Tag: poetry

Somewhere — an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment
"On the Earth" by algenpfleger
“On the Earth” by algenpfleger

I’m going somewhere.
Somewhere.
Somewhere… Somewhere? Somewhere! Somewhere somewhere somewheresomewheresomewhere.
SOMEWHERE.
No matter how I say it, it doesn’t sound real.
Doesn’t seem real. Like it’s not even a place.
Maybe it isn’t. Maybe somewhere’s nowhere.
But I’m going there.

Some, as in some place —
some island, some ocean, some mountain, mountains? can some be more than one?
some mansion, some shanty, some tavern, some rathole, some chateau —
some, as in unsure,
uncertain,
undetermined,
in amount and manner and quality.
But some can be certain
so why is it not certain? why is it unspecified
when it’s meant to be specific?
Maybe it isn’t. Maybe somewhere’s undecided.
But I’m going there.

Where, as in what place?
it’s a certain place, sure, but what is the way?
it’s an unclear place, of course, so why is there a where?
what respect? what end? what source? whence?
where is not here, but it can be a place, but not a real place,
but obviously it’s somewhere —
where, as in when and why and from what?
in or at, can’t know for sure,
so what’s its goal? why is it elusive
when it’s meant to be determined?
Maybe it isn’t. Maybe somewhere’s shy.
But I’m going there.

Somewhere somewhere SOMEWHERE somewheresomewheresomewheresomewhere.

© 2015 Stellular Scribe

Just a poet’s note: I think I broke my brain trying to write this. Sorry in advance.
P.S. Happy New Year! 🙂

Reign — a haiku trio

stellularscribeLeave a comment
"Lady Knight" by Janaina Medeiros
“Lady Knight” by Janaina Medeiros

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 — an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment
Crystal_Cave_2_by_firedudewraith
“Crystal Cave 2” by firedudewraith

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

The Maid of Ruby Rill

stellularscribeLeave a comment

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! 🙂

Confidence is a timid creature — an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment
__confidence___by_A_T_I_S (1)
“-confidence-” by A-T-I-S

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

Explain- an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment
"Fear of The Unknown" by Muhammed Ilham
“Fear of The Unknown” by Muhammed Ilham

He seems afraid of what he can’t explain,
of spirit and color he has been drained,
like a bow bound to snap ‘neath arrow’s strain,
maybe it’s the truth or maybe it’s pain
that wracks and reaps him of blood in his veins–
for the unknown, you know, can’t be contained,
and sometimes its shadows are hardly sane,
and then there’s the question on what’s humane–
for how can we gauge the blackened and stained
when from our eyes the pure truth’s been abstained;
sure, you can toss windward all things mundane,
sharpen esteem so confidence can be feigned,
but in the end despair is still maintained…
because he’s afraid of what he can’t explain.

© 2014 Stellular Scribe

With Winter In Heart- an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment
"Pray" by Wang Ling
“Pray” by Wang Ling

Here at the end of this smoke-strung land,
where the wind drags its teeth ‘cross my skin,
my grasp on reality numbs in my hands
as the blighting hoarfrost buries in.

Cold is custom at the end of the world,
and betwixt my blue fingers I warm,
a bloodstone, a sunstone, polished and pearled,
to thaw off the sleet and the storm.

I dream of a fire at the end of the night
that’ll soften the ice in my marrow;
I dream of a love shed in sweet silver light,
who’ll return to me from the barrow.

Here at the end of this bitter white land
I search through endless freeze for the dawn;
I cannot reclaim the warmth in my hands,
so with winter in heart, I march on.

© 2014 Stellular Scribe

A Bittersweet Color- an original poem

stellularscribeLeave a comment

a bittersweet
color
red is

the shade of passion
deep and drawn out as a kiss
yet fiery as the glint in your eye
the untold breath of innocence
sweet as a summer rose
and studded in thorns and sties
red as love
red as sin
red as want
red as warmth
a blush a beam a scar a slash
a goblet of wine
a brutal blood bath
a graze a grin a grief a gash
flames and fear and fondness and famine
and wanting to possess and living for desire
and gentle dear darlings and funeral pyres
and hate and healing and fury and feeling
and singing
and crying
and
living
and
dying
and

red
is
a
bittersweet
color

Silence- an original poem

stellularscribe2 Comments

It’s the silence that wakes me in the end.

The wind’s final gasp as it gives way to hush,
the thunder’s last groan as it shakes from the sky,
the rain’s waning beat at the end of the flush,
the fire’s closing streak as it lights its goodbye.

The absence of noise is my nudge into waking,
the alarm of my slumber garners no cruel beeps,
for in the pith of the storm’s cracking and quaking
is the only night hour in which I can sleep.