Poetry competition CLOSED 6th May 2023 00:48am
WINNER
Kou_Indigo (Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
Kou_Indigo (Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
Page:
Elvish Witchery in an Ethereal Realm.
Poetry Contest Description
New or old work about the emotions and goals of Elvish magic/sorcery/witchery/enchantments/incantations/spells/spell books/potions/magic symbols/magic holidays/etc.
(I have yet to see a comp like this, so here y'all go).
It could be from the perspective of an Elf/Half-Elf/Quarter Elf/any amount of Elf blood/someone raised by Elves, who works in or around some field of magic, someone taught magic or just a spell by elves, or someone who found something of Elvish magic that they wanted to try. Could be light, neutral, or dark magic, or a mix, maybe a spell for gardening, to protect a treasure/personal item from thieves, to sacrifice yourself/a character to save someone else, to end a kingdom/bloodline, to create super soldiers for war, to get revenge on an enemy, a petty teenager trying to piss off their parents/guardians/teachers/elders/tribe chief, to keep it from raining/snowing during a special event like a wedding/coronation/birthday party, to protest treatment of Elves or a nature/society cause, to create floating candles for a baking contest/show, to make special decorations for a home, or a spell gone awry with bad or just silly consequences, whatever you can think of, the sky's the limit! It doesn't have to be just about fantasy Elves, could also be steampunk Elves, Goth Elves, tribal Elves, Sci-fi space Elves, Elves in modern society, or a mix of some sort, can inclue other fantasy creatures/monsters/etc. One poem per poet, can also be in the form of song lyrics, and can include emotional/romantic love themes, marriage, pregnancy, family structure, family lineage, G-rated feelings of attraction, LGBTQIAP+ gender/presentation and/or multi-attraction/tertiary/non-rose (non-romantic and sexual) attraction(s) such as aesthetic, platonic, queerplatonic, impersonal, and/or others or a distinct lack thereof, mental health issues, self harm, nightmares/night terrors, sleep paralysis, physical conditions/diseases/injuries, gore, cursing, etc, but no erotic works, or sensuality over basically G-rated please (things like holding hands, hugging, a very minor kiss or two, snuggling, looking into someones eyes, holding someone's face in your/a character's hand, etc are cool), and no use of the C-word please (I have PTSD with that one). Have fun!
It could be from the perspective of an Elf/Half-Elf/Quarter Elf/any amount of Elf blood/someone raised by Elves, who works in or around some field of magic, someone taught magic or just a spell by elves, or someone who found something of Elvish magic that they wanted to try. Could be light, neutral, or dark magic, or a mix, maybe a spell for gardening, to protect a treasure/personal item from thieves, to sacrifice yourself/a character to save someone else, to end a kingdom/bloodline, to create super soldiers for war, to get revenge on an enemy, a petty teenager trying to piss off their parents/guardians/teachers/elders/tribe chief, to keep it from raining/snowing during a special event like a wedding/coronation/birthday party, to protest treatment of Elves or a nature/society cause, to create floating candles for a baking contest/show, to make special decorations for a home, or a spell gone awry with bad or just silly consequences, whatever you can think of, the sky's the limit! It doesn't have to be just about fantasy Elves, could also be steampunk Elves, Goth Elves, tribal Elves, Sci-fi space Elves, Elves in modern society, or a mix of some sort, can inclue other fantasy creatures/monsters/etc. One poem per poet, can also be in the form of song lyrics, and can include emotional/romantic love themes, marriage, pregnancy, family structure, family lineage, G-rated feelings of attraction, LGBTQIAP+ gender/presentation and/or multi-attraction/tertiary/non-rose (non-romantic and sexual) attraction(s) such as aesthetic, platonic, queerplatonic, impersonal, and/or others or a distinct lack thereof, mental health issues, self harm, nightmares/night terrors, sleep paralysis, physical conditions/diseases/injuries, gore, cursing, etc, but no erotic works, or sensuality over basically G-rated please (things like holding hands, hugging, a very minor kiss or two, snuggling, looking into someones eyes, holding someone's face in your/a character's hand, etc are cool), and no use of the C-word please (I have PTSD with that one). Have fun!
