Tuesday, June 7, 2011

dragon king 1


big poem i : The Dragon King:
                                   Overtures

and the dragon said to him
(between clouds of redsmoke)
when you take my head, take it
with you,
mount a gold band around the neck.
There's gold aplenty here.
Then, the worm was on him
ten mighty tons of scaled mountain,
taloned hands flashing
glints in the redsmoke,
                                            in the dark
underbelly of the earth.
So long have I been here,
                 coiled around my
endless ringéd pain, so so long..
The dragon spoke even as they clashed.
   The young man did not speak,
for the battle was fast
                    and very frightening.
  Armour was gashed, sparking
                         by one blackscaled hand
  the boy stood swinging
                 his brazen knife,
      sword of kings, pathetic, blunted
                   on the hard arms of his foe.
 His wastes ran down his trembling legs,
and he feared he  would soon fall
         in terror or to the flashing deadly

   hands and darting hissing head.
 The beast did not throw itself upon him;
        for this he was glad,  knowing
              not
         the wishes of the beast, he knew
                not
          the reason for it.
                 In the final heat of it,
     the dragon
             seemed much smaller, much
    like a man, but all unclear in the
            choking redsmoke there.
   A hand caught his, as he reared back,
     an eye sought his
                  as he struck, unhindered,
     and  a form fell slumping, liquid,
             disordered,
                         even as the  perfect
         spike-bearded snake's-head
                    dropped at his feet, eye still
            meeting his.
            A gold band, he thought, and
  with a heavy sorrow on him, he searched for it,
      Hurrying ,with dread so 
   dark and nameless on him, he ransacked
       rummaged
          and tore through the treasure pile,
 technology  and gems ,gold and famous papers,
  fine footwear, clasps torcs and diadems,
    old records and their players,
older drawings on cloth paper :
     all was hurled aside
 in the increasing pace of his looking.
   From the floor, in the clear rocky throne-room , dust-streaked,
     an eye regarded him even as it glazed.
 Amusing ,this
          game of control, amusing
 even in death.


Peter Greene 2010.

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