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THE VERSE of the Scroll Box
THE WATCHER’S SCROLL
{ The Original Version }
© 2011 David DeLane Snow
____________________________________________________
English
Sinenya translation/ font
___________________________________________
1 “Beneath that evening star dome, lead/
Nui tanya lome elen telluma koromindo
2 Lord Elrond with his people shed/
Mem Elrond yassen ho gwaith dwat
3 the woes of a war torn land/
Ianef eneohta ydil ndor
4 healed by a fulfilled king’s hand.//
Yiyhia edematulos ahanan cam
5 Aboard their swan-carved ships/ Eyuth ron aqua yicular kirya
6 with praises high on ruby lips;/
Yassen valuca taum noiriador
7 one - with Halflings dressed in vests/
Er yassen gwalfeth yiratha miecolan
8 rewarded for a legendary quest.//
Yimanr tene ryarnut arsta
9 Yet some later said by madness of pride/
Amques luta equ edcesarta enarwel
10 those brothers fought and lied/
Eska ahdara maruk aryigulcata
11 their bonds they broke and took/
Ron ahvere ronka tamis artwyun
12 all loyalties of oaths forsook.//
Ilya ivustal enahvanda arquenta
13 Shelda`Mar implored we few to come/
Sheldamar yimqunt eme nnir atula`
14 aboard the ship of Valithnor, Cirdan’s drum;/
Eyuth ikirya envalithnor ahcirdan danut
15 to the Undying Lands of hope and grace./
Aizesfirful ahndor enestal areruanna
16 yet outraged, Vendu`Mar abandon his place.//
Am hecah VenduMar arquita hoyamen
17 On the worn-out piers Vendu`Mar was arguing/
Ni sul sillium sudetsegsid iaf udnetnimagre VenduMar
18 drew against the command of his brother/
Elenis erenuc li udnem id as sunemrih
[STILL "translating"]
19 harsh words like a bitter sword that bites,/
20 though Shelda`Mar in sorrow took flight.//
Shelda`Mar
21 The wizard Gan`Mereith admonished us/
Li ugem GanMereith sun etruxi
22 to be wary against our growing lust;/
23 Sal`Gilvan and Veth`Dema barked back/
24 with their own words of black.//
25 We stayed like an anointed remnant,/
26 who saw it our goal to rule as imminent,/
27 teaching a new history to lesser men/
28 with a diverse tongue, Sinenya I Seraphim penned.//
29 Like unto Sindar was Sinenya made/
30 with new characters and words I laid;/
31 letters designed for new purposes crafted/
32 for initiated secretes were they drafted.//
33 For the greed of some soon railed apparent/
34 as our original cravings became too variant;/
35 instead of being counselors to students in need/
36 many wayward misguidings did breed.//
37 Celegreth of the elven Crystal Caves,/
38 and Kwandol the dwarven mason, made;/
39 a Great Hall like greeting hands/
40 domed six hundred years, still stands.//
41 Close to the bay a watchtower stood/
42 with a bell’s tolling alarm it would;/
43 chime forth the hours of the Great Hall/
44 for secret Brothers to heed its call.//
45 In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met/
46 among fireside rituals fussed and fret;/
47 knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,/
48 preaching failed expectations, we groped.//
49 High in that Watchtower’s nest/
50 its bell replaced we thought best;/
51 with a pyre set eternally aflame,/
52 for others to return without shame.//
53 On the day the oil-soaked wood was lit,/
54 by Fay`Symodare’s death all were hit;/
55 the shadow that fulfilled Mereith’s woe,/
56 the nightmare of mortal man became our snow.//
57 From his ashes we gathered a portion/
58 entombed in an urn with grave distinction;/
59 the rest we scattered upon the sea/
60 and pledged our own ashes would mingle.//
{ The Original Version }
© 2011 David DeLane Snow
____________________________________________________
English
Sinenya translation/ font
___________________________________________
1 “Beneath that evening star dome, lead/
Nui tanya lome elen telluma koromindo
2 Lord Elrond with his people shed/
Mem Elrond yassen ho gwaith dwat
3 the woes of a war torn land/
Ianef eneohta ydil ndor
4 healed by a fulfilled king’s hand.//
Yiyhia edematulos ahanan cam
5 Aboard their swan-carved ships/ Eyuth ron aqua yicular kirya
6 with praises high on ruby lips;/
Yassen valuca taum noiriador
7 one - with Halflings dressed in vests/
Er yassen gwalfeth yiratha miecolan
8 rewarded for a legendary quest.//
Yimanr tene ryarnut arsta
9 Yet some later said by madness of pride/
Amques luta equ edcesarta enarwel
10 those brothers fought and lied/
Eska ahdara maruk aryigulcata
11 their bonds they broke and took/
Ron ahvere ronka tamis artwyun
