Sunday, 19 December 2010

A Bleak Christmas

This poem was written for Flo. It started out being about loneliness at Christmas but ended up with you dying by being crushed by icicles! Oh well. Enjoy!

A Bleak Christmas

Lost amidst the shadows of her mind
Florence wept at the eternal loneliness
Looking upon the bustle and joy of companionship
That she would never be part of.

Safe in their homes
With their thick stews
And sweet apple pies
They look out onto a
“Winter Wonderland”
The festive flurries of snow
Turning the trees into a beautiful lattice
That covers the delicate sky

Yet Florence shivers
Cast out from the Motherland
And chips the tears from her face
Leaving it a bloody mess of skin and frost
Frozen and torn

The harsh biting wind
That throws needles deep into her marrow
And colours her lips the deepest blue
Florence stumbles numbly
Onto the black ice
The scorn she felt for people replaced
By sheer tiredness
That eradicates the black shroud
That clung tight around her heart

A row of icicles
Long gleaming and jagged
Like crystal daggers
Shatter and fall
Impaling Florence with tiny crimson flowers
In an act of stiricide

Cast out into the wild wasteland
Florence falls
Just another victim
To a bleak Christmas

Thursday, 16 December 2010

Ode to a Pillar

Today I professed my undying love to a pillar. Yes I'm random but I needed a break and wanted to make me laugh. So without further ado I give you...

Ode to a Pillar

Your beauty astounds me
There you stand tall and upright
A pearly marble column
Engraved with words of truth
From the door to paradise

A gleaming beacon of stone
You tower over me
Silent and serene
Never returning my love

My heart breaks with sorrow
As there you stand
Heartless and unmoving
As if made of stone
You ignore my plea of passion
And the words I whisper at your base
As I prostrate myself before you

Smooth as silk
Yet cold as ice
Unaware of my existence
You carry on
A sentinel over the seven hills
And rolling grassy valleys
Your Corinthian splendour
And slender fluted width

I long to run my hands
Over your weathered flanks
To softly kiss your noble base
And ornate acanthus leaves
I’m filled with a pantheon of passion
As I kneel before you
And cry out my undying love
And mutter sweet nothings
At your feet

Sweet Dreams

This was written for Thrice. I finally got round to writing it for you. I hope you enjoy it.

Sweet Dreams

As Thrice curls up in a comforting ball
Kept warm by the crackling sparks
Of a cherry red fire that feeds on the logs
And protects from the fear of the dark

And he snuggles down deep in his nest full of down
And gently he drifts off to sleep
And as Thrice lies there dozing so softly
He murmurs and starts counting sheep

And he sips from a mug of hot cocoa
As the sweet smelling steam fills the air
And the chocolate aroma it wafts through the room
And a cool breeze just ruffles his hair

With his tabby cat curled up beside him
Who purrs as Thrice strokes him with calm
He sleeps on a warm woollen blanket
And rests there protected from harm

And the fusion of herbs from the garden
Honeysuckle, rosemary and thyme
And the sound of the deep tolling bells
That forms a melodious chime

 And Thrice dreams whilst barely still conscious
He sighs in his slumber so deep
Now please all just hush whilst you listen
For Thrice he has fallen asleep

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

The Skies of Oblivion

This was written for Skyril. Hope you enjoy it. It is definately one of my favourite ones.

The Skies of Oblivion

Far above the sapphire wastes
Skyril flies through bleak and dreary skies
With not a single cloud
With which to build a city of air
Of minarets and domes and spires.

She longs for swathes of mist
And drops of dew
And fog vivacious.

Yet all she has is the lonely sky
That looks below at the river of liquid sapphire
That shatters at the edge of the waterfall
And cascades far below
To the Ravine of Oblivion

And the midnight diamonds
Poisoned by the sun
Beautiful yet deadly
They cover the surface of this world
In towering spires of dazzling brilliance
They are Epitome Incarnate

Yet Skyril longs
For the return of her race
With their elfin eyes
And pointed ears
And delicate cheekbones
Who dwelt in dappled sunlight
Of forest glades.

The last of her kind
Skyril weeps amongst the shore
Of a crystalline sea
As she remembers
The purple feather she wore in her cap
When she still smiled and dreamt of stars.

Yet she continues to soar
Through an empty planet
Orbiting its deathly star
That rages in the blackness
Of a silent sky.

And Skyril longs for form
For consciousness body and voice
For flesh and blood and warmth
For love and laughter
Amidst the coldness of diamonds.

Skyril mourns
As she flies through the desolate waste of sapphire
Running from the dark and the cold and the diamonds.
Beneath the midnight sky.
All alone.
In silence.

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

The Grey Months

This poem was written so the crazy people who enjoy my poetry get a look inside my head. It's a dark place sometimes.

