Sir Lochen

Sir Lochen was free from evil and greed.
A knight noble in heart, he mounted his steed,
An earnest voice whispered, “Kind Sir, you will need,
To urge your horse to move on!”

The voice from the dark was the youngest Monroe.
“Oh please, Good Sir Knight, I must beg you go!
Gregarious lurks and is plotting your woe.
Please urge your horse to move on!”

A silent glance back at the home just vacated,
His gut from the meal was still slightly inflated.
His host? No, not he! A man to be hated?
Why urge his horse to move on?

Then his mind snapped alive and awoke as if flinted,
Replaying remarks and the warnings that hinted…
Both rider and steed simultaneously squinted.
He urged his horse to move on.

The fire-lit room heard the cry of his mount.
Gregarious snarled and quickly ran out.
“You shall not escape!” was the foe’s angry shout.
The horse was urged to move on.

Forced into action, though still slightly plastered,
Gregarious still had his plan fully mastered.
He rang the town bell that would bring the disastered.
The horse was urged to move on.

The sharp pealing bell had the whole town awake.
They picked up their weapons both pitchfork and rake.
They were trained to respond, did not know their mistake.
He urged his horse to move on.

Through the trees as he rode he could see Myrtle’s door.
“I must reach my sweet Witch with great haste and I’m sure
She can turn them to toads, put an end to this war.”
He urged his horse to move on.

The commotion grew loud as the gang was assembled.
Not a cheery portrayal of justice resembled,
They marched in his way and the earth shook and trembled.
He urged his horse to move on.

“Oh Myrtle my love, I will soon be with thee.
Just through these dark woods and beyond that large tree.
I’ll hold you so close, then we’ll truly be free.”
He urged his horse to move on.

Through the woods and the trees he verily clattered
Each dream and each hope there so easily shattered
For Into an oak tree he suddenly splattered
The riderless horse still moved on…

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

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Lullaby

The sun has set
But your tired eyes aren’t closing yet
So close them now my little love
And let my voice from up above
Flow over you
Over you

Your breathing slows
Your numbing senses ebb and flow
So put your busy mind to rest
Just lay your head against my breast
And let it fade
Let it fade

My love rest on
Let sleep remain with you ’til dawn
You’re warm and safe when I am near
You know the heartbeats in your ear
Are all for you
All for you

© Rachel Svendsen 2014

I Guess I’m Starting a Blog

I am a writer.  I think I more or less always was.  That may seem impossible.  I can hear you saying, “Surely you weren’t writing direct from the womb.”  No (silly goose), but I’ve always had a vivid imagination.  I’ve always had incredible dreams.  That is as good a place to start as any.

I started putting pen to paper in Middle school.  I wrote poems and short stories.  My diaries were filled with over-exaggerated portrayals of my everyday experiences.  In sixth grade I started my first long story (with chapters and everything.  Be nice!!  That was a big deal for me then).  I completed two by the end of seventh grade.  They were shoddy at best but the pleasure of seeing my imaginings written out on notebook paper was unparalleled.  (They have since mysteriously gone missing…)

I continued to write poems, mostly goofy nonsense, all through high school.  (I remember one in particular that I wrote about a Bible teacher of mine who had the distinct mannerisms of a Tyrannosaurus.  I tried to share my creation with the student next to me and was immediately shunned.  Perhaps they feared its gentle rhythms.  Perhaps because they were trying to pay attention in class.  Perhaps it was the drawing of my teacher as a T-rex on top.  It’s difficult to say…)  After graduation, life got in the way.  I wrote rarely, mostly free verse poetry when I was hurting.  Sometimes there is nothing more comforting than guiding your heart through your pen to help the overflow of emotions seep into a blank white slate.

After I got married, my imagination was full of plots and poems.  One day it overflowed onto a word document, creating my first real novel.  It is still in progress, but one day (whether through a publisher or by myself) I am going to publish it.

I do not pretend I am the best writer that ever lived, (being an avid reader that would be a horrific statement to make) or even that I do not have much to learn.  What I do know is this.  I love writing.  I love creating.  I love reading.  I love poetry.  This blog is meant to share that love with others.

So lay your favorite blanket across your knees, pour a cup of tea, and I will tell you a story or let my heart sing you a song.

Once upon a time…