Master of His Foes, Part I

Master of His Foes, Part I

By Daniel Bishop

Master of His Foes, Part I

… A classic collection of Poetic Philosophical Essays and Short Fiction.

Fist EPUB edition © 2013 by Daniel Bishop

ISBN 978-1-300-91931-5

Copyrights © 1985 - 2009 by Daniel Bishop

First paperback edition Copyright © 2009

By Daniel Bishop

Second paperback edition Copyright © 2013

By Daniel Bishop

World rights

28,816 words

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from author and/or publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review (no more than one half of one page). For further information, contact email address (below), or representative publisher.

Might I add that while it is impossible to avoid in a literary or fictional work having characters and scenarios appear sometimes to bear similarity to somewhat of reality, none of the characters or scenarios in this purely fictional literary work represent anything or anyone, but pure fiction and the opinions of the author. Please enjoy!

Cover Design: Daniel Bishop

Interior Design: Daniel Bishop

http://stores.lulu.com/DanBishop

Books by Daniel Bishop:

- The Café Talk Chronicles, In the Beginning

- Master of His Foes, Part I

- Mad Thru the Ages Art Book

Musical works by Daniel Bishop:

Dan Bishop and the Freed Shade Trees:

- Just Can't Win

- Break Out of the Grind

INTRODUCTION

Thank you for reading my novel, may you enjoy it as I have.I’d like to thank my many loved friends and relatives, both close and far, alive and transcended, plus all of those who've helped, and those who would if they could. You know who you are, Thank you.

In this work you will find some of my most treasured early writings inter-mixed with newer material. I thought it a good idea to not be linear along the time line with this material, and to be honest I don’t know why, but I did so with my book of art ‘Mad Thru The Ages Art’, as well. Call it … quirky. I hope you enjoy them as they take you on a journey into new places, new feelings and new ideas.

SECTION A: ESSAYS AND POETRY

A DIFFERENT DAY - 2008

A different day, think different way? A repeated pain, and then now heart en-numbed. I do say, ‘tis time to ratta-tap the Lappland drum; Wind up the Hum; Oh timeless rum, Rid This Scum!

A foreign placement causes philosophic pains in my heart. Caused by bombastic, but wiz-bang false start. Of soul crimes for sure, and real? Not as if it were.

Then, but he, and who, has gone God-like? And soft? Searching knowledge for his loft? Is he mine or Doth he Spot?! A covert stew steam drifts in air, searching for another pair. Where, WHere, WHERE?!?!

Attack not sought, do I say? There is not a better way? Nay?!

At other times another of such foreign placements splits my mind, oh creeper from behind, to what this madness on does wind? Thou dare not tell, straight from hell, as Pin Point Stare for Violet Glare … LONGS.

And as they push for secrets mine their other foes closely climb. Oh, Pusher from Behind, Get in line, Get In Line!

Some before and several after, ever they push faster. Wholesome totem worship mine, would be if some such weren’t crime. For me not so sublime. Ah, he says, 'Give it time, give it time.'

And as the devil minstrel on it plays, ever more de-tuned he stays. Folding day over day to hide her way, continuity fray, run aground and astray. Transmission repeater in the mix, it’s all a fix.

Radio antenna in the spine, can I ever make it mine? Secrets of all time enthroned, though to be MINE, I never owned. Blocked by those I fore-cared too much, threw pearls before Swine, and such.

A divine union's to be mine. Ah, to want thru all of time. But, to really know how could I, why would I? For blasted into shadow I was accursed, yeah, but be-twixing rhyme, now theirs is worse.

Shall we make a point here? Be with me, be near:

So, there’s dark starry night, bright light of day, and fall and rise of dew. There’s thought transference, haze of multi-colored sprays, and at light speed things can change anew. And then there’s loved ones who've died thru forced sacrifice, for men, maidens and crew. 'Live on dear ones,' I mutter, while my heart still steams in stew.

Now, nature abhors imbalance, you know, and when the scales tilt off too far, to fall off their wobblers are!

War, a bore, you whore, some more, explore, implore, restore. Oh, Trickster, Vestor, Gester, Wistor, Mister, … Kissed her…

A different day, think different way? Battered, beaten, bruised and burned, a reach to turn upward yearned. Release from that long ‘Down-stare’? Failing search for somewhat fair? Where? A reach to share with another, dare, and without a seeking here and there. It can, it does, I may, I might, and, then, try and try alike.

On that ... other ... team, if you recieve once you're stuck for life, seems to me a bitter plite. I'll take my flight in freedoms air, and bare the dare, and the stare. But, to go it alone for purpose of cleansing, and end up with warfare, and pending? This is Mending? A Sending, Mind Bending, Fending, forced Lending.

A sent out love transmission, then when received can be like nuclear fusion. Like a form of cohesion comparable to the type of multi-molecule bonding chemists are playing with to-day, it can have a stay, and even when it doesn’t seem to exist, then suddenly … wham! There it is! We can't let our minds run astray, though, the enemies do play with us in every way. They enter the mind, put it at bay, ride it and play it and slay it if you may it.

Ah, but I, you, and we. Colorful, charged, timeless, Let It Be! A picture of sound in thought, rolling, moving, shifting about. Like a long view thru a telescope, ours is built upon hope. The Grand Creator, everywhere, and in it all of us a player. An ineffable substance, yes, sharing love gives life essence. Of terror, of torture, of continuing horror; of faith that mayeth, I sayeth obeyeth. It seems it’s time to make our World Anew. A view? It's true.

A different day, think different way?

A RANTING ON SEARCH FOR LOVER AND PURPOSE, I - 2007

To-day is too late my love, for I must tend to tasks and cook dinner now. The view of our castle, though, is real and clear for me now, as I notice, and I’m liking the white snow on the mountain peaks I see in the distance far, far away from here, I said, though no one was present but myself. It seems to me too far to ever make it by foot and alone, I thought, and I don’t know exactly where it is that I’m trying to make it to, but I will surely try anyways.

What was the road to heaven called? Back when I traveled much too far past the gate, that was my question to the world then. I never did make it, though. For each of the jumps over boulders of once hot molten lava, now cooled from times past over, and over, and over, I feel I lose more of myself, but gain a new piece of self in each landing. I’m not sure I’m ok with that. It is indeed wild, ... the ride life can take us on.

As I fight, and resist, and tear at the flesh of the ever running beast that has me harnessed to it, strapped in in a full body harness that leaves little room for stretching, ever keeping me trapped in what appears to be my never ending destiny of pain and undo torture, I find myself cursing all of you. Again and again, I silently curse you, all the while wishing it was not so. Feeling the pain and suffering of others pain over and over again, as if it were my own. To help, to heal. To understand what I’ve understood before, more than once.

Empathy, it’s almost like a reversed compassion. Not quite, but when I simply care about something or someone, I might feel their pain but don’t actually suffer it. However, in