The Grey Months

Alas! The Grey Months are approaching.
I sense them looming on my mind’s horizon.
And I tremble as they smother my imagination.

For The Grey Months are coming
A time when my inspiration falls
The flame flickers and dies
Swamped by the dreariness of failure.

The months when Octaboona cannot write
His emotions can’t find their thoughts
Nor the thoughts their words.

My soul abandoned on barren plains
Bereft of poetry.
Where I do not listen to the world
But try and invent one.

Trapped behind mundane bars
Guarded by The Sentinels
Who suppress my emotion
Dismember my thoughts
And shatter my spirit.

The books are burnt
Reduced to heaps of ash
That scatter in the wind
That blows in The Grey Months

The sky of my mind is overcast
With swollen blackened clouds
That overcast any seeds
That try to grow.

My imagination rots
A putrid, musty thing
Encased in the dust
Of inactivity.

Yet all it takes is a spark
To power up my brain
The thoughts flow in torrents
As my mind lights up
A shining beacon of splendour
That grows and inspires.

Yet The Grey Months
Banished to a dark corner
Wait patiently
For their return.

As Mad As A Hatter

This was written for Skulgirl. You are awesome and insane. I think I have finally worked out how to climb inside people's brains and reflect their personality in my poetry.

As Mad As A Hatter

She’s as mad as a hatter
Completely insane
She’s batty. She’s crazy.
She’s got mice in her brain.

But Skulgirl just grinned
And looked up at her hat
Which was tall and quite baggy
And battered and flat

And she said with a smile
Of course I am mad
All the best people are
And it makes life less sad.

Yes I live in a teapot!
I like to eat mice
And I don’t own a fez
And I like to drink rice.

For within her large hat
That she wore on her head
She kept thirteen skulls
From the foot of her bed.

And she talked to them often
I do not deny
Excepting for Ethel
(Of course you know why).

For Ethel is rude
And she’s yellow and old
With blood on her eye socket
Covered in mould.

And she cackled with glee
When the scary men came
In their neon white coats
And their dreary long name.

With a dusty white van
To take her away
Instead Skulgirl laughed
And ran off on a tray.

And she said to her skulls
I am perfectly sane
Look I just made a joke!
Shall I say it again?

I am sane!
I am sane!
I am sane!
I am sane!

For I’m perfectly happy
To talk with my friends
Though they may be unusual
It really depends

On whether a raven
Can sing in the dark
And if so can a writing desk
Walk through a park.

And although you may scorn me
My secret is this.
With knowledge come spoons
And with apples comes bliss!

Monday, 6 December 2010

The Pursuit of Hiashiness

This poem was written for Mary Hiashi. You are a great source of inspration to others and just be yourself.

The Pursuit of Hiashiness

I’m not a lofty mountain top
With snowflakes for my hair
For mountain tops get lonely
In the pure and pristine air

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

I’m not a golden bird of flight
Who soars above the sky
For golden birds they miss the life
Below, that passes by

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

I’m not a purple blossom
Amongst a field of clover
For clover quickly withers
Once the summer months are over

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

I’m not a gleaming diamond
Inside a treasure store
For every little diamond has
A tiny little flaw

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

I’m not a sundry, scarlet leaf
At Autumn’s beck and call
For every leaf, there comes a time
When sadly it must fall

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

I’m not the mighty ocean
With froth upon the waves
For deep beneath its surface
Lies a multitude of graves

Yet I am far more special
I’m the only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

For I have my ambitions
I’ve my hopes, my goals, my dreams
And I also have my nightmares
And my fears and tears and screams

For I am far more special
Than the mountains, bird and sea
Than the rolling fields of clover
Than the diamond and the tree

For I’m unique amongst the stars
The only one to be
Myself, to put it simply
I’m Mary Hiashi

Sunday, 5 December 2010

The Black Sound

This poem was written for Sarthacus Bolt- I hope you enjoy it and good luck with your book. I am sure it will have great success.

The Black Sound

A bolt of darkness creeps along the ground
Hunting through the inky blackness
Of the darkling plain
As swift as silence he searches
The Ninth Great Harbinger of Woe

Bringer of the dark despondent dawn
The assassin waits
He strides through dusty halls and hallowed caves
Through the mire and gloam and ooze
 For the black sound and the gold of predators

Stalking the mortal coil
He hunts for devices infernal
Annihilator of worlds
Casting a shadow over the light
He follows the tracks of mortal engines
And the suffering in their wake

A mere name placed upon him
By the remnants of the civilisation
He seeks to destroy.
A cowardly race who fear
The glory of battle
The gleam of the sun upon breastplate
The devastation of the Mighty Horde.

He journeyed far
And reached the edge of patience
Calmly striding beyond
Yet when he returned
He found himself the last
And he despised them.

