The Island

Not an island filled with holes,
But named by gospels inked in gold.
Lindisfarne was once called holy,
By the monks that lived within it’s priory,
Their home cut off by raging seas,
But a causeway comes at half past three.
So when the English walked the pass,
To attend the Priory’s Sunday mass,
As they crossed to the island judged,
For doing sins and doing good,
The foul are taken, engulfed by waves,
And the saints make passage to go and pray.
So if you cross with a conscience ill,
The isle may take you at it’s will.

This is my I poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within. You may want to read a couple other poems in my challenge to get the gist.

Well this ones about ‘Holy Island’ or lindisfarne, an island off the coast of Northumberland that can be accessed by a road at certain times of the day. It’s home to books called the gospels and I decided to turn it into a murdering island.

I know I’ve fell behind, but I promise to catch up

The Grock

The Grock is not said but sung,
For the ‘R’ must roll right off the tongue,
There have been many stories said,
That he’ll grind your bones for his bread.
That he steals the sleeping out their room,
And takes them to awaiting doom. For Grock came from way up high,
When the beanstalk fell from the sky.
But be glad that there is only one,
For half the North would be gone!

Ok so I’m cheating a little to get caught up. But really this is where the rest of my a to z has come from. On a trip to Glasgow I was alone in a hotel room for a night and my mind wandered. The Untold Stories of Scotland is the result of such wandering.

Now I know alot of my followers have come across this poem, and the one I have coming up for H, but one of the great things about doing this challenge has been the amount of new visitors. And I’d love to share these little Scot inspired verses with them too.

This is my G poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

The Foreign

Across our land from East to west,
We built a great walled defense,
From the foreign who live beyond divide,
Of whom we do not speak their kind.
With thirst of blood and human flesh,
We stay behind our safety fence.
But when we cross, to our back it looms,
The wall becomes our grave and tomb.

This is my F poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within. You may want to read a couple other poems in my challenge to get the gist.

This one comes from the story of Hadrian’s wall, and the fear of those that lurked beyond it. It’s hugely inspired by The wall in the game of thrones series and books, but it’s our wall and we had one first!!!

The Broth

The Broth, the deadly winds that howl,
And reaps a many thing so foul,
Misty, thick and foggy Breeze,
Seasoned with the salt of seas,
Carries with it snow and sleet,
And blows and beats the north of East.
So bitter wind it sting the bones,
Stealing breathes and nipping nose,
The broth is not a hearty meal,
But a wind so cold and hard as steel.

This is my B poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.

A broth is a kind of soup, made up of peas barley and lentils with a whole load of veg in it. Often ate on New Years Eve, and on cold days. The weather up in Northumberland has been so bad lately, this is where the idea of the Broth wind has come from. A wind so thick and foggy, almost like a soup.

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.

The Braves

Standing just at one foot tall,
Guarding keeps and castle walls,
The tribe of which the moat is hold,
Are littles like the garden gnome.
With spears in hand, align in rows,
Await to stab intruders toes.
These tiny brave, soldiered men,
As old as which what they defend,
The wars have gone a battle ghost,
But still the braves defend their post.
Their joints they’ve seized and turned t’ stone,
Til a day may come to fight for home.

This is my B poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.
The idea of The Braves came to me when I was writing The Untold Stories of Scotland and it never came to anything until now. The idea is a small army so old they have turned to stone, or gnomes. We have alot of castles up in Northumberland, and even more Braves.

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.

La Criatura de los Muertos

With battered bones and broken teeth,
There dwells a creature they call the creep.
Whose eyes are blind and slits of red,
But do not rest within his head,
For In his palms, so quite sly,
Here you find this beings eye.
And in it’s fingers long and thin,
He searches on the waves of wind.

Of nothing more than skin and bones,
With arms so slightly over-grown,
Resting upon a tabled feast
A heavy breath escapes the beast.
Til a grape is stole and placed,
To her lips for just a taste,
The creep he rises off his seat,
For warned she was not to eat.

She runs on down a narrow hall,
And draws a square upon the wall,
As she pushes with all her might,
He comes on closer into her sight.
With a limp he shuffles near,
She drops her chalk in clumsy fear.

She pulls a chair and draws again,
Above her head a doorframe.
With a push it opens wide,
She stumbles and begins to climb,
’til she is up out the floor,
And left the creature behind the door.

The Percy Lion

It’s said a lion roams the lands,
Since they came to Percy’s hands,
Of whom the lion took his name,
Has curl of tail and silver mane.
This lonely beast once was found,
Guarding territory of Alnwick grounds,
A roar feared by the southern crowd,
This lion’s pride is one and proud.
A humble Knight, a majestic thing,
They call old Percy, the Northern King.

