An excerpt from The Epic of Sathem the Collector and His Continued Adventures in the Kingdom of Fort

Sathem, by chance or grace of the gods above, had found quite by

Accident the hidden realm of Fortune Under-the-Mountain.

The intrepid adventurer was no thrill seeker, not in the least,

He was but a simple collector tasked with finding the rare and

Exotic. The inhabitants of the Kingdom Fortune certainly fit the bill.

Most unfortunately, they would not let him take any of their creations.

They would, however, share with him the secrets of creation and

Help him as they in turn pleaded for his help. Their society had been

Entirely insular for so long they were lacking in that spark of newness.

Captivated by the bizarre and improbable nature of the residents

Of course Sathem would accept the offer. He was allowed to

Learn from each of the six of the most revered members of the community.

Lost though he was when he began his journey he finds he is

Exactly where he needs to be. Being not an artist of any sort it took

Careful training of the mind and hand were what Sathem undertook

To become an artist as any there had been before. His work took

On a quality all it’s own, an amalgam of not only the master's who

Relished the challenge, but his own experiences and memories.

For three years Sathem lived and created Under-the-Mountain.

It took nearly that long for him to remember his responsibilities above.

Never one to shirk his duty, even as a simple quester for the Royal Museum, and

Despite his genuine fondness for the monstrous forms and

Similarly monstrously talented populace, Sathem had to leave.

He took three weeks to prepare for the journey back,

It being much easier to fall down than to climb out.

Still he was determined not to abandon his duties completely.

For those weeks each of the council of six took Sathem aside to bestow upon him

One last piece of advice, one last prayer, or one final, pleading

Request. Sathem was the first new anything in the kingdom in a long

Time, long enough for most to become stagnant in their endeavors.

Until the next unfortunate fellow fell into their hidden mountain realm, they

Nurtured the metaphysical marks Sathem left on their hearts, turning them

End over end and treasuring his influence.

Penny

Paper is coarse where you are soft.

Even when your inkwell veins run dry,

Never let ashes mark your skin.

Never show the muses your throat,

You must brawl with brush and pen.

Horseshoe

How sweet the vacant drips

Of color clash and dance in

Repose, they sleep deep within.

Show me your painted viscera,

Expose your gilded lungs.

Show me your treasure map.

How shall you sail, without wind

Or salt upon your twisted tongue,

Ever drowning in the desert.

Ladybird

Labor is love is death is graphite.

A pen dipped in India ink is mighty.

Dear heart, keep your sword close.

You won’t freeze with genius

Bringing you coals in deep pockets.

Inner eyes see more than color,

Resplendent and shining,

Don’t let your reality dull you.

Wishbone

Won’t your shaking fingers,

Imbued with watercolor strength,

Slide their soft way to me?

Hold my monster paws and

Bless these charcoal claws.

Only, my caustic, callused palms

Need a caress more sweet than

Even yours, my dear.

Haresfoot

Hope springs up in the amygdala,

An eternal, concrete fountain,

Reluctantly waxing and waning.

Enter the erudite lady,

Stroking her hand through the

Forsaken, shallow waters.

Onward, my mind, my eyes,

Onward, my weary skeleton,

To my Valhallidation

Cricket

Count your blessings, sheep, and friends, Restore the balance, make amends. Indeed, skill matters not when you Can’t think or sleep or muse anew. Keep sweet, turn your face to Venus, Enter Hypnos and Calliope kind, Together you shall kindle genius