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Douglas M. Laurent
Goodreads Author
Influences
Arthur Conan Doyle
Member Since
August 2016
URL
https://www.goodreads.com/abstractprismatics
More books by Douglas M. Laurent…
The 'Halla' and The Lady and the Samurai
vol. I of the 'Halla series, Valley of the Damned is out in the public. Vol. 2-3 are currently in preparation and will be competing in Palette Poetry contest this January. If you wish an excerpt or two let me know. The Lady and the Samurai, second edition is about to come out on kdp as well, packed with good stuff. following this Martial Arts on Noah's Ark will be out as well. this work tracks all
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Douglas’s Recent Updates
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Douglas Laurent
rated a book it was amazing
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Unknown reviewer for The Lady and the Samurai on Google Reads: Laurent has a unique style of writing that in itself causes the reader to think in a more focused way than usual. The story line is intricate and engaging. It causes you to want to skip ah ...more |
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Dec 18, 2023 11:54PM
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Douglas Laurent
rated a book it was amazing
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Unknown reviewer for The Lady and the Samurai on Google Reads: Laurent has a unique style of writing that in itself causes the reader to think in a more focused way than usual. The story line is intricate and engaging. It causes you to want to skip ah ...more |
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Douglas Laurent
rated a book it was amazing
|
|
|
Unknown reviewer for The Lady and the Samurai on Google Reads: Laurent has a unique style of writing that in itself causes the reader to think in a more focused way than usual. The story line is intricate and engaging. It causes you to want to skip ah ...more |
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“Chapter One: The Dawn and the Dread
Heartbeat, heartbeat comes from Valhallan way,
To meet down in judgment, to ply its trade.
Two →swords← to join in worthy cross,
Actions to be rendered, one to be lost.
She did come now from ’yond northern slope,
A day of reckoning did she again once hope.
A devout meeting was her qwesterly bane,
To stay her hand was to go insane.
St. Kari of the Blade to meet her past,
A wicked enemy, peerless of match.
Rode Kari she her charger on down,
Past the Dead Land where Gaul sat crowned.
A killing job, yea, she desired to lastly kill,
To set things right so her heart might lie still.
Upon the mist and roaring plain,
She entered in, a soul uncontained.
A fierce wind in deed, and forever freed,
Enemies she annihilhates (’tis hur’ creed).
Her own advanced guard of a sort,
Multitudes to follow in her report.
Know this Valkyrie from on cold,
An ancient maiden soft and bold.
A warrior spirit from Ages past,
A fragmented mind like broken glass.
Solid in stature this eternal framed being,
Yet crippled within from internaled bleedings.
A sword saint so refined in the poetic art,
A noble character yet with a banshee’s heart.
Rhythmed horse now to the beats,
Kari emboldened amid the sleet.
Beyond the mountain she does come,
Unto southern fields wherein rules hot sun.
Far from that murderous Deadlands ground,
The land up swells; the dead still abound.
Traverses she those bygones of leprous civilizations
Those cities crumbled by the exhalted of oblivions.
Stark traces etched now bare in the land,
That are no more again, save dust in the hand.
A cool stream now in desert sans
(Does more good when one is damned).
Stopped she her mount to admire the flow,
A lovely stream with skeletons packed below.
Blue air whisps; dragon flied motion.
Flintsteel striking!!! Sparked of commotion.
Cold water chortles rushtish with tint,
Told of past carnage, it whetted her glint.
Fallen warriors, they are no more,
Swirls and eddies mark their discord.
Gurgled shouts slung and gathered,
Faces glazed while steel lathered.
Refreshing though it was to her mouth,
She smelled an air; she flared about.
Came up that ridge of loud, sanded hill,
Below a man and his half-score of kills.
Kari’s eyes waxed in smug contempt,
Possibilities ran deep with no repent . . .
On Kari, Valkyrie, Cold Steel Eternity Vol. II”
―
Heartbeat, heartbeat comes from Valhallan way,
To meet down in judgment, to ply its trade.
Two →swords← to join in worthy cross,
Actions to be rendered, one to be lost.
She did come now from ’yond northern slope,
A day of reckoning did she again once hope.
A devout meeting was her qwesterly bane,
To stay her hand was to go insane.
St. Kari of the Blade to meet her past,
A wicked enemy, peerless of match.
Rode Kari she her charger on down,
Past the Dead Land where Gaul sat crowned.
A killing job, yea, she desired to lastly kill,
To set things right so her heart might lie still.
Upon the mist and roaring plain,
She entered in, a soul uncontained.