The Lion is the sigil of the Percy Family, whose genealogy can be traced back almost 1000 years. The family still have residence in Alnwick Castle, but throughout history also occupied near-by Warkworth. Statues and coats of arms of the Lion can be seen throughout Northumberland.

This is part 2 of the Story of the Northlands! I hope you will follow to see more to come.

@AmyRichardson7

The Stories of Scotland

S is for… Stories of Scotland.

Most people are unaware of the dangers that lurk in the depth of Scotland. In 122 AD The Romans crossed the borders into Scotland and were attacked by three legged haggis. Those who survived later met their doom when they came across kelpies, loch Ness and worst of all… The Grock. The Roman Emperor Hadrian built his 80mile wall to protect people from what lurked in the lochs and hid in the highlands. But now, the wall has crumbled and the stories have become nothing but myths… Read my poem to find out the Truth!

The Untold Stories of Scotland

Pandora’s Box

A myth that stems from ancient Greece,
A legend of a missing piece,
A gift given from the hand of Zeus,
To her, for Pandora’s use.
This pithos or ceramic jar,
Was hers to watch, to guard.
But pandora she could not control,
Her curiosity of what the jar beholds.
She opened and lifted up the lid,
To see what treasures that it hid.
But to Pandora’s great surprise,
She found that nothing lay inside.
And unbeknown to she,
The evils that she set free.
Of what she set upon the earth,
Was a fleet of sin and curse.
Swept with guilt she shut the jar,
And threw it hard and far.
But in the pot one thing remained,
An item often sought and feigned,
For hope it dwelled inside the box,
And was needed on the earth a lot.
Legend says the box it broke,
And after evil followed hope.
So when the earth was grim and dark,
Hope was there to leave it’s Mark.

For p of the a to z challenge. I am aware I’m a little behind, p and q are proving to be quite a challenge. 

The Untold Stories of Scotland

I set our tale, and from here we’re lost,
Upon the land of ice and frost,
Where myths lurk within the lochs,
Shadowed by the highland rocks!
Of legends, fables and History,
Cursed and coated in mystery,
On moors and mounds where thistles grow,
Or dusted in the October snow.
In the still, beasts roam and pillage,
And terrify their local village!

Of stories both new and old,
That of Nessie has most been told,
There dwells in water a giant eel,
Where speculation of if it’s real.
Some say it’s legend, just folklore,
Other say it could be a dinosaur.
But I for one would never swim,
In the loch for what’s within,
As if it wanted something to eat,
I’d rather it wasn’t my toes and feet!

Seen on dreary foggy days,
Across the glens the haggis play.
On Tuesday hunts with guns and hound,
They follow tracks left in the ground,
For 3 legged haggis raid farm and field,
Stealing sheep and oatmeal.
These pests found in burrows and digs,
Look a little like baby pigs!
I assure you they aren’t half as sweet,
But in Scotland they are great to eat!

The Kelpies or the water foals,
Feeds on hearts and broken souls.
They have the ability to change,
From glowing eyes and dripping
Mane,
To women whose beauty seeps,
And lures them into waters deep.
As men they can never resist,
The seducing temptation of being kissed.
So stay away from rivers and lakes,
Or yee too shall meet your fate.

The stodge, well it goes best in pies,
And the delicacy is it’s tail and eyes,
These bits are usually best served,
On Hogmanay as hot h’orderves
For it tastes so succulent and sweet,
As it feeds on tatties and ripened neeps.
In the country you will often find,
It Sat grazing on it’s big behind,
Commonly mistaken for a giant rat,
With a little more fur and fat!

The Wulvers are the hairy beasts,
That’ve left the poor a many feast.
They say they are part wolf, part man,
And live in groups called a clan.
In the hills they’re in a cave,
And are not like werewolves behave.
The legend says these mighty boars,
Leave fish and bread outside your doors,
In preparation for what winter brings,
They leave to those, wholesome things.

The Grock is not said but sung,
For the ‘R’ must roll right off the tongue,
There have been many stories said,
That he’ll grind your bones for his bread.
That he steals the sleeping out their room,
And takes them to awaiting doom.
For Grock came from way up high,
When the beanstalk fell from the sky.
But be glad that there is only one,
For half of Scotland would be gone!

For those that live north of here,
Know these are what to fear,
So if you venture past the wall,
Heed that yee have been warned.