King Arthur and the Cauldron of the Goddess
- King Arthur and the Cauldron of the Goddess -
I shall in these words of verse, thus poetic in the form so woven thereof,
Now tell a tale that shall to certain ears seem to be most passing strange.
When ancient were the days, but never so ancient as what came before...
In the time when the birds of certain goddesses, flew in the skies above,
It was in those days when Glastonbury was an island, ere things changed.
Arthur was a king over the land, and sought to be lord over much more!
Forth he went in questing, with twelve companions marching with him...
For always twelve he kept, though who they were changed oft with time.
Ere long they made their way, through secret roads, to a forgotten castle,
A place not seen since the times of the high kings of old days grown dim.
Once it was said that the great sorcerer Gwydion, his powers oft undying,
Came to that place, to with the powers of the gods of that realm wrestle.
The outcome of that contest none know, but that place was unconquered,
That same fortress wherein the brash Pryderi became imprisoned swiftly.
Along with his mother Rhiannon, when they discovered its' dark secrets...
For it was partly in that same realm into which that prince once honored,
To bear the name of Pwyll, lord of Dyfed, had met with a mighty divinity.
Where they walked, so ventured Arthur with no thought to foolish regrets...
One cannot say whether it was good or ill that drove him unto that place,
Beyond the veil that separates from the sight of all men, the other world.
Surrounded by placid waters, the mysterious castle appeared in Samhain...
For only during that season of the year could it reveal its' eldritch grace,
The shores of which could only be reached if a peculiar sail be unfurled...
Prydwen was the name of the ship that bore the king there, power to gain.
Oh the mysteries of Avalon, the isle that was where now is Glastonbury!
Twelve were they who ventured there at the side of Arthur their monarch.
But of their number, only seven returned to speak of what they so beheld,
When the castle revolved using machines of a design most strange to see.
Entrapping those who entered there in the other world, as if upon a lark...
Four times, did it turn, before the winds of the other world could be felt.
Therein, did Arthur and his knights behold suspended by massive chains,
The golden cauldron of the ancient goddess, whose name they knew not.
Within its' depths was a liquid that to their eyes looked much like blood!
Nine maidens in white gowns did breathe upon it, easing their own pains,
It healed them, even as their breath did make it first warm, and then hot...
Not one of the maidens aged a day, nor needed they nourishment of food.
A garland of black pearls was wound around that cauldron's entire edge,
And in the air above it hovered a sword that looked to be made of night.
If shadow could be given a form, one as forged upon some mighty anvil!
Should one not worthy drink of the cauldron's broth, then in black rage...
That sword would fall upon them, descending from its' previous height,
A thing of darkness that was created to consume only souls that are evil.
In the instant before it strikes, it glows brightly, becoming white as light,
And that was the last thing that some of the knights ever bore witness to.
Some were found to be cowards, some secretly traitors, and some false...
Drained of soul and life's vitality, only their bones remained within sight,
Of the goddess's sacred cauldron, which can only be touched by one true.
The blade sought to earn a master, in its' home within those faerie walls!
And of the knights who remained to Arthur of those who were not killed,
Only the most unlikely of them all came to hold that sword in his hands...
Llwch Lleminawg, that same who was the reincarnation of the hero Lugh.
If he remembered that past life, it would have his very blood there chilled,
For as Lugh he had been the child of the terrible Balor, in Eire's old lands.
Greatest in glory was he of Arthur's knights, but not one knowing of truth!
The blade sensed in him the darkness he ignored, and so after that hour...
Never again did that knight use the lance which had made him so famous.
But, that sword would forsake him at the last, for a more frightful master,
In the form of Arthur's son, Mordred, who would use its' demonic power.
It was the sword that would be of Arthur's wounding; dark, blasphemous!
Once the sword was claimed, the sky grew dark, foretelling some disaster.
And coldly chill became the air outside the forbidden gates to the fortress.
Strong were those portals, which beheld the descending of new twilight...
As the maidens of the cauldron stepped back, whilst the gold of its' form,
Turned blacker than any starless void, filling those maidens with distress.
The once beautiful otherworldly land now appeared to become as a blight,
Whilst the alien skies above became warped by the unset of a black storm.
Touch not the cauldron of the goddess, for it holds death, and decimation!
Always so for the unworthy, and this did the maidens proclaim all as one.
Even Arthur was frightened by it, and by the blood which it yet contained,
But even so some among his knights were tempted, rising above station...