He seethed at the fate of his people
The snivelling wrecks they had become
Who found the very earth itself

So Sarthacus waits
And longs for the coming of the night
That must fall upon his prey.
So he searches
For the substance of shadows
For the sweetness of sleep
And the sound of silence.

Darkane Claw

This poem was written for Darkane. You are a brilliant artist and I hope that you enjoy this. This is what I feel the world would be like with no art. So keep on drawing or the universe might end up like this. No pressure :)

Darkane Claw

Swirling colours
Shattered minds
Spiral clouds
Shuttered blinds

Remnants of art
Tendrils of thought
Fall of a shadow
Death of a sport

Disease of a body
Plague of the brain
Rise of depression
Birth of the pain

Ghost of a hope
Loss of a dream
Curse of a loved one
Sound of a scream

Crash of a melody
Strike of a Claw
Trial of happiness
Close of a door

Decay of beauty
Besmirch of Darkane
Lapse into chaos
Insanity’s reign

Saturday, 4 December 2010


This poem was written for knight who has sadly left Derek Blogs Under Duress. I didn't get to know you very well and I don't know if you'll ever read this but I just want you to know that we all miss you dearly.


Farewell my friend, my golden knight, my joy
I miss you more than any words could say
Although I never got to know you well
A little piece of my heart dies
To hear of your departure

My body racked with pain I weep
For a friendship never made
At the loss that rings inside me
My soul is sheathed in sorrow
To hear of your going

A tear rolls down my face
Ravaged with grief
The past is history
The future a mystery
But now is a gift
Every moment spent with you so precious
Although I barely knew you
My eyes well up with longing
For a shattered bond that never truly formed

The harsh winds of winter
Have nipped the bud of our friendship
And thus ceases a truly beautiful flower
That holds on only in my mind

And although you may never hear these words
I cry them out to the world
To halt the pain that we feel
At your going

At last I come to the hardest words I’ve ever had to say
But say them I must
As I finish my farewell
That you’ll never hear
A sob filled choked out cry
That masked the last words ever said between us

Friday, 3 December 2010


Skylara, I know how much you love alpacas and I'm sure that they've never had a poem for themselves before. For all alpaca kind this is for you.

Skylara once met an alpaca
I presume that she was at the zoo
Or else in the alpaca’s homeland
The country of Darkest Peru.

She loved her alpaca dearly
And cherished him deep in her heart
No wonder Skylara was teary
When Skylara had to depart.

Skylara she flew home so sadly
Or else sadly returned from the zoo
All alone without her alpaca
Skylara knew not what to do.

So she said “I’ll buy loads of alpacas!
And keep them all here in this truck
And give one away when I meet someone new
Or to someone who needs some good luck”.

But nobody knew just exactly
What an alpaca happened to be
“Alpaca?” they muttered confused
Are you sure it’s not some type of tree?

And Skylara she grew most frustrated
An alpaca isn’t a tree!
Or a glove or a man eating hamster
“It’s a llama but different” said she.

And all the great English professors
Sat down in a room to discuss
Just what an alpaca consists of
And if it is useful to us.

They pondered for hours and hours
They studied the sciences three
And decided alpacas were purple
And ate teapots and spoon flavoured trees.

Its head was the size of an owl
But its toes were as long as a bus
It lived in the snow laden mountains
But just isn’t useful to us.

Skylara heard of the professors
And thought their description just mad
An alpaca is woolly and friendly
And they hum when their lonely and sad.

The English professors were simply amazed
“So that’s an alpaca” they said.
It likes to graze grass and it doesn’t consist
Of lollipops sugar and bread.

So Skylara was given a medal
For service to science and stuff
And she went off to visit Peru
But if this just isn’t enough

One day she was walking alone
When to her utter surprise and delight
She was given her special alpaca to keep
Thus we finish our tale. Good night!

Vale of Tears

Lunar, you are the one who persuaded me to post these on my blog. I hope I retain my modesty and don't seem to self centred.

Vale of Tears

 Earth rises over the horizon as I float
Like gold dust floating on the breeze
Hovering over the lunar landscape.
I merge with the ether, tendrils of mist spiralling
Towards the rounded ocean in the sky.

I weep throughout the night
Staring at the never changing sky
Black as pitch I feel the madness
That always follows Earthrise.

I long for a friend
As I hover round my vale of tears
A single soul, separated from paradise
And lost amidst the tranquil moon.

The dull grey craters
Punctuate my limbo
An Elemental spirit
Being leeched into the dreary sky

A dark despondent dawn
Rises amongst the barren wastes
At the edge of humanity
And the final frontier.

A quiver of blue
Searches for a friend
As the tears cascade like liquid diamond
In the perpetual flow                       
Of captivity.