Narrative Poems By Tomek Piorkowski Copyright Tomek Piorkowski 2012 Cover image: The Knight at the Crossroads, By Viktor

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Table of Contents

THE DEMON HUNTER TO CLAIRE MONTAGUE-FRYER (ODE TO A GOTH) JOHNNY-COME-LATELY CELESTIAL NAVIGATION RIZQA A COURTSHIP THE VILLAGE SONG VIMALA - A Buddhist Parable

THE DEMON HUNTER It was raining hard and heavy, the wind was lashing outside; I had the fire going, it crackled warmly as I sighed; When the inn door opened, and through it he came, His soul cold and heavy, as if the weather was the same. Come, Sir, I said, and sit by the fire. Warm your hands, and forget what is dire. And he came and sat, and I saw that in his eyes, There was something of a truth, mixed in with some lies. And he said, I am a demon hunter, and I seek a demon prey; Every night I dream of hunting, and hunting I go every day. Yet it seems that the one demon I seek is the one I never find, It seems my hunting eye has slowly become blind. But I hear that demon still, howling somewhere in the rain; And each howl, it seems, somehow amplifies my pain. Forget your pain, Sir, and drink what I have in stock; And afterwards I shall give you a room with a sturdy lock. I promise that all the demons in the world with all their demon lore Shall not disturb your rest behind the sturdy door. Give me something warm to drink, with which to warm my hand; For my hand must be warm, if with sword I must take my stand. For it seems that not far off in the rain I can hear it howling, as if it were in pain. I brought him a drink, I made sure it was warm, To counter the effects of a cold and lashing storm. And he held it but he did not seem to want to drink; As if it was wrong into oblivion to sink. What is wrong, sir? Is it not warm enough for you? No, it is warm and strong, like all that is true. But I must go a-hunting, even if the hunting is in vain, For I can hear the demon howling, echoing my pain. No Sir, do not go; for it is cold and wet outside; At least stay by this fire, until all your clothes have dried. But I can hear the demons howling, somewhere in the rain; How can I rest, when I can hear it begging to be slain? Sir, I do not hear the things that you are hearing All I can sense is the thunder and the sound of water pelting.

Calm yourself, and do not trouble yourself anymore; Let yourself respite a while from your onerous chore. I am a demon hunter, it is what gives me life; All I live for is the feeling I get when Im in deadly strife. But that thing is mocking me, it has a face like mine, And it taunts with a word, or sometimes a sign. I would hunt it! I would hunt, though it be in vain, I will seek it where its hiding, in the valleys of my pain! Sir, the valley is deluged with the storm; Rather stay here, where it is safe and warm. It is as if it were inside of me Clawing at me constantly, Taunting and insulting, Hideous and revolting. Its a monster thats inside me, and it has to be slain! I will find it where its hiding, in the midst of all my pain! And as if possessed he ran out into the rain, Searching for some way to end all his pain. And I stood by the fire, and I gave a sigh again; Hoping that the hunter would not find his hunt in vain.

TO CLAIRE MONTAGUE-FRYER (ODE TO A GOTH) Inspired by the article 'Welcome to Gotham' in the Sunday Times of 8 April 2007 In a bat filled castle there stands a throne From where our Dark Queen reigns, reigns alone. Summoned, we went through cobwebbed halls To the throne room, locked in by blood-red walls. Not undetected did we approach, for would you know, All the time we were watched by the eyes of Jayke the crow The crow that sits at our Queen's right hand is her all-seeing spy; He watches all, and then goes to tell Her what he found with his eye. As we entered the throne room we were met with a growl From our Queen's pet dragon, for his mood was most foul. The dragon sits at our Queen's left hand, his name is Falcor From his many victims his claws are stained red with gore. Falcor protects our Queen from those fools who would do her harm; And many a fool has Falcor torn asunder, from limb up to arm. Through one open door we could see the room wherein was her bed Her bed was a coffin of beautiful oak, fit for the most royal of undead. And there, upon Her skull-lined throne, we became aware Of a most beautiful woman, Her Majesty, our Queen Claire. We bowed down before her in prostration, Proclaiming loud our loyal declaration : "Hail to thee, Claire, Queen of the Night! Grant us the Glories, the Glories of the Night!" Our beauteous Queen was kind, and granted us a smile, Which showed her vampire teeth for just a little while. Then she spoke, "My loyal ones, once again we face war The armies of men march, for they hate us to the core. They hate the vampires, the ghouls, the lycanthropes, They hate our tears, they hate our dreams, they hate our hopes. They wish to destroy the children of the moon, the night's spawn, So that they may holler in pride, 'Glory! Glory to the human dawn!' For so obsessed are they by the purity of the human race That they feel they deserve in the world a preferential place. They cannot tolerate that we do not love as they love, They hate that we do not adore the white-winged dove, That instead we worship the bat and the raven and the crow; They despise the beauty of our night, and the beauty of our woe. Now they come marching, panting, hard of breath As if we were afraid of war and frightened of death. We do not fear death! We do not fear the battle's din! What is Death, but a Romantic place to go hide in!" At the consummation of her proclamation We voiced our approval, crying in ululation : "Hail to thee, Claire, Queen of the Night!

