Guardian of the Black Garden

Here's something I just thought up today and wrote, tell me what ya think. It's still very much in working stages and this is all I have so I don't really know what's gonna happen in it.

Guardian of the Black Garden

In the beginning the Great One created two gardens, the Garden of Light and the Garden of Night. In the Garden of Light were placed the animals of the world, the ones that all know and Man. In the Garden of Night were placed all the creatures of shadows, those considered evil and perverse. In each Garden there was a Guardian was set to keep track of the creatures placed within and keep out all who would trespass. Not long after the creation of the world and the Gardens came what most call the Fall of Man, though the Guardian’s simply know it as the Corruption. Man abandoned the Garden of Light and the animals scattered over the face of Gaiya. The Guardian was sent to roam aimlessly through the world and the Garden of Night fell into myth just like the Garden of Light, and as the years passed the Garden simply became known as, The Black Garden.

Mission

The Guardian of the Black Garden walked slowly along, the obsidian glass that made up the path crunched and cracked under his black leather boots. He held his pitch night cloak close about him, his hood up, in a small attempt to stave off the cold of the night, though the cold bothered him little, things such as the weather and it’s variations could do practically nothing to him, still he wished it were warmer. He glanced briefly at the flowers to his left, the Starlight Roses. They were his favorites, if he had to choose. The elegant play of shining white stars upon silent black petals always brought a smile to his face. On any other night he would have stopped to admire the roses but this night was special, it was different. This night was when things would finally begin to change.
The Guardian had grown weary and tired of what the world had become. Ever since the Corruption there had been nothing but death and destruction orchestrated by men. Though he could care less about the world at large, his duty was simply to watch over the Black Garden, but recently things had changed, a threat had appeared bent on the destruction of the world and especially the Black Garden. He’d seen what had happened to the Garden of Light and would not let it happen to his Garden.
It didn’t take him long to reach the Black Sorra tree that stood at the center of the Garden. It towered above all the other trees, despite that it stood upon a hill. Its bark was the deepest brown and it’s leaves, like almost all the other flora, were as black as the perpetual night that covered the Garden. The crunch of the rocks ceased as the path ended and he proceeded on, his footsteps now as silent as death upon the deep green of the grass. Off in the distance a nightingale sang it’s beautiful song as the clouds parted revealing the full moon, it’s white light washing down illuminating the Black Garden, it wasn’t enough to banish the dark, not even the sun could accomplish such a feet, but it made it seem more cheery.
He stopped a few feet from the wide trunk of the tree and looked up into the branches calling out in a hushed voice. “Come down Shyla, I’m in need of your assistance.”
The leaves rustled and a dark shape decended landing nimbly to kneel before the Guardian. “What is thy bidding, oh great Guardian?” The figure asked in a voice of feminine silk.
“The time has come to do something about man and his destructive ways. The threat to the Garden of Night grows with every passing day, I’m afraid a fear I have had for some time has come true, the Guardian of the Garden of Light has betrayed us.” His voice was filled with sadness for his former friend and fellow Guardian. It had been the hardest thing in the world to see the Guardian cast away from his duty and out into the world.
The figure stood its hands curling into claws and it’s eyes blazing red. “Speak and I shall find him and destroy him.” Shyla’s voice was now granite hard.
The Guardian sighed. “If only it were that simple Shyla. You would never be a match for him; I’m hesitant to say that I could even defeat him. He was always the stronger. And besides, if it were a simply matter of destroying him then I would have set off with the Eclipse Guard and done so, I’m afraid things are more dire than that. He’s gathered the former members of the Daylight Shield and has set the Kingdom of Dawn to conquering the world and to come and destroy us. He’s gathered many powerful allies that once dwelled within his Garden and many others that have come about.” His head fell and his hands clenched beneath his cloak. “We have a war coming our way.”
“What would you have me do my Lord?” Shyla bowed, it’s hair touching the ground.
“I want you and Wolv to go out and find someone. My old friend is looking for him as well but we must find him first.” The Guardian turned his head and let out a high-pitched musical whistle. Within a few moments a giant wolf, twice the size of The Guardian, came lopping up to them. It loomed over them in what could have been interpreted as a threatening manner, but that image was dispelled as it laid down it’s head tilted down and eyes closed as if in a bow towards the Guardian.
Thy Bidding? The thought entered the Guardian’s head.
“The both of you are to go and find the one that can call upon the Twilight Defenders.”
The two others looked up in surprise. “The Twilight Defenders? Sir, are you so sure that we cannot handle this on our own?” Shyla asked.
“I would say that we could fight on our own, but too much would be lost. Too much would be destroyed of our world and man’s. No, we must gain all the help that we can and that means gaining the aid of the Twilight and not letting my friend get a hold of them first.”
Shyla and Wolv’s heads bowed again as they awaited their instructions.

