As Legend Would Have It




Featured art by Maren Klemp. Click title image to visit her studio.



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The Hypnotist “Rainbows In The Sky (Natural High Remix)”





Nothing in this universe is pie in the sky
Nothing is out of our reach
Nothing is hopeless, mere open invite to arrive at each goal and exceed
Something once started as nothing
Nothing in particular is stickler for bluffing our particulars
Telling us we cannot when we can and likely will
Once we learn to bleed our quills, proceed with timely spill
Need not be a laureate to make a telling statement
Each have gifts, the trouble is our habit for debating them
Dreams will get away from us, less we’re prepared to chase them
Demons soon recede upon such time as we learn how to turn and face them
Cellar dwellers will raise hell when left to own devices in the basement
Kiss them, wish them well, go on to tell of these insubordinants
If only to reveal their real gone game plans and coordinates
Ghosts of past have lasting goal of haunting us and all the fuss amounts to nothing much ado in lieu of skewed precaution
Soon, we make a mole hill into something boasting mountainous proportion
Too late then for no deal as the prospect leaves us nothing less than desperately nauseous
Voices in our head do trend to offering suggestion
Choice is ours to make, should we take heed of life’s most meaningful of lessons
Act with kindness, never blindness
Less that be for leaping blind
Eight good reasons to be hateful
Love is more than able of enablement of nine
May have been estranged from us for way too long a time
But changes to the weather have been known to turn the tide


Nothing is too far beyond us
Nothing is doomed for the failing
Not to suggest it’ll all be plain sailing
Got to attest best intent of prevailing
Measure the odds and then toss in some evens
Floss teeth with the dead air dross of heathens in denial
Some see fit to judge and will begrudge a fair retrial
Others don’t possess the hate to populate a solitary vial
Find the strain proposing gain, take every pain to make it plain that breaking chains will fall away when cauterised of cause to stake the shameful claim upon our names they court with taut disdain
Thought for food and food for thought
Altered state no longer on a fraught course to be slaughtered by remorse
Hung, drawn and quartered we may be but maybe, just maybe, luck will be a lady before dawn
Stuck between two rocks and hardly placed to make the summit
Never win the race unless we make our break and run it


Nothing is lost once we find that misplaced
Given time, we can grace pride of place to that long since disgraced and distastefully denied us
Touch of Midas nowhere to be seen or heard concurring
Less we be prepared to turn the talk show dial to mute
Static interference interferes with sincere signal
Makes us feel that everything’s provisional
Under fresh revision, we can better dress omissions
Make them less hell-bent on choking, while provoking stress, unrest and vested interest in nothing less than festered hope
Those idle hands do love to grope
The widest eyes they love to poke
However, once we sever final tether of our fair weather devotion
We’re all-in at the river and a short sail from the ocean
Push with force, gain mass and endorse motion
Don’t afford a thought for all that’s hopeless
Nothing lost in ventures gaining steady course towards our magnum opus
One fine day
We shall come good for all our great persistance
Sign the deeds to lead through loss and bleed pièce de résistance
Share a vision
Make it grand
Break formation
Take a stand
Face our demons
Lead them by their idle little hands
Go tidal on those best laid plans and ride each wave with mighty brave
Supply each night its one fine day
Burst the myth, go make yourself a legend






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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