Grant us the Glories, the Glories of the Night!" Along with our voices, we felt our spirits soar Then our Queen bade us to be silent once more. "Generals!" our Queen cried, "I have summoned you here Because you all are loyal and brave and without fear. You have led my armies once, now lead them again! Rouse your ardour, once more bring me victory amain! Call once more upon all the creatures of the night, Rally them to your banners, march forth to the fight! Teach our enemies to fear us, to be afraid of the Dark! Let their nightmares be filled with the werewolf's bark, The wails of my banshees, the cursed words that witches hark, The glint of the ghoul's eye, and some bloody desolation stark. Go, my generals, go now! Show your worth to your Queen! Don't come back till with the blood of Men soaked you have been!" We howled with valour and we left our Queen dressed in her clothes of Black; The eyes in her white and pallid face stared at our each and every back. We went through the castle gardens, where the moonflowers grow, And off we marched into the Valley of Death, where awaited our foe. Now, we face the humans. Ready we are to inflict a savage rout. Our soldiers stand ready to charge, and they eagerly cry out : "Hail to thee, Claire, Queen of the Night! Grant us the Glories, the Glories of the Night!"

JOHNNY-COME-LATELY "Who, who would you like to be, When you grow to be older like me?" They would ask the little boy Johnny. "I," Johnny would reply, "a nightmare would like to be, A nightmare that comes in the dark and flaunts Its horror and terror in the mind's little haunts." Then Johnny became a little bit older, Becoming just a little bit bolder. "Who, who would you like to be, When you grow to be older like me?" They would ask the big boy Johnny. "I," Johnny would reply, "a despair would like to be, A darkness and anguish and PAIN, the kind of despair, That is numbing and intense, till you lose all care." Then Johnny became a little bit older, Becoming just a little bit bolder. "Who, who would you like to be, When you grow to be older like me?" They would ask the young lad Johnny. "I," Johnny would reply, "a suicide would like to be, In the heart and mind and soul gently tending Thoughts of the dying, and the end of all ending." Then Johnny became a little bit older, Becoming just a little bit bolder. "Who, who would you like to be, Now that you're older like me?" They would ask the man who was Johnny. "I," Johnny would reply, "anything but Johnny would like to be, I no longer want his nightmares and his despairs and his crying For there has to be more to life than a life only spent dying, For Johnny's life is not lived if his life is spent dying!"

CELESTIAL NAVIGATION Once upon a time, I decided to set sail On the ocean of life, on the seas of being Ignorant was I of how quickly I would fail I became lost and mapless, aimless in steering And as darkness came over my boat I felt despair But there in that dimming sky was a navigator's star And I set my course anew, not knowing how I'd fair But I knew I could trust in that light, in the sky afar I was as lost as a drunk, without compass to cope But I reached out and followed that little star called 'hope'. Darkness became guilt, and guilt became rage A terrible storm came over the ocean of being And as the sea boiled my heart tore out the page On which was written all that was worth feeling Though I was filled with anger, I was unable to scream I was unable to release the things that were kept inside For I had already lost that page into the oceans of dream The page was cut off, and slowly my joys all died I was drunk with fury and rage, anger was my tope But though I'd lost all heart, yet there was that star called 'hope'. The storm settled over the waters so inky black A moonless night settled on the seas of being The mast was broken, my ship was full of wrack My life was ruin, there was loss of all meaning I had lost all desire to steer my ship in navigation Yet despite it all, there still hung in the sky one star Even though all the others had blinked out in derogation That star did not forsake me, that star did not wish to mar I was drunk with suffering, and despair was my tope Yet all was not lost, for there was still that star called 'hope'. Though I wanted to give in, yet that star beckoned, "Carry out your journey, sail across the seas of being!" Though I didn't have faith, and anguish was all I reckoned, Yet I pushed my ship as best I could, forward reeling. Then I noticed the darkness fade - then I saw land! Light shone forth in the newborn day - how wonderful the sun! I beached my ship, I danced on the warmth of the sand The journey is not yet over, but the hardest part is done! I am drunk with happiness, and great joy is my tope I'm bathed in the light of a glorious sun named Hope!

