Dragon’s Hoard

DCR Poet KJ Crilly gets her Spenserian stanzas on!

Chasing the Alchemical Dragon

In Pharmakeia’s pixilated world,
which holds the fractal myths of time gone by,
the Dragon’s whispered lies slowly unfurl,
to captivate men in his mirrored eye,
suspended seventh heaven ever nigh.
But one comes now, intending to restore
the world with a creative battle cry.
And who is this, this reconquistador,
this champion, come to take our part in this Art War?

Sigil Star Wars

The planets, in concentric circles pass
by way of golden tracks through space and time.
Each one a shining star through mirrored glass;
each one predestined for the pantomime
of underhanded hatefulness sublime.
But in the center of this force majeure,
the only true star, constant in its shine,
attracting and repelling at its core,
will challenge their dark master in the new Art War.

The Golden Helix

The helix wraps around a world adrift;
it coils and then recoils down every path
while pantomiming Fibonacci’s gift,
perverting nature’s order in its wrath,
to bask in the chaotic aftermath.
Enrobed in gold to lure the longing heart,
a jeweled eye and charms to hold them fast—
elixirs brought by sea from old spice marts.
The Dragon holds that war is just a term of art.

Dragon Spiral

Artistically inclined, creative born,
the Dragon’s minion wields fantastic sway.
Her own humanity now long forsworn,
she gleefully identifies her prey.
Ambitious men are easy ones to play.
Human respect is what they’re longing for.
And pride? Legions could fall in just a day.
The woman will trade up her love for more.
“Oh, yes, this is delish,” she thought, “this little war!”


The symbol of the Mage, the well-trained dove,
a feathered semaphore of grace refined,
emerges to alight upon the glove
of a thin man who’s charm personified.
Upon the stage, commanding every eye,
he deftly moves between the light and dark.
His voice and countenance are magnified
by the electric medium’s hallmark;
performance and perception can’t be split apart.

City of Light

Above, as lighted buildings pierced the air
in bold attempts to colonize the sky,
the streets were pulsing, flowing with the wares
of every rank indulgence one could buy.
It was a well-played grift, a polished lie—
civilization’s gift the gods bestowed.
It crushed the souls of those who came to scry
their futures in the city’s darkened glow.
The present’s past and future in the great below.

Arm yourself for the Art War!

Follow KJ Crilly on Twitter @KJCrilly


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