12 all loyalties of oaths forsook.//
Ilya ivustal enahvanda arquenta
13 Shelda`Mar implored we few to come/
Sheldamar yimqunt eme nnir atula`
14 aboard the ship of Valithnor, Cirdan’s drum;/
Eyuth ikirya envalithnor ahcirdan danut
15 to the Undying Lands of hope and grace./
Aizesfirful ahndor enestal areruanna
16 yet outraged, Vendu`Mar abandon his place.//
Am hecah VenduMar arquita hoyamen
17 On the worn-out piers Vendu`Mar was arguing/
Ni sul sillium sudetsegsid iaf udnetnimagre VenduMar
18 drew against the command of his brother/
Elenis erenuc li udnem id as sunemrih
[STILL "translating"]
19 harsh words like a bitter sword that bites,/
20 though Shelda`Mar in sorrow took flight.//
Shelda`Mar
21 The wizard Gan`Mereith admonished us/
Li ugem GanMereith sun etruxi
22 to be wary against our growing lust;/
23 Sal`Gilvan and Veth`Dema barked back/
24 with their own words of black.//
25 We stayed like an anointed remnant,/
26 who saw it our goal to rule as imminent,/
27 teaching a new history to lesser men/
28 with a diverse tongue, Sinenya I Seraphim penned.//
29 Like unto Sindar was Sinenya made/
30 with new characters and words I laid;/
31 letters designed for new purposes crafted/
32 for initiated secretes were they drafted.//
33 For the greed of some soon railed apparent/
34 as our original cravings became too variant;/
35 instead of being counselors to students in need/
36 many wayward misguidings did breed.//
37 Celegreth of the elven Crystal Caves,/
38 and Kwandol the dwarven mason, made;/
39 a Great Hall like greeting hands/
40 domed six hundred years, still stands.//
41 Close to the bay a watchtower stood/
42 with a bell’s tolling alarm it would;/
43 chime forth the hours of the Great Hall/
44 for secret Brothers to heed its call.//
45 In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met/
46 among fireside rituals fussed and fret;/
47 knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,/
48 preaching failed expectations, we groped.//
49 High in that Watchtower’s nest/
50 its bell replaced we thought best;/
51 with a pyre set eternally aflame,/
52 for others to return without shame.//
53 On the day the oil-soaked wood was lit,/
54 by Fay`Symodare’s death all were hit;/
55 the shadow that fulfilled Mereith’s woe,/
56 the nightmare of mortal man became our snow.//
57 From his ashes we gathered a portion/
58 entombed in an urn with grave distinction;/
59 the rest we scattered upon the sea/
60 and pledged our own ashes would mingle.//
Kicking back that feeling
The Dark Times are approaching,
When winter comes and swings that cold ax,
Of frozen winds and solemn tunes
naked trees and silent birds.
Cold nights and unnerving days,
When inside gatherings come along
and yearning for family times
old memories creep in and
stretch slowly out.
When winter comes and swings that cold ax,
Of frozen winds and solemn tunes
naked trees and silent birds.
Cold nights and unnerving days,
When inside gatherings come along
and yearning for family times
old memories creep in and
stretch slowly out.
The Scroll Box
I have been working on a project for quiet some time, at least fermenting in my head and coming out as several sketches. Years ago I began writing an Epic Novel. THE NEPHILIM AGE: The Watcher's Requiem. It is a complex tale, but basically a Fantasy. A man learns of his lost brother and develops a relationship with him. In doing so inherits an unusual gift. One of which is a manuscript that tells about an ancient "pre-flood" people.
I am crafting a Scroll that will be placed in a specially carved box.
The Great Hall of Mithar; shaped like cupped hands with interlaced fingers. The "thumbs" of the building are supported with pillars and the main door just beyond them.
I am crafting a Scroll that will be placed in a specially carved box.
The Cloth. One day as I took the trash out I noticed an old couch had been discarded near the dumpster. I had been thinking a lot about the idea of crafting the Scrolls of Mithar and upon seeing the upturned couch knew immediately where the "cloth" would come from. Taking my pocket knife I removed the underlining of that old discarded couch and a year later am only now beginning to design the artwork to put on them.
An Elven-teacher, Seraphim by name; the "creator" of the Scrolls themselves, (in the story). The handwritten Script, shown in this drawing I did, is called Sinenya. It is my own vocabulary mixed with variation of Tolkien's Elvish Sindar.