RIZQA I knew of you, spoke to you, although I would hardly say you were my friend. Yet, when you committed suicide, and embraced the loving arms of death, I felt it, the knowledge of your end; I felt the absence of a body that held breath. I wonder, did you find your peace, did you come aright? Did you find warm solace, in the arms of the night? Tell us! Tell us! We wish to know, For one day we might have to follow! You told me your name meant 'sustenance' in Arabic. You told me this through the grey of the cigarette you smoked. Tell me, did you become the cynic, Who watched her crutches die, strangled and choked? Could you stand, were you free as you took to flight? Was there finally meaning as you fell into the night? Tell me! Tell me! I want to know, For one day I might have to follow! Sometimes I think it is better to die than to shed another tear. Yet I hesitate, yet, I am a coward; So then, my dear pioneer, I wonder where you found the strength to go forward? You bravely declared your defiance, as you leapt from that height, And you won a sort of victory, but, it was a victory of the night...

A COURTSHIP I sat in my castle built of ice, on my icy throne, And I was happy as such, even though alone; My castle on a mountain high, far away And there I was king over my icy sway She came in, how she got to my castle I know not; She came to me, in the cold air her breath misting hot. She raised her arms and she cried out, With conviction, without a doubt, "All my life I've wondered where you've been Now that I've found you, I shall be your Queen!" I laughed, and then sighed; I opened my mouth and replied, "Do you know how cold this throne is? Have you forgotten how warm the outside is? Do you even know of what you speak? This cold castle is not for the weak." She came near, Whispered in my ear, "Let come cold, let come ice, let come hailing storm; This throne shall never be as cold, as you are warm." Then she laid her head to rest, She laid it gently on my breast; So I put my arms around her. She said, "There is no other. All my life I've wondered where you've been Now that I've found you, I shall be your Queen." "Flee," I said, "flee, flee this castle in a trice; Linger not here, on this cold throne of ice. You'll find nothing warm in my castle here, You shall find only winter, I fear." But she only clasped me tighter, And she replied to me in laughter, "Let there come cold and ice and hailing storm; This throne is not as cold, as your heart is warm." And so on that fateful day, There was nothing left but to say, "All your life you've wondered where I've been Now that you've found me, you shall be my Queen."

THE VILLAGE SONG This world is all lies From the ground to the skies Nothing shall long last All is lost in the past Yet you remain in heart's view, How I long to return, to return to you. Though I know that love dies That Time severs all ties That we shall be rent When to dust we are sent Yet for this moment, short but true I return to you. My mind wanders into realms of the night; As lost as I become, yet I return to light. This world is all lies... Time severs all ties... I know that love dies... Yet I return to you. Though I know that love dies That Time severs all ties Nothing shall long last All is lost in the past Yet you remain in heart's view I return to you... I come back to you.

VIMALA - A Buddhist Parable Inspired by Therigatha 5.2, Therigatha 5.12, Therigatha 6.5, Therigatha 13.1 Part One - Vimala the Courtesan Who could match the beauty of Vimala the courtesan? Who was the jewel of a brothel that tempted every man? Who was showered with gold, for merely waving a fan? Vimala was haughty and arrogant, she disdained other women. "None are so beautiful as I," said she, lying on perfumed linen, Her supple body the snare in which men's hearts were riven. "You ugly thing!" she pointed out, whenever she could, With sarcastic laugh at other women wherever they stood, "My complexion is of gold, your face belongs under a hood!" Her body was firm, her breasts high, swelling and round; Smooth and toned her limbs that wreathed her lovers wound; Her hair was dark and thick, with golden ornaments abound. She was the jewel of her brothel, its most famous daughter; Many rich and noble men left their wives and sought her She embraced with delight all the rich men that bought her. She was showered with gold once, for mere waves of a fan The story goes that she was delighting in teasing a man; This man was a prince of the kingdom, no other than! "Today, I am not for sale," she said so coy and so bold, But all that covered her body was a fan, and she told, "I will give you peek, though, for every coin of gold!" Transfixed, coin after coin was thrown by the noble sire, With every coin a bare-seconds peek flamed his desire; Eventually, laughing, she gave her body up for the hire. The brothel took its cut, but otherwise, much in gold she earned, She spent it as quickly as received; and good advice she spurned: To save for rainy and future days, such things she never learned. Her life was full of laughter, and from joy to joy she reeled; Spending all she had on food, wine, and servants that kneeled; On dancing girls and musicians, delightful to the well-heeled. Though a courtesan, many men wanted to marry her, A merchant even wished her weight in gold to confer, If only she would consent to marry him, this richly sir.