A fierce wind in deed, and forever freed,
Enemies she annihilhates (’tis hur’ creed).
Her own advanced guard of a sort,
Multitudes to follow in her report.
Know this Valkyrie from on cold,
An ancient maiden soft and bold.
A warrior spirit from Ages past,
A fragmented mind like broken glass.
Solid in stature this eternal framed being,
Yet crippled within from internaled bleedings.
A sword saint so refined in the poetic art,
A noble character yet with a banshee’s heart.
Rhythmed horse now to the beats,
Kari emboldened amid the sleet.
Beyond the mountain she does come,
Unto southern fields wherein rules hot sun.
Far from that murderous Deadlands ground,
The land up swells; the dead still abound.
Traverses she those bygones of leprous civilizations
Those cities crumbled by the exhalted of oblivions.
Stark traces etched now bare in the land,
That are no more again, save dust in the hand.
A cool stream now in desert sans
(Does more good when one is damned).
Stopped she her mount to admire the flow,
A lovely stream with skeletons packed below.
Blue air whisps; dragon flied motion.
Flintsteel striking!!! Sparked of commotion.
Cold water chortles rushtish with tint,
Told of past carnage, it whetted her glint.
Fallen warriors, they are no more,
Swirls and eddies mark their discord.
Gurgled shouts slung and gathered,
Faces glazed while steel lathered.
Refreshing though it was to her mouth,
She smelled an air; she flared about.
Came up that ridge of loud, sanded hill,
Below a man and his half-score of kills.
Kari’s eyes waxed in smug contempt,
Possibilities ran deep with no repent . . .
On Kari, Valkyrie, Cold Steel Eternity Vol. II”
―
“Valley of the Damned (The 'Halla, Vol. # 1)
No force can oppose Love in Earth or Heaven above, No, not even the damned of Hell can stop relentless Love.
—Valkyrie Kari, Chapter Sixteen”
―
No force can oppose Love in Earth or Heaven above, No, not even the damned of Hell can stop relentless Love.
—Valkyrie Kari, Chapter Sixteen”
―
“It is the genius of life that demands of those who partake in it that they are not only are guardians of what was and is, but what will be.
—Thomas Nō Kannon, The Lady and the Samurai +”
―
—Thomas Nō Kannon, The Lady and the Samurai +”
―
“Memories of lost love they do enpain,
Fleeting images of what once was never again to gain.
Hold tight those memories that slip through the mind,
To walk in those fields again with her—a dream divined.
Oh to be with that lost Valkyrie forevermore again,
To hold her hand delicate until the last world’s end.
To be at peace once amore in deep loving soul,
Husband to wife in embracing hold.
How he loved her so, but she was now gone,
Leaf to the wind, heart tossed and tumbled torn.
Memories like arrows stick deep—ohhh so deep,
Shafts of pain and joy assail the soul’s lonely keep.
--Angel-Heart, Ch. 22
Valley of the Damned”
―
Fleeting images of what once was never again to gain.
Hold tight those memories that slip through the mind,
To walk in those fields again with her—a dream divined.
Oh to be with that lost Valkyrie forevermore again,
To hold her hand delicate until the last world’s end.
To be at peace once amore in deep loving soul,
Husband to wife in embracing hold.
How he loved her so, but she was now gone,
Leaf to the wind, heart tossed and tumbled torn.
Memories like arrows stick deep—ohhh so deep,
Shafts of pain and joy assail the soul’s lonely keep.
--Angel-Heart, Ch. 22
Valley of the Damned”
―
“As she left the cold arena Angel had to laugh,
Beaten by that of a wisp girl and her subliming cunning craft.
—Jove lay silent in his orbit; brooding, deep, dreamless forweep,
And faithful dog Sirius rising tracked behind on dusk’s purpling adeep.
Scratched he his chin; counted the cold and early evening stars,
He had miles to go that night, they being so very far.
Only the music of the wint’ring span,
Vanished he away in the shimmering land. . . . . . .”
―
Beaten by that of a wisp girl and her subliming cunning craft.
—Jove lay silent in his orbit; brooding, deep, dreamless forweep,
And faithful dog Sirius rising tracked behind on dusk’s purpling adeep.
Scratched he his chin; counted the cold and early evening stars,
He had miles to go that night, they being so very far.
Only the music of the wint’ring span,
Vanished he away in the shimmering land. . . . . . .”
―
“The Valkyrie’s heart was wrought of dazzling gold full of the most finest and firmest of loves, this being the secret of her many moods and akimbo inspirangular mercies.
