Codex Sepuricus Meditations¶
Meditations
by
Sepuricus Temprus
I dedicate my book of poems to the Temprus clan.
May we all meet up again, in another life.
Also to my brother and mother.
Critical Hit!
my fangstave is sharp like knives
blood arcs like fire
Bright violet
streak the city at night
while I fight thugs, brutes
Boar meat pie wins.
fiery wine sauce tingles
every sense I have
I sit and I pray
to Ereal, god and the sun
as I swat at flies
butterflies suck hard
catching them is a great toil
I'd rather fight thugs
four part course is hell
days on end without any rest
my feet are so burnt
Ankyren in trees
gladius wielding plank hero
do not loot his chests
new clubber is the
queen of the gross pit rats
may she not get bit
Little club brother
swing mightily at your foe
and send them sprawling
bandit on the road
always lurking in grasslands
a snake in grass
a drink of good wine
a treasure to be enjoyed
let's get pirate drunk
Rainy day. Thunderclouds miles off
boom and thunder. Tear drops of rain
explode on the grey sands.
splashes of blood mixed with water.
Thuds of large sailors collapsing under
weapons.
Bronze and iron clatter like thunderclaps
as another young sailor gets his head
smashed in by
my double mace.
Grinning, soaked, covered in gore
the brothers Temprus laugh and move on.
Broken bones, snapped necks and twisted fingers.
The rain carries away the filth, washing twisted
and rotten
docks
clean of filth.
Silent pie eating in a lean-to.
No words spoken while counting loot.
Sleep now, there will be more violence tomorrow.
Remarks on a silly person
You sir, thinking my name outloud.
Have We met before?
In a past life, perhaps.
Hmm, you pretend like we're old friends,
yet we have only just met.
So many friends leave Iridine
I become wary of trusting new friends.
one talent loaned,
zero sens returned.
Lost profits and wasted time.
I stopped hunting rats years ago.
Never again.
A poem for mother
If I had the time,
I would have been there to stop dad from leaving.
If I was stronger, I would have held the family together
with my arms.
If I was braver, I wouldn't have ran.
If I could have turned back time,
tipped the hourglass on its end.
IF only I could convince you to run
to follow
to leave.
Your strength is the hardest lesson to learn.
I stared into the face of death and ran.
Ran past little brother crying in his crib,
past aunts and uncles laying in pools of blood.
I ran past you mother.
I ran and I never looked back.
I can never go back, but look forward.
Become dangerous and grab vengeance from
the heavens
for myself and our clan.
To you I dedicate this poem.
To our clan, I dedicate my life.
One day things will be right.
Lately, while I was lounging, a funny thought did I think.
"Hmm," I had said, and "hmm." I replied.
A quandary like a small spark of inspiration.
An idea, an image, an instant.
Gone as quickly as it came, as if a thief stole it from my tongue.
Dumbfounded, I soak myself in cold water and meditate.
Through low hums and prayers, I coax another timid thought from hiding.
Some old idea, some old story stowed away in a dusty room in a broken down crate.
Yes, and what if?
Can it be done? Should it?
Who knows. Not me, I've just thought of it.
Eyelids grow heavy, and the stomach rumbles.
Reluctantly, I stand. Arms waving notions to the wind.
One thought remains. Food.
And from one thought, millions are created.
Which type of pie?
Shall I eat it fast?
Does brother deserve one?
In that case, what have I done to deserve one?
Who's payin?
Who can we con into payin?
Too much planning, not enough pie.
Chickens.
Lucivan dropping his club.
Drinking games before important meetings.
Watching people try to catch butterflies.
Watching people fall on their faces in the mud pit.
Watching people fall out of the tree-house.
Stupid things thugs say
More chickens.
A list of Things that Are Not Funny
Dead chickens.
Getting knocked out.
Falling out of the tree-house.
Falling face first into a pit of mud.
Saying stupid things in general.
Losing.