Splitting the heavens,
a deluge of might and right —
so shall be my reign.
A tempest of time
governed by the clouds’ reach —
a gale without drain.
Ripe with roars and blasts,
thunderous they’ll swarm to aid —
marching with my strain.
old friend —
we walked this path before, remember?
back when the shadows that
stalked our footsteps
smiled,
and the darkness was not
swallowing,
but inviting?
do you remember
how the drip drip plunk
of water on rock stirred our stride,
how the skittering and swishing echoes
of creatures, be they mouse or mammoth-sized,
fed our hunger for
adventure?
or rather,
was it danger?
do you remember adrenaline
ripping through our limbs
as we tore ’round bends and boulders,
‘cross caverns and streams that seethed
with blind beasties
and swimming ghosts?
do you remember being
invincible,
young gods in our own
dark, unexplored domain —
yet subject to the vampires that
roosted above us and
at mercy of the
jagged, steep fall
below us?
old friend —
I remember combing through crystals
with you,
back when this path
was colored by youth.
© 2014 Stellular Scribe
A born a day of rags and fray, I smelled a hearth in th’ air —
what smells a hearth? why, dogs of course!
and be a dog, I dare.
Such smoke led south ‘round weeping wastes,
and up past yonder hill —
and dancing in the blaze so chaste
be the Maid of Ruby Rill!
She twirled her skirts and called my name, and long a gasp I sighed —
be she a nymph? a siren wraith?
for hooked I was inside.
Honeyed words she kissed my way,
and fierce I felt a thrill —
and what possessed me then to pray
for the Maid of Ruby Rill?
Sweet as sour-grass her song; warm as winter her grin —
but what of flames? did not she blaze?
how white still shone her skin!
Then deep within my core I yearned
and leapt to touch her still —
but crimson bit my hand and burned
my dear Maid of Ruby Rill.
Blackness bled into her eyes, serpentine her smile curled —
what form be this? a trick? a guise?
taunting, her tail unfurled.
Shocked my heart and swiped my breath,
I yelped a plea so shrill —
“Sweet lady, now be not my death!”
to the Maid of Ruby Rill.
A knee I took to hold her gaze, and hands I pressed in prayer —
“what sin is mine? is craving a crime?
speak now or I’ll despair!”
With twisted lips she smirked in ire,
and whispered words of ill —
“Damned are you to tend my fire
here in Ruby Rill!”
A born a day of rags and fray, I sold my heart to her —
what sells a heart? why, slaves of course!
and slave I was, assured.
Of years nothing but dust remains,
but her hearth dances still —
for I have fed and fueled the flames
of the Maid of Ruby Rill.
I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and holiday season! If you don’t celebrate Christmas, then hopefully it was a lovely time nonetheless. I haven’t posted anything for two whole weeks (gasp! I know!), but am finally getting back into the swing of things. Today I have for you a poem (actually, a song) that was written for my current fantasy series. I originally approached it with every intention of writing a silly, carefree tavern song — but it quickly developed a darker, more serious tone (as so many of my poems do).
Happy writing! 🙂
Salutations, fellow scribes!
I have been a bit inactive as of late (I know, I’m horrible), so to make up for it I’ve come up with Part III of my favorite writing playlists!
Here are 4 playlists to stir your inner inklings and get the creative juices flowing!
“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.”
― Stephen King.
“Long was the way that fate them bore,
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Untied by time’s touch,
sun and stone and sky and sea
become kin to me.
Here the mountains sing
softly, like a brother’s hymn-
humming, I listen.
I watch life unfold
from my seat up in the stars,
distant, but not far.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Happy Writing! 🙂
Confidence is a timid creature.
She hibernates through simple’s hide,
but come spring stirs not a single stride,
for who can coax her from her cave
when dark depths does confidence crave?
She shies from bright, she shivers in change,
the winds of night are rampant with strange —
and who can bare to disturb her sleep
when confidence contends her weep?
But call her name and comb her hair
and confidence’ll kindle her prayer,
for what creature would lie in shade
when danger’s vices can be staid?
Timid is dear confidence,
be careful not to give offense
when of her skills you do commence —
for confidence lacks common sense.
© 2014 Stellular Scribe
Stellular Scribe 