But she laughed at him, "My dear man, is that all I'm worth? Do you expect me to become your wife with such a dearth? Surely you are joking, surely you are speaking in mirth?" So she spoke, in the most hurtful of tone, For indeed was her heart made all of stone; The suitor turned to leave, all hurt, and alone. The crown prince wanted her too; he went to her and so told : "I will give in return eight times your weight in jewels & gold, If only you will be my queen!" But even to this, she was cold. She laughed at him, "My crown prince, is that all I'm worth? Why should I share you with a harem for such a dearth? It's insulting, even if you make me Queen of the Earth." So she spoke, and the crown prince was hurt to the bone, "So you treat me, after I fell in love, and offered a throne? Cursed witch! I spare your life, but I hope you die alone!" Vimala was showered with gold, for merely waving a fan... Vimala was the jewel of a brothel that tempted every man... None could match the beauty of Vimala the courtesan! Part Two - Vimala the Beggar Who can against Time make a victorious stand? Who can escape the clutch of Ageing's withering hand? Who can live a life, in which all misfortune is banned? Vimala had become like those withered old hags. Her sagging breasts drooped like ugly water bags. Her body smelled of sweat, and clothed it was in rags. All her money was swallowed in the maws of gambling debts Little did she think that all her fortune could sink into her bets; Little did young Vimala worry that she'd fall into Poverty's nets. Vimala's friends deserted her, and family she had none. Her brothel threw her out, to shelter with Rain and Sun. Vimala cried in the dust, feeling that her life was done. "Why do you cry so in the dust, my friend? To what god of Misery does your body so bend? As if tears and wails can ever your misery end?" Vimala looked up to see who was the speaker At the point where Vimala had never been weaker The person to save Vimala could not have been meeker.

The very old woman said, "I am Canda, the beggar queen. I need a disciple on whom my ancient body can lean. Come join me, you are still strong: be my disciple keen. For seven years I've wandered, since falling on evil times Punished I have been, for all my karmic crimes My life is but begging, wandering between doorway chimes No husband, no children, no parents, no relatives I had, No one to share my joys with, none to turn to when sad; No friends, only strangers to beg from when times were bad. But through it all I had my bowl and my walking stick. Come join in my begging, and I'll let you have the pick My aged bones are weary, tend to me when I am sick" And so Vimala became the beggar queen's disciple. Wandering with her seven years, through good and ill. Canda died; but Vimala wandered on, seven years more still. Vimala could not against Time make a victorious stand. Vimala could not escape the clutch of Ageing's withering hand. Not even Vimala could live a life, in which all misfortune is banned. Part Three - Vimala the Arahant Who uprights the overturned, who can what is hidden reveal? Who is the doctor of gods and men, who can all suffering heal? Like a lamp in the dark, who reveals what ignorance does conceal? Fourteen years Vimala was a beggar wandering on... Seven years with Canda, seven years more with Canda gone... Begging bowl in withering hand, dirty cloak for her head to don. Pain and Misery were her only friends on the road, Suffering and Torment she carried as her load. Tears and Sadness, were all she ever showed. Till one day she came across a crowd, Composed of all sorts, some humble, some proud; Some were silent, some babbled aloud. A holy man was coming, and some had come to greet Some had wanted to bow down at his feet Yet others had merely come this curiosity to meet Some called him Gautama, a man who his palace had fled; Some called him Siddharta, this man with the shaven head; His followers called him Lord Buddha, a man who suffering had shed.

And as she heard about this man, within Vimala awoke, A strong desire to touch this blessed mans red-tinted cloak, As if all her pain and misery would disappear with such a stroke. Feebly, between the people, she crawled along the sand, Until finally she was near enough to reach out with her hand, To touch the cloak of Him, whose heart was brightest in the land. She touched, and He turned and said, Why did you give in to desire? What good is to want to touch things, to let greed burn you like a fire? You crawl in the dirt; let go of your suffering, and rise from the mire. And suddenly the wheel of her suffering became stilled, And with understanding the void of her ignorance was filled, And the banishment of all desire by her heart and mind was willed. She said, There is pleasure and there is pain; By your precious words, now both of these are slain, Precious teacher, I would never return to them again. Then Lord Buddha ordained her as a nun, And told her that her work was not yet done, That she should strive, till Awakening was won. Vimala donned the nuns red cloak with only the barest elation, For she had much work: under a Bodhi tree was her station, Where she spent her days practising her meditation. And then she achieved Enlightenment one fateful day, And never again would she be a slave to karmas play; With happiness won, she then taught others the Buddhas way: Gautama uprights the overturned, he can what is hidden reveal! Siddhartha is the doctor of gods and men, who can all suffering heal! Like a lamp in the dark, Buddha reveals what ignorance does conceal!

Thank you for reading Narrative Poems. If you enjoyed this ebook, you would probably enjoy Ballad of the Nameless Traveller, an epic 8 000 line poem written in rhyming couplets, telling the story of a nameless hero on a quest to save the world from a demon-god. Visit my website tomekpiorkowski.weebly.com for more information. If you enjoyed this work, consider visiting tomekpiorkowski.weebly.com for more of my ebooks