[Not pictured here is the Language of Nasil, the common speech of men. With Nasil (which looks like Sumerian cuneiform), is a translation of my poems into Spanish, reversing the letters, and dropping the vowels by one and changing the font.] Dan Smith created the FONTS for me.
[Not pictured here is the Language of Nasil, the common speech of men. With Nasil (which looks like Sumerian cuneiform), is a translation of my poems into Spanish, reversing the letters, and dropping the vowels by one and changing the font.] Dan Smith created the FONTS for me.
THIS is a Photoshopped design I did of viewing inside The Great Hall of Mithar.
The Watchtower of Mithar, with an eternally lite bon fire atop. (An original sketch done awhile back).
The Cultic hand-sign of the teacher's of Mithar's Tower, (with tattoo of their full titles).
The setting sun between the gateway to the sea beyond the Bay of Mithar.
Some of the Elves of Middle-Earth stayed behind and devised a new Cultic Society.
The Grey Havens of the City of MITHAR of Eriduah,
(another photoshopped picture I crafted).
The High Lord of the Grey Havens of Mithar died and was cremated; the remaining Elves kept his ashes in a special Urn. From there after those who passed away of the original remaining 21 Elven fathers were added to his upon their own death. The Watcher's Urn. Each one of these sketches will be a panel with elvish script telling the story.
"...These are but needless things we do here, unto them who understand not the majesty of the lives once lived and now thusly enshrined as sacred ashes within this Holy Urn." ~ Baal`yik Dormath Second Priest of Mithar.
THE SCROLL BOX
...................................................................................
Afterward, Murelen approached his throne picking up a resting pouch, and shared its contents with his silent scribe, “Upon my father’s death everything he owned came to me. This was among his most prized possessions, and spurred him toward his deepest desire; which has now become our journey to new beginnings. I wish to give it to you, Fayendar as a token of our friendship, love and the deep respect my father had for you.” Smiling, he added, “Something tells me it is more a part of your destiny than my own. Keep it well.”
It was the leather satchel that the king had always carried across his shoulder. From it, Murelen removed a velveteen green-bag. Supporting it with both hands, one on top the other below, he presented it to Fayendar.
Accepting it, Fayendar said, “In the receiving alone, am I honored, milord.” While untying the wrapped-around gold-cord and unfolding the bag, he slowly withdrew the object within just as the King added, “It is the original Watcher’s Requiem, written by the very hand of Seraphim himself. I feel it will validate all that you have already come to believe, my friend and strengthen you for that which is yet to come.”
Seeing his genuine surprise, the king smiled back as the scribe’s face lit up, “Thank you, for such a unique gift indeed, sire!”
It was a small wooden box, almost the length and breadth of Fayendar’s hand. Its lid was latched closed with a simple metal flip-lock, which needed no key or peg. The lid’s top surface was ornately carved with deeply drawn vines. A windowed opening was accented with a hand carved swan-ship riding upon the waves, whose three unfurled sails pointed upward. A small cloth scroll was rolled onto two pine-wood spindles that were locked in place by the closed lid. Framed and showcased by the ornate window, Fayendar noticed that when he turned the left spindle the illuminated text was written in such a way that the lid’s carvings pointed out certain passage details: either chapter, verse or circled letters.
Interrupting the inspection of his new gift, Murelen told Fayendar, “I am pleased you are so taken with it; however, I must now attend to other matters pressing upon me. For the tribal leaders will soon be arriving with a multitude of questions.”
Returning the boxed-scroll to its bag, and returning it to the leather case, Fayendar quickly nodded as he was leaving through the tent flap entrance, “Certainly, and again, thank you, milord.”
Later that evening, in his private tent, Fayendar read the scrolls in their entirety, studying every word and its many detailed drawings with great interest. After decoding the circled letters, Fayendar read a message that really astounded him. For the author had written a warning not to add or take away from his words.
The tale he read on the scrolls were almost identical in every detail to Lyerah’s personal account. It was written in poetic form in the tongue of Sinenya. The version of the Watcher‘s Book he had studied those many years ago at Varlendur paled in comparison to the beautiful simplicity of the original cloth scroll. For it contained none of the additional embellishings about the family and priestly lineages who followed the Watchers. Neither were there any of the proverbial sayings and ceremonial songs nor the lyrical prohibitions against associating with dwarves, and venturing into the western woods of Kinderval.