Here's another short poem.

The Curse of Adulthood

Is when there's concrete drying
And you don't want to do anything to it,
Don't even want to touch it.
You'd have to think of something to write and
Your name isn't enough.

Summer Reading?

Hey everybody,

I was just wondering what y'all are reading this summer, and whether you have any recommendations.

Probably the best I've read so far this summer are Life of Pi by Yann Martel, Atonement by Ian McEwan, and (if I can say this without being too cliche) Emma by Jane Austen.

Unfortunately, I haven't done a lot of writing this summer ... Perhaps I will before it's over.

whoa, everybody! i'm so encouraged to read what you've been working on! my summer's gotten off to a rocky start, and i'm anxious to get to colorado and start classes. i've had a few epiphanies, and you guys will be the first to know when they manifest themselves into poems. i'm starting to get worried that everything i want to write has already been written by william carlos williams...?

at the very least, i'll be producing a short story before the end of the year as part of a genre study at csu. i apologize in advance to the prose people.

Karyn poems for me?

So, here are a couple of off-brand Karyn poem attempts I made, though I cannot hope to emulate the real Karyn.

I can't quite dispense with capital letters, but I did awkward line breaks, and (unlike last time) it isn't concealed pentameter. :-P Criticism is welcome.


I wonder if my dog is
jealous
when I walk him in the morning
because
last night
I dreamed of
cats.


And another:


Some blushes
sting from the back of God's
bony hand
across your
own cheekbone.

Graveside

Comments and criticism very welcome:

Graveside

Flowers aren’t enough
We start out going weekly, quickly
Fading into monthly, monthly
Into yearly and yearly
Added to the budget: Annual Bouquet, $50.

We give dead flowers to the dead,
Living for ones that are alive
Write elegies in a country churchyard
Kneel or weep into a napkin.

There is no place for the ancestors,
Hovering over us critically
Like bees before a flower.

And we wonder why our honey tastes bland,
Hovering over our own fountains
Of nectar and pollen, packing
Our throats with sweet and our leg flaps with powder.

We buzz around the city
And finally outside it,
Wilting flower after flower till we reach
A spray of roses, abandoned with love
By a wet, stone tablet.

But the roses are parched
Ruby-throated necks slit
And we waft a little lower
Where a small clover grows,
a red eye just cracked open,
yawning to the spring of its ruddy childhood.

5/7/08

Dust

I've brought this poem to Scribblers a couple of times, and now here's draft thirty-seven or something. Comments welcome.

Dust

I scrubbed and scraped and scoured my skin
Till most of the African dust came off.
It took most of the skin with it.
Tan lines from sandals fade after a few months,
And bleach removes dust-colored stains.

Forgive me.
I can’t always talk about the dust.
Sometimes I can’t speak at all.

Forgive me if I don’t tell you
About a calculating lioness
Crouched in spiked grass,
Or about the gazelle
That almost didn’t get away.

Forgive me
If I can’t tell you
About an orphaned child’s dirty diapers,
Or about her smile,
Or about how her bottom lip stuck out
When she cried.

Forgive me if I can’t talk about the dust itself,
But know that everything I say is stained by it.
(Or at least it ought to be.
Minds shouldn’t be like skin or clothes.)

Forgive me
If I show you a picture, instead,
Of someone you’ll never know,
Of a smile, or a tear, or a snotty nose,
On glossy paper.
Forgive me for using that photo as a weapon.