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Friday, 22 April 2011


Greetings to all , 
New friends and old


An excerpt from The Key Of The Storm
republished in a new imprint 
by Pink Awen August 2015


  Night , choose your masque
                       Hide my screams
     For refuge sought
                       Within such dreams
     Brings no succour
                      Nor timely respite
From the Wolf
                      That now follows
      Eyes darkly bright
                              Fenrisulfr ! He comes
           His hunger impatient
                                      Unbound now , unchained
        With anger unsated


Why then doth thy mock me ?

Oft do I gaze on thee

And speak only

In reverent tones of thyne art

Yet thy will

Is to curse mine night

And send such sights

As be rarely seen

Within the realms

Of fettered dream

Would that once

I stay unseen 

We shape our worlds
Our realms, and Gods
Within each and every thought
And each of them
They come from dust
And so it comes to nought

      I have come to believe that most of what ‘is‘, isn’t merely unobserved but is in fact ignored - modern life simply refuses to acknowledge the possibility of the Unseen. This can be seen when the Spirits of a place speak, by far the majority have been conditioned by modern life neither to accept nor listen - thus, the ability to learn and progress is removed
 ....and  the world becomes a shadow of what it once was.

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For who now

Doth so decry

The Light that falleth

From thyne sky ? 

A better man 

Than thou , or I 

Who claims to know 

The when and why

For who

Will question sensibly

When facing such iniquity ?

And answers rain

Most plausibly

To hide the Truth

From you , and me

My thanks to you for coming here

May your Gods
Whoever they may be 
Walk beside you always

D W Storer

All poetry/ text © D W Storer 2011/2012/2013/2014

Thursday, 21 April 2011


         Greetings to all , an excerpt -  the opening of

             To the West a City of Towers , resplendent in its strength dominating its surroundings , connected by a rarely used trail that traversed a scrubby wasteland to a series of low laying hills that fell away to the East . A desolate , frost spattered , tract of land that was seemingly devoid of both hope and life with the exception of two , broken , stunted , trees that sat together on one side of the trail for all the world looking like a pair of elderly sisters who sought solace in each others company from the ravages of an uncaring world . Their bare branches reminded me of withered hands raised accusingly to the sky that watched impassively from above . A flat stone of immense stature lay opposing them on the other side of the trail , covered in faded markings that possibly once were runes of some sort and remarkably free of moss or lichen . Perhaps it was waiting to see if they might recover their youth and spring back to life I mused . Sitting on this lonely rock I surveyed my surroundings , strangely calm of mind .


 May your Gods, whoever they may be , walk beside you always 

D W Storer

All poetry/excerpts © D W Storer 2011/2012/2103/2014