To dare to drink of that blood, in order to see what they might so become.
The sword's new master, would not allow it to strike them, but it strained!
It tried to break free in order to do its' terrible duty, but it was not needed,
For the cauldron held the power to punish those not of the purest of heart.
All those who drank from it died thereupon, and each man in utter agony...
Knowing at the last that those maidens' warning they should have heeded.
By their own wickedness, each false knight was from within so torn apart!
And from the mouths of the maidens came prophecies of a future destiny.
Only seven knights remained alive, to depart that castle at Arthur's side...
And the bard, Taliesin, who recorded all he understood of what occurred.
What at first looked like a kingly castle fit for revelry and filled of riches,
Became a black prison wherein something utterly inhuman did so abide.
The loud cries of ravens, all through the castle could so swiftly be heard,
Along with more terrible sounds, akin to wailing and demonic screeches.
The walls of the castle turned transparent like glass, and out of each pane,
Could be seen different worlds, different times, and all different realities.
Now the knights could see the watchmen who guarded that castle so well!
Elvish kindred were they, though in whom their ancient powers did wane.
Else they would have destroyed the intruders, who lacked their dignities...
But instead, they began to ring the sturdy ropes of that castle's great bells.
They spoke not, the language of men, and thus could not be reasoned with.
Loud was the tolling of the bells, and when they rang the sound was awful,
Immobilizing the knights, who sought to strive against the magic at work...
The glass walls shattered, and behind them were stone walls of great width.
It was impossible, to know what was real, and what to do that was lawful!
Suddenly, the bells ceased and the Elvish watchman came out of the murk.
No longer in the shadows, they could be seen more clearly, and did fight...
Great was the prowess of Arthur the king and his seven remaining knights,
As they strove against the soldiers of the other world, who fought as devils.
That day the mettle of the king was tested, and found stronger in its' might,
Than the inhuman beings who stood against him, like some hellish wights.
The maidens kept spouting prophecies, foretelling future dooms and evils!
Arthur first heard from their lips, how it was that he would one day perish,
As the maidens faces and forms became like unto fey, ghostly apparitions.
The cauldron became a thing made of shadow, and was taken away quick!
By those banshee spirits, amid clouds of crows that descended with relish...
Through the castle halls, toward the embattled knights with all permission,
To tear the lot of the intruders apart, leaving them in their own blood thick.
And so it was that, seeing the unnatural look of the enormous black birds...
Arthur and his seven remaining knights grabbed all they could of treasure,
Mere trinkets of gold and fine tapestries, and what jewelry could be found.
Thence, they fled with all haste out from the castle gates, shouting words,
Of joy, to see that they were once more in their own world; such pleasure!
Only, now they found themselves far removed from their starting ground.
They looked about, as the castle vanished after revolving faster and faster,
Until the strange fortress vanished from sight, leaving them alone at last...
On the island of Ynys Gweir, a place sacred to the great sorcerer Gwydion.
Far removed, from that other island whereupon they first sought to master,
The castle that had defeated them so utterly, with its' magic from the past.
Yet some power brought their ship here, and so this victory they had won!
This would not be the last time Arthur's knights would seek that old grail,
More ancient than that of Christian lore, that cauldron and it's holy nectar.
For when the land most began to ail, and its' king fell into a great despair,
A single worthy knight be come forth, to quest for it and this time not fail.
The famed bard who escaped that castle with Arthur and seven warriors...
Went on to chronicle that events that had transpired in words passing fair.
But when the time came, and the prophecy of doom finally came to pass,
And both Arthur the king and his son Mordred had slain each the other...
Not a trace could be found, of that terrible sword that Mordred had used.
The two men would come to rest in Avalon, in the other world at the last,
Whilst the shadowy blade returned fast to the hand of it's original mother.
The pale goddess of death, and rebirth, would see that it was not abused!
She was one of the three queens who ferried Arthur and Mordred away...
Some called her a dark sorceress, and worse, but she was before them all.
She had seen the infancy of the world, and one day would see its' ending!
So many were her names, but most back then called her Morgan the Fey.
That sword was an extension of her will, so its' wielders heeded her call...
Until the pride of Arthur was punished, to begin the land's very mending.
