The Evil Mountain Cat!

oook. I don’t write a lot of poetry but sometimes it just comes out. This one’s about a hero, a trembling maiden and an evil mountain cat! Enjoy… and let me know what you think!

Night comes like a soft-pawed cat,
Silent, strong, mighty, swift.
It draws long hour in maiden’s bower,
As through the forest shimmering
She lights one flame, glimmering-
Trembling like a lily flower.

Swiftly upon a long-legged roan,
A red sash pinned across his breast,
One brave man must ride alone.
And walk the path of his foe.

In the trees, there creeps the beast,
Sly mountain cat through needled leaves-
Lolling tongue, pointed teeth,
Comes softly like the summer breeze…

…That blows across her windowsill.
Down, down, down, falls her hair unbound,
Her fingers move across her gown-
Oh! How flows her hair unbound!
Sighing, from the sill she leans,
In distress, she begs the trees,
“Know you where my love is found?”

The mountain cat black as death,
Stalks in menace above hero’s head.

“I’ll spare his horse a pint of blood
to bleed upon the rocky ground,
and scream my song in anguished sound,
to be heard upon the way to town.
But the man himself,
With his bold red sash,
Yes, the man himself,
With his long bright knife,
The man himself is dead,” he said.

Her neck is long and white,
Her eyes and cheeks flush fever bright,
Her knuckled hand grasps a knife-
By the flame burning bright
Trembling like a lily flower,
A lonely lily white.

“Oh come quick my love, back to my bower!
The trees have told a violent sound.
Yes, the breezes scream a violent sound,
I fear your blood upon the ground!”

Sly cat falls with hungry jaws, from the scented trees.
His horse, his side, his hands, his head,
Bleed dark upon the rocks.
A flash of light, a long red knife, flesh and bone cleaves through
His foe is cut right through the throat,
And jealous stands he true.

“Have you seen my love?” she says. “With his sash of red?
They speak often of him,
all the maidens love him, for:
The war is won!
The dawn is come!
The sly mountain cat is dead!
They’ve marked the spot upon the rock,
Where my lover’s blood ran red,

Then tell of how he lived instead.”

She meets him deep within her bower
By hungry flame and scented flower,
And lets her hair tumble down.
Down, down, down,
Her soft white gown
Their love unbound-

And jealous stands he true.


About cjgosling

I paint, I sing, I walk in the rain. I'm clumsy and I love the smell of campfire. My head is full of imaginary things and the only thing I ever really want to do in life is write. My first book "Shadowlands: The Guardian" was released in Feb. 2011. The sequel is coming in 2012! View all posts by cjgosling

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