Musings Of A Bard

A collection of poetry and short stories spanning several subject matters including death, love and fantasy (magic). One short story leads the reader through a veritable labyrinth of magic with unknown depths and another story is about uncovering mysteries as it follows the lives of a group of strangers that loosely cross paths in a single night.

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Excerpt from Musings of the Pilgrim Bard: A Book of Poems As an old time friend and neighbor who has known and admired the Pilgrim Bard for nearly a quarter of a century, I write this brief sketch as a labor of love. Orange Scott Cummins was born in the good old state of Ohio fifty-seven years ago, but at the early age of two years he concluded that it was the part of wisdom for a young man to go west and grow up with the country, and taking his par ents by the hand he started for the then new state of Iowa. It was a wilderness where the family settled. Indians were plentiful and here the future bard became acquainted with the Noble Red Man. The wild free life of the savage appealed to the romantic temperament of the boy. Young Indians were often his playmates. In the Indian camps 'he spent much of his time, and long before he had reached the estate of manhood he was familiar with Indian customs and Indian legends. This fact was probably responsible for the story that was set afloat that a white baby died and that the Indian chief, Gonoe, sympathizing with the grief-stricken mother, brought to her a handsome Indian pappoose which the white mother took and reared as her own, and that in course of years this pappoose grew up to be a poet. This tale, how ever, is legendary. I doubt its authenticity. When the war broke out young Cummins, though hardlyfifteen, burned with a patriotic desire to be a soldier, and a soldier he became. 'as a member of Con. A, 3d Iowa cavalry, he served his country well. At the end of the war he came back to Iowa, but the restlessness of the frontiersman was in his blood. Neighbors had become too plentiful in Iowa and he moved to Kansas. In the early seventies he settled among the canyons of Barber county, at that time the favor ite grazing ground of countless thousands of buffalo and the chosen habitation of the deer, the antelope, the wolf and the mountain lion. On the banks of a clear running and beautiful little stream, which bore the unromantic cognomen of Mule creek, he built his cabin, naming it Last Chance, because it was the last chance the pilgrims heading for the still further western wilds would have to get a meal under a roof. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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A collection of poetic works captured from the immortal consciousness of poet/author Bard Constantine. Surreal and poignant dreams of beauty, pain, love and madness. A trek through time, space, and the mystery of the human experience... "She is tired. Tired of the whispers, the stares, the contempt from strangers, the falsified dentures in an upside down frown. If only she were a dragonfly, she thinks; she'd fly somewhere that these hypocrites, these Janus-faced pity sprinklers didn't know who she was. She looks at a reflection of flaws; a carnival mirror of distorted proportions and doesn't recognize the person who stares back at her with rain in her eyes..." -Vantage Point ..".And so I write, I capture dreams in butterfly nets, sip of their essence before they dissolve, before I awake from the esoteric, the clandestine world of poetic sorcery. And so I write, until crimson stains the pages, until the cogs rust and crumble, chalky dust powders across the keyboard, teardrops fade into the gnarled valleys, twilight swallows every star in the sky. And so I write..." -Runes ..".No tears, for they are the luxury of those who are blessed with arms to run to. I became steel to feel no pain, and tundra on the inside, for it is better to feel nothing than to hang on meat hooks screaming while the masses pass by with blindfolds on and smiling masks upon their faces..." -Victim

Musings of a Bard is a tale, in many small parts, of love, betrayal, valour, honour, the wonder of the ages, lives lived and lost. The magic is in the weaving of the words; Sultry, erotic, sometimes epic, hearkening back to an age of myth and legend, queens, warriors and goddesses in turn. Feel the love, the anger, the betrayal, know the tale. Experience the breathless heights and depths of emotion felt by the bard as she sees battle's won and lost, old loves reborn, and warrior goddesses wielding ancient blades. Read the epic retelling of tales of elves, dryads, and goddesses. Hunt the phoenix, ride the unicorn and stay a while in the bard's world.