I shall in these words of verse, thus poetic in the form so woven thereof,
Now tell a tale that shall to certain ears seem to be most passing strange.
When ancient were the days, but never so ancient as what came before...
In the time when the birds of certain goddesses, flew in the skies above,
It was in those days when Glastonbury was an island, ere things changed.
Arthur was a king over the land, and sought to be lord over much more!
Forth he went in questing, with twelve companions marching with him...
For always twelve he kept, though who they were changed oft with time.
Ere long they made their way, through secret roads, to a forgotten castle,
A place not seen since the times of the high kings of old days grown dim.
Once it was said that the great sorcerer Gwydion, his powers oft undying,
Came to that place, to with the powers of the gods of that realm wrestle.
The outcome of that contest none know, but that place was unconquered,
That same fortress wherein the brash Pryderi became imprisoned swiftly.
Along with his mother Rhiannon, when they discovered its' dark secrets...
For it was partly in that same realm into which that prince once honored,
To bear the name of Pwyll, lord of Dyfed, had met with a mighty divinity.
Where they walked, so ventured Arthur with no thought to foolish regrets...
One cannot say whether it was good or ill that drove him unto that place,
Beyond the veil that separates from the sight of all men, the other world.
Surrounded by placid waters, the mysterious castle appeared in Samhain...
For only during that season of the year could it reveal its' eldritch grace,
The shores of which could only be reached if a peculiar sail be unfurled...
Prydwen was the name of the ship that bore the king there, power to gain.
Oh the mysteries of Avalon, the isle that was where now is Glastonbury!
Twelve were they who ventured there at the side of Arthur their monarch.
But of their number, only seven returned to speak of what they so beheld,
When the castle revolved using machines of a design most strange to see.
Entrapping those who entered there in the other world, as if upon a lark...
Four times, did it turn, before the winds of the other world could be felt.
Therein, did Arthur and his knights behold suspended by massive chains,
The golden cauldron of the ancient goddess, whose name they knew not.
Within its' depths was a liquid that to their eyes looked much like blood!
Nine maidens in white gowns did breathe upon it, easing their own pains,
It healed them, even as their breath did make it first warm, and then hot...
Not one of the maidens aged a day, nor needed they nourishment of food.
A garland of black pearls was wound around that cauldron's entire edge,
And in the air above it hovered a sword that looked to be made of night.
If shadow could be given a form, one as forged upon some mighty anvil!
Should one not worthy drink of the cauldron's broth, then in black rage...
That sword would fall upon them, descending from its' previous height,
A thing of darkness that was created to consume only souls that are evil.
In the instant before it strikes, it glows brightly, becoming white as light,
And that was the last thing that some of the knights ever bore witness to.
Some were found to be cowards, some secretly traitors, and some false...
Drained of soul and life's vitality, only their bones remained within sight,
Of the goddess's sacred cauldron, which can only be touched by one true.
The blade sought to earn a master, in its' home within those faerie walls!
And of the knights who remained to Arthur of those who were not killed,
Only the most unlikely of them all came to hold that sword in his hands...
Llwch Lleminawg, that same who was the reincarnation of the hero Lugh.
If he remembered that past life, it would have his very blood there chilled,
For as Lugh he had been the child of the terrible Balor, in Eire's old lands.
Greatest in glory was he of Arthur's knights, but not one knowing of truth!
The blade sensed in him the darkness he ignored, and so after that hour...
Never again did that knight use the lance which had made him so famous.
But, that sword would forsake him at the last, for a more frightful master,
In the form of Arthur's son, Mordred, who would use its' demonic power.
It was the sword that would be of Arthur's wounding; dark, blasphemous!
Once the sword was claimed, the sky grew dark, foretelling some disaster.
And coldly chill became the air outside the forbidden gates to the fortress.
Strong were those portals, which beheld the descending of new twilight...
As the maidens of the cauldron stepped back, whilst the gold of its' form,
Turned blacker than any starless void, filling those maidens with distress.
The once beautiful otherworldly land now appeared to become as a blight,
Whilst the alien skies above became warped by the unset of a black storm.
Touch not the cauldron of the goddess, for it holds death, and decimation!
Always so for the unworthy, and this did the maidens proclaim all as one.
Even Arthur was frightened by it, and by the blood which it yet contained,
But even so some among his knights were tempted, rising above station...
