Poetry Train Monday - 174 - No Courage Left For the Next Time

This poem was written during the 3:15 Experiment in August.



It's a backstory poem for my falconer character, Richolf, who is featured in my serialized Saturday fiction. I was just brainstorming his storyline over the weekend at my annual real-life writer's retreat at White Point Beach, Nova Scotia.

I've based him on Scottish-Peruvian actor Henry Ian Cusick.














No Courage Left For the Next Time


Cowering in ceaseless dark
He didn't know what was worse
The waiting
The knowledge there was no more waiting
The tiny flame of hope
The hopelessness
The weight of iron on his wrists
The moment of weightlessness
The sound of their footsteps coming for him
The silence of solitary
Were they coming with food?
Would they drag him down the corridor?
Would they break something?
Would he beg them to stop?
He didn't know what was worse
The memory of his cries, his screams
Or the knowledge there were more lurking inside of him
It was hard to say
Hard to know what was worse
It was all worse
He could see no way out
There was no courage left
For the next time he heard their footsteps
For the next time the keys clicked in the lock
But he was so hungry
So thirsty
Maybe he heard something
Maybe they would bring him something
He had to ride the turbulent hope and dread
He had no choice
The iron pressed down on his wrists
The cold seeped up from the stones
The bruises ached from the last time
His stomach growled
He hoped they arrived soon
He hoped he never saw them again
He couldn't take much more
How long did it take to go mad?
Or was it already too late?


© Julia Smith, Aug. 9, 2010

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Poetry Train Monday - 170 - Defining Moment #2

This backstory poem for Richolf, my falconer character who appears in my Saturday serialized fiction, was written during the 3:15 Experiment in August.













Defining Moment #2


Delicious glances as they wove between the other dancers
Three sword points levelled at his face
The searing bite of the blade upon his brow

His invitation to the soiree
Had been heartfelt
By a grateful noble
One of the hunters who
Wanted to reciprocate
The falconer's hospitality

"Go on, go on"
His master had urged
Declining the offer himself
A twinkle in his eye

So many beautiful girls
So many intoxicating ladies
Richolf danced with them all
Smiled at them all
Clasped her hand
Brushed his lips upon her knuckles
Locked gazes
Felt the heat

Until he was called outside
Surrounded and threatened
In the chill night air
The sweat from the party
Turning to the sweat of fear

He'd danced with the wrong girl
He didn't even know which one
Had inspired these three sword points
To level at his face

A kick from behind
His cry hanging in the night air
The distant sounds of the soiree
His heart beating as he realized
All the moments of his life
Would end in this dusty moment

But the hands which held him
Only meant for the sword to
Kiss his brow
A reminder for life
Not to mix his lowly breed
With that of one born to the blood

They left him
Laying in the dirt
Dripping red between his fingers
That still held the thrill
Of all those girlish hands
Those womanly sighs

© Julia Smith, Aug. 25, 2010

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Poetry Train Monday - 167 - Defining Moment #3

Danika Dinsmore inspired this poem when I read her post about creating defining moments to develop your characters.



This 3:15 poem takes a look at Richolf, the falconer from my serialized fiction which appears on Saturdays.













Defining Moment #3

the sound of the slap
the wildness unleashed behind her mask
the lips he wouldn't kiss for some time yet

Like every man
He'd heard the tales
Of beholding a maid
And feeling thunderstruck

When he heard the crack
Of her hand upon the boy's face
His head snapped to follow the sound

He crept through the trees
Silent hunter's feet
Keeping his secret

There she was
Tall and broad as a dragon
In her fury

The youth curled low
Hands protecting his head
As her blows pelted like coals

He waited
Till her hand ceased the striking
And latched onto the boy's collar instead

He waited
Till the blade-edge bite of her voice
Finally reduced the boy to tears

He watched
As the fire never dimmed from her eyes
Merely spread from her gaze, from her hand

Till she wrapped the crying youth
In her arms
Till his sweat and tears stained her breast

He never stirred
From that tangle of branches
Which shielded and held him

She never knew
Till much later
So many days and nights it took

But he'd fallen for her
The moment he'd heard that slap
In the echoing wood

She never knew that he would gladly
Have taken the blows
Just to feel her hand upon him

That the sight of her parted lips
As she spoke the words
That drew the tears

Had robbed his legs of strength
He could have fallen to his knees
Before her wrath

He was glad he waited
A hunter has patience, after all
Her lips were so much sweeter

When they finally parted
For his sighs
And all her heat was for him

The boy had not known
What to do with such a storm
So why provoke it?

But he could ride this hurricane
He loved how it felt
To have limbs snap off, rooftops torn off

© Julia Smith, Aug. 26, 2010

How to participate in the 3:15 Experiment

Starting on the night of July 31/Aug. 1, set your alarm for 3:15 am, wake up, write a poem in the midst of your sleepiness and go back to sleep. Repeat each night for the month of August.

Visit the originators of the project for more information:

Danika Dinsmore

Gwendolyn Alley

For more poetry, Ride the Poetry Train!

Detail from Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses by John William Waterhouse