Fayendar began to remember all his ‘sacred service,’ the mundane ceremonial duties he had preformed, and how they were labeled as ‘theocratic secrets,’ forbidden to be shared with even his non-priestly family members. Strangely his eyes began to tear up. He felt confused inside. A scene of loss, and a feeling of gain all at the same time. He had been told by so many people his entire life what the book said, that finally being able to read it for himself was an almost overwhelming experience. A scene of disappointment made his shoulders drop because of the story’s difference was so different, so plain and simple, yet believable. Suddenly, he realized his tears were of joy. For he felt an inward growth, and the weight of all his guilt and frustration had finally lifted from his mind and heart. The king was right, learning the truth about, ‘The Truth’ had validated his new beliefs, and strengthened him with a resurgence of confidence.
Facebook SHOWCASED!
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THE SATCHEL
David DeLane Snow
Hidden in clear view, engulfed within the shadowy side of the trees was a satchel. A three by one by one and a half foot black box. From the brass fittings, rollers on the back, and segmentedly-extended handle anyone could tell the brief case must have been placed there on purpose. With its flap-top handled-lid still closed, and its undisturbed combination locks still bearing their original proactive ties the case seemed to have an untold story. It was obviously new and not ready to be discarded, yet there it sat outdoors all alone.
The dog-walker, who happened upon the mysterious discovery, immediately noticed it was at least thirty feet into the undeveloped woodlands away from his apartment’s back lot dumpster. It was not “thrown out”. But why was it there, he wondered? As his collie, Sherman approached the owner nervously pulled back on the dog’s leash commanding him to stay back from the unknown. The canine suddenly began sniffing the air in the direction of his owner’s attention. The dog would have just kept going without having taken any notice of it but now, it somehow commanded his full investigational skills. But Thomas would having nothing of a close inspection of the object, either by himself or his furry friend.
“That thing could have - anything in it boy!” Thomas Mathers told his dog as though he understood every word he spoke. Tom’s thoughts ran the gambit of crazy thoughts during those moments standing there looking at the thing.
Suddenly…
A Page From History...
THIS IS JUST a portion from the Abridged version of THE TEXAS SNOWS I am working on:
"...Alice was named after her great grandmother, (Selena Cora "Alice" Farmer), and after her grandmother, on her father’s side, Irene. Alice Smith went to Oak Park Elementary, Driscoll Junior High, and graduated Roy Miller High School in 1980. Alice was proud to be a stay at home mom, and held no real interest in furthering her educational studies.
Her only aspiration was to be a housewife and mother. Like her own mother, she too worked in the child care field, and her local Baptist church nursery. She was a shy and quiet person who liked owning a variety of pets: dogs, (mainly poodles), cats, hamsters, birds, rabbits, fish, and ferrets.
Alice Snow suffered a heart attack and underwent a quad-bypass in November of 2007, only later to be paralyzed by a major stroke after carotid artery surgery a year later in 2008. Though able to get around with limited mobility, she uses a cane or wheelchair, and refuses to be home bound; showing much courage in striving to regain her former condition.
David and Alice Snow were the parents of one daughter:
Elizabeth “Liz” Rebecca Snow..."
TIME TO BLOOM!
These are harsh words to myself. Probably shocking to those who tend to know me best. They were for me at least as I scribbled them down before I re-wrote them here. I sketched out the years of my life, and the "time-travel" of it all. Seems my Time has arrived to "step-up". All the brooding thoughts have simmered long enough. Looking over my life, and placing tick marks on a page, adding all the years up and in the grand scheme of things; interesting.
Having no idea the number, nor the quality of years remaining - dawn has come. Seems there may be more years behind me than what lay ahead. Yet it is that very fact of not knowing either that lends itself to hope and optimism. An anticipation of what lies ahead and of what can only be touted as "achievements" to come.Goals? I have a few. What? Shall I "risk" placing them here in full view? Why not? If I fail (though I vowed that is no option), none have cared to ridicule me for those past failed goals more than myself. Maybe in the sharing some fair amount of encouragement (I will take it or leave it for again, I have determined to do this thing); or good sprinkling of inspiration may befall others afraid to fly as I too often had been.
I chose to be optimistic, hopeful and eager in what is yet to unfold in the three goals I now set before myself, namely:
(1) Complete a Leadership Training Camp Course at work.
(2) Seek a promotion from that fruit, as an Orientation Instructor.
(3) Publish my first novel.
For me these are high goals to be achieved with rewards in themselves; but none greater than in the experience of their journey toward completion.
I just turned 50 in July, 51/52 would not be a bad deadline!!!!
The Sleep Over
My grand kids came over and spent Friday (and Saturday) night with us.
Jamison (7 and in the first grade), and Savannah (8 and in the third grade) and I went walking in the woods near our apartments with my poodle Micah.
Then we came back home and they helped me prepare a mid day lunch of Soup.
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