my other blog, The Green Dragon Ale-House. http://thegreendragonale-house.blogspot.com/ My goal is to separate some of the love poems and private jokes and unfinished work. Though they are available should any one become interested. ( Follow the preceding link if you are..:)
Thanks for your time.
A.R. Forsgren
I have decided that I will indeed post my writing here on The Ouroboros. Most of it to begin with will be musings I have posted on my other blog, The Green Dragon Ale-House. http://thegreendragonale-house.blogspot.com/ My goal is to separate some of the love poems and private jokes and unfinished work. Though they are available should any one become interested. ( Follow the preceding link if you are..:)
Thanks for your time.
A.R. Forsgren
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 4, 2012
It is so hard
How do I quit smoking?
I have been trying for a year or more now and I just cant do it.
Am I that weak?
Pffft!!
I have been trying for a year or more now and I just cant do it.
Am I that weak?
Pffft!!
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 5, 2011
New Blog
Ok friends. This is a new blog. My other place, The Green Dragon Ale House was for my writing and art and then I started posting other stuff like interesting things I read, or blogs to various authors sights, so I have to decided to continue in that tradition with a new blog.
Thansk for looking....A.
Thansk for looking....A.
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