Sunday, 17 April 2011

The Sirens Cry

Ok. So this isn't really poetry but it's still something to read!  I wrote this for Gepard's competition. Enjoy!

The Sirens Cry

The lonely boat swayed and rocked as the waves crashed over the wooden deck. The rigging, tattered and torn moaned as the wind howled across the lake. Minutes before screams and panicked voices rent the air as the swarms of downtrodden humanity clung to the remains of the boat before being taken by silence beneath the scarlet water. Slowly the charred remains of the ship sank into the bloody waters leaving only a crimson froth of bubbles to disturb the now placid lake. Two beings shrouded in a ghostly green glow dived swiftly towards their monstrous feast, as they laughed in unison, a high cruel sound that sent shivers into the hearts of the corpses that lay in a ghastly multitude beneath the death drenched mere.

 Time and time again, the two sirens feasted upon the blood filled waters of the putrid lake, calling victims from afar with a beautiful song, which bewitched the minds of all who heard it, with equal parts of grief and joy and the hearts deepest desire. And as their suppers looked upon the faces of the stunning, imperial divinities, fear quelled them as they changed, fangs erupting from their pale green lips, eyes flashing with bloodlust, and as the two sirens shrieked as one, the dignity gone, only a severe, animal madness etched upon their ivy features, they swooped down upon the screaming mortals until their blood flowed like wine, staining the lake with ruby clouds, a cacophony of utter pain.

 Deep beneath the Siren’s Lake, guarded by armies of the dead, lay a small red stone, hidden beneath a sea of yellowing bones and rotting flesh. The lake itself was treacherous and hidden, surrounded by a ring of icy peaks that speared the gloomy skies. This stone, was spoken  of in hallowed whispers, long lost, yet yearned for by many. None had ever returned from this abandoned wasteland, home of the Sirens. None except for one, a person known as Sam Willows.

Sam Willow woke up from his nightmare, and shivered violently, as the vision seared through his mind in garish detail.
 “The Revival Stone”
At last he knew where to find the object of his quest, what he had to do, what he must face.
Sam Willows knew he must seek out this ghostly lake of the Sirens and brave its cold, black depths. Sam Willows knew that he must face the Sirens and capture the stone. For Tommy.
Salty tears streamed down his face as the thought of his friend entered his mind. He remembered what Tommy had become and hoped for his return to humanity.

Sam stood on the slimy pebbled shore as two green streaks of light danced through the misty sky, in anticipation of their feast. And as they dived, they noticed a tall, dark figure, watching their dance. Curiosity showed in their glowing emerald eyes, quickly replaced with horror and then a strange infusion of hunger and contempt. As they sped towards Sam Willows, they laughed together, cruel, high and mocking, yet Sam showed no outward sign of fear. The Sirens spoke in unison, a hissing, discordant noise yet under lied by an ethereal, otherworldly melody   as if a choir of thousands of voices were singing a song of grief, despair and deepest desire.

“Sam Willows”

“We know who you are and what it is you so foolishly seek”

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck, prickled with anxiety.
“Yet we guard the Revival Stone and none shall steal it from us”

“So it has been for ages past and so it shall be for centuries to come”

The Sirens were now spiralling around Sam, their scaly, taloned bodies, entwining and interlacing in a frenzy of anger and lust.

“Dare to plunge beneath the waves and you shall be DEVOURED!”

The Siren’s dance had reached a climax, saliva dripping from their fangs, the otherworldly choir moaning in ecstasy as the Siren’s embraced each other in a tempest of passion, blood and rage, as their forked tongues, reached out towards Sam, tasting the air, the fear emanating from him. The Siren’s reached out towards Sam, to feast and to ravage, to clutch him in their deadly embrace.

  Yet Sam Willows had slipped away into the murky waters of the lake, into the darkness and the clammy mournful world of corpses and decay, towards the red gleam of the Revival Stone.

Sam’s lungs were burning as his brain screamed for oxygen, as the corpses rose up from their watery grave. They grasped weakly at him, trying to pull him down into the chilling, dark depths. Faces of men, women and children drifted past Sam in a blur of confusion. Blackness started to descend over his vision, obscuring the green light that was growing brighter and the white blobs of the corpses, and pain erupted through his right hand as he brushed against something small, smooth and round.  As Sam fell into unconsciousness, he gripped tightly onto the Revival Stone as the Sirens lifted him out of the lake and began to feast.

Monday, 11 April 2011

The Gentle Assassin

This is a poem for Rosella. I hope you enjoy it despite it's heartwrenching effect.

I've been doing so much work and yes I think I may be verging on depression but poetry is my outlet and so this happens. I'll stop wittering on and just post the thing.

The Gentle Assassin

A young girl laughs
Running through the sunshine
Through golden dancing motes of dust
She sprawls upon her bed
And stares up at the paper on the ceiling
Written in flowing flowery script
In thick gold ink
A poem
“Golden God”

Rosella weeps then cries with joy
At the magic on her ceiling
A work by the Purple Poet
How she adores him, longs for his praise
Even to glimpse him, meet him, know him
Would overflow her heart with wonder
And she waits for her own piece of awe
Taken from the cloths of heaven
By the Purple Poet

The Gentle Assassin
Running through the rain
As drops of grey soak her matted brown hair
And gleam in the dual orbs of a storm tossed sea
The single black rose
Shines darkly in the ghostly moonlight
She spots her victim
Unaware of his impending demise
She casually plucks a spinning star of silver and death
And strikes

Time slows
A figure in violet robes
Jumps in front of her victim
A crimson stain blossoms from his wrinkled chest
His face full of pain and dismay
As he seeks out the Gentle Assassin
Time fragments into sharp moments of confusion
The tear rolling down his eye
The ever growing pool of redness staining the earth
The flash of silver submerged deep in his flesh
The single black rose

Rosella stares at the Purple Poet in shock
She weeps over his body
Tears mingling with the ebbing life force
Splattered over the ground
His breath comes in short bursts
He mutters a word
I’m sorry I never found the time
Remember me when I am gone away
Then a last froth filled gasp
And silence

Rosella Embers
Sits unmoving by her Purple Poet
As the single black rose falls
The petals disintegrating into nothing
She remembers the young girl
Laughing through the swirling golden reams
Of diamond dust
Picks up her silver star
Closes her eyes
Makes her choice.