It's been a bit since I've posted up any poetry. This is one I've had kicking around in my files for awhile now. It's an attempt to emulate the style of Robert E. Howard's famous poem "Cimmeria." I hope you enjoy it!
Far to the north,
Beyond the rolling hills of Berengia
And resting like a crown
On the headland of Gauloth,
A brutish land resides where the air is frigid
And faces hang grim.
“Graven” it has been aptly named,
Though perhaps its people
Have their own moniker for “home.”
A cruel phrase it would doubtless be.
Few in the sun-washed south have e’er graced
Its rocky shores – and why would they?
Why trade the comfort of a happy hearth
For the half-frozen bite of that warlord’s country?
Besides, there is no need.
For every new year
When the ice of the northern seas thaw,
The exports of Graven issue forth on their own.
They come in ships;
Long and narrow blades on the sea.
They cut through the water,
Paying no heed to the tumult of stormy waves.
Iron-shirted raiders and reavers
Armed with axes and spears and brutal dispositions.
Their lusty eyes wander the coastlines
Scouring all our works for wealth and plunder.
It’s said there’s a great hall in those Graven-lands.
A mead house built atop a tall and noble hill
Where their godless lords watch
The coming and going of their accursed vessels.
And when the ships return?
Bellies fat with the stolen silver
Of their long beleaguered neighbors?
Those jarls raise a warrior’s cheer.
You can hear its echo out on the seas,
Bedding like a lover with the roaring waves.
Its growl reminds us to stay vigilant
At prow and home alike.
For you never know
When the sea wolves of Graven will come.