To dare to drink of that blood, in order to see what they might so become.
The sword's new master, would not allow it to strike them, but it strained!
It tried to break free in order to do its' terrible duty, but it was not needed,
For the cauldron held the power to punish those not of the purest of heart.
All those who drank from it died thereupon, and each man in utter agony...
Knowing at the last that those maidens' warning they should have heeded.
By their own wickedness, each false knight was from within so torn apart!
And from the mouths of the maidens came prophecies of a future destiny.
Only seven knights remained alive, to depart that castle at Arthur's side...
And the bard, Taliesin, who recorded all he understood of what occurred.
What at first looked like a kingly castle fit for revelry and filled of riches,
Became a black prison wherein something utterly inhuman did so abide.
The loud cries of ravens, all through the castle could so swiftly be heard,
Along with more terrible sounds, akin to wailing and demonic screeches.
The walls of the castle turned transparent like glass, and out of each pane,
Could be seen different worlds, different times, and all different realities.
Now the knights could see the watchmen who guarded that castle so well!
Elvish kindred were they, though in whom their ancient powers did wane.
Else they would have destroyed the intruders, who lacked their dignities...
But instead, they began to ring the sturdy ropes of that castle's great bells.
They spoke not, the language of men, and thus could not be reasoned with.
Loud was the tolling of the bells, and when they rang the sound was awful,
Immobilizing the knights, who sought to strive against the magic at work...
The glass walls shattered, and behind them were stone walls of great width.
It was impossible, to know what was real, and what to do that was lawful!
Suddenly, the bells ceased and the Elvish watchman came out of the murk.
No longer in the shadows, they could be seen more clearly, and did fight...
Great was the prowess of Arthur the king and his seven remaining knights,
As they strove against the soldiers of the other world, who fought as devils.
That day the mettle of the king was tested, and found stronger in its' might,
Than the inhuman beings who stood against him, like some hellish wights.
The maidens kept spouting prophecies, foretelling future dooms and evils!
Arthur first heard from their lips, how it was that he would one day perish,
As the maidens faces and forms became like unto fey, ghostly apparitions.
The cauldron became a thing made of shadow, and was taken away quick!
By those banshee spirits, amid clouds of crows that descended with relish...
Through the castle halls, toward the embattled knights with all permission,
To tear the lot of the intruders apart, leaving them in their own blood thick.
And so it was that, seeing the unnatural look of the enormous black birds...
Arthur and his seven remaining knights grabbed all they could of treasure,
Mere trinkets of gold and fine tapestries, and what jewelry could be found.
Thence, they fled with all haste out from the castle gates, shouting words,
Of joy, to see that they were once more in their own world; such pleasure!
Only, now they found themselves far removed from their starting ground.
They looked about, as the castle vanished after revolving faster and faster,
Until the strange fortress vanished from sight, leaving them alone at last...
On the island of Ynys Gweir, a place sacred to the great sorcerer Gwydion.
Far removed, from that other island whereupon they first sought to master,
The castle that had defeated them so utterly, with its' magic from the past.
Yet some power brought their ship here, and so this victory they had won!
This would not be the last time Arthur's knights would seek that old grail,
More ancient than that of Christian lore, that cauldron and it's holy nectar.
For when the land most began to ail, and its' king fell into a great despair,
A single worthy knight be come forth, to quest for it and this time not fail.
The famed bard who escaped that castle with Arthur and seven warriors...
Went on to chronicle that events that had transpired in words passing fair.
But when the time came, and the prophecy of doom finally came to pass,
And both Arthur the king and his son Mordred had slain each the other...
Not a trace could be found, of that terrible sword that Mordred had used.
The two men would come to rest in Avalon, in the other world at the last,
Whilst the shadowy blade returned fast to the hand of it's original mother.
The pale goddess of death, and rebirth, would see that it was not abused!
She was one of the three queens who ferried Arthur and Mordred away...
Some called her a dark sorceress, and worse, but she was before them all.
She had seen the infancy of the world, and one day would see its' ending!
So many were her names, but most back then called her Morgan the Fey.
That sword was an extension of her will, so its' wielders heeded her call...
Until the pride of Arthur was punished, to begin the land's very mending.
Written by Kou_Indigo
(Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
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