—On Kari, Ch. Fifteen
Valley of the Damned”
―
—On Kari, Ch. Fifteen
Valley of the Damned”
―
“Tempestuous plains tell the tale,
Windswept wastes do bewail,
Haunting Spirit of the land,
Seeks the living, seeks the damned.
Horizoned edge sheared with grass,
Dark Storm Rising in the pass,
Ageless Spirit seeks the path,
To torment souls to the last.
Brooding Spirit upon the plain,
Thunderhead gathers for the rain.
Light grows dim then bolts with pain,
On dry Earth her sin is stained.
(Frightened creatures do stampede,
Into night, they do recede).
Ungodded hand on seasoned blade,
Reaps the harvest of the Age.
Released from her eternal din,
Spirit of the Age rises again.
Seeking to plunder and consume,
Those who were proud, those who presumed.
Spirits rage while storm draws nigh,
Upon burning plain and emblazoned sky.
It is said giants grapple in the Earth so deep,
To contend for souls that they might keep.
The Storm spirit now searches the high and the low,
To seek her manchild victim in the fields below.
Leaves bad wasteland to claim but a fallen man,
Denying it Heaven, crowning it, ‘Son of the Damned.’
Treacherous Spirit of the far lost night,
Tramples souls down denying them light.
Storm seethes with furious hiss,
Leads men on to bottomless pit.
This most ancient of foes has come from her den,
To seek the living, to make ready those dead.
A living sacrifice is her soul desire,
To snatch the soul for black funeral pyre.
A double-damned devil, that is she,
This one who lies, who claims to make free.
A lying spirit, that is her domain,
A storm-wracked Fury of self-proclaim.
Onward she seeks, this bleak Northern wind,
Searching for naught but for a soul akin.
Amidst the howling and the rage,
To murder again, that is her trade.
As this spirit of graves left the plain,
She left a wake of dead in shrouded train.
Now down from the plain Storm did come,
Unto those cities wherein was no sun.
There with whirlwind she did rip and scour,
For those souls of whom she could tear and devour.
She comes to seek the living and the dead,
Those who were frightened, those with no dread.
Thus upon those she did acclaim,
“I am the Mistress of the living and the slain.”
O’ haunting Spirit of this land,
Taker of life, maker of the damned.
--On Villainess Storm, Ch. One
Valley of the Damned”
―
Windswept wastes do bewail,
Haunting Spirit of the land,
Seeks the living, seeks the damned.
Horizoned edge sheared with grass,
Dark Storm Rising in the pass,
Ageless Spirit seeks the path,
To torment souls to the last.
Brooding Spirit upon the plain,
Thunderhead gathers for the rain.
Light grows dim then bolts with pain,
On dry Earth her sin is stained.
(Frightened creatures do stampede,
Into night, they do recede).
Ungodded hand on seasoned blade,
Reaps the harvest of the Age.
Released from her eternal din,
Spirit of the Age rises again.
Seeking to plunder and consume,
Those who were proud, those who presumed.
Spirits rage while storm draws nigh,
Upon burning plain and emblazoned sky.
It is said giants grapple in the Earth so deep,
To contend for souls that they might keep.
The Storm spirit now searches the high and the low,
To seek her manchild victim in the fields below.
Leaves bad wasteland to claim but a fallen man,
Denying it Heaven, crowning it, ‘Son of the Damned.’
Treacherous Spirit of the far lost night,
Tramples souls down denying them light.
Storm seethes with furious hiss,
Leads men on to bottomless pit.
This most ancient of foes has come from her den,
To seek the living, to make ready those dead.
A living sacrifice is her soul desire,
To snatch the soul for black funeral pyre.
A double-damned devil, that is she,
This one who lies, who claims to make free.
A lying spirit, that is her domain,
A storm-wracked Fury of self-proclaim.
Onward she seeks, this bleak Northern wind,
Searching for naught but for a soul akin.
Amidst the howling and the rage,
To murder again, that is her trade.
As this spirit of graves left the plain,
She left a wake of dead in shrouded train.
Now down from the plain Storm did come,
Unto those cities wherein was no sun.
There with whirlwind she did rip and scour,
For those souls of whom she could tear and devour.
She comes to seek the living and the dead,
Those who were frightened, those with no dread.
Thus upon those she did acclaim,
“I am the Mistress of the living and the slain.”
O’ haunting Spirit of this land,
Taker of life, maker of the damned.
--On Villainess Storm, Ch. One
Valley of the Damned”
―
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