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

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

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.

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!

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

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

Sarthacus

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

Distasteful.

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

Goodbye

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.

Goodbye

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

“Goodbye”

Alpaca?

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.

Alpaca?

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.