PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The seaport lying on the isle of Oriab;

Being a mighty city.

There is a canal which goes under the city

In a tunnel with granite gates;

Leading to the inland lake of Yath.

Parts of the city are built of bricks

Resembling the ancient ruins

On Yath's further shore.

The beacons on either side of the harbor

Are named Thon and Thal.

The lava-gatherers climb Mount Ngranek,

But not too high, might they fall;

To get bits of volcanic stone;

Still not reaching out to the gods.

The city is ruled by a congress

Of retired sea captains and traders;

Determining both laws and punishments.

Tales of the sunken city

Six nights out of Baharna

Are told in the taverns of Lhosk.

In the land of Ooth-Nargai

Is a snow-capped mountain.

Covered in gingko-trees

Not far from Celephais

The beautiful city.

   We lived in a small village, just about eighty homes up in the mountains. My childhood was like a combination of a Norman Rockwell painting and a Maxim Grunin landscape. There were some characters that lived up there with us; some of them seemed like they belonged on a sitcom: a lonely old a lady; a neighborhood menace; and a biker with two large dogs, a moustache, a bandana and a nickname. Others seemed like characters in a movie that opens up in muted colours with the sound of a squeaking screen door in the background. There were two scientologists who had a truck in their back yard, packed to the fullest with survival materials, ready to go in the event of the end of the world; a woman who spoke to dogs; and an old lady who was married to a curmudgeonly old man. The old lady was nice enough; she had hair the colour of sand at night and wore glasses that looked like she worked in IT in the 70’s. The old man was the neighborhood spook to kids. He wore plaid shirts, griped under his breath and threatened to kill my dad when our tree’s roots trespassed an inch or two onto his property. All the kids believed- and I did too at one point-that he beat his wife, especially during Christmas.

   I moved away from the village as soon as I turned nineteen but I had lived there my whole life. Me and a group of neighborhood kids used to make cookies with our moms and hand them out in packages at Christmas time. None of us ever wanted to give the old couple any cookies because we were scared to go up to their house. It always took a lot of coaxing from our moms and a group of at least four of us to get the job done; but one Christmas we all agreed we had heard arguing coming from their house so no amount of persuasion from our moms could convince us to walk within ten feet of there. But I felt bad. The old lady was nice enough. She didn’t deserve to not get any cookies just because of her husband. I decided to go (alone of course; none of the other kids would go with me).

   My light pink boots complimented the snow, I thought as I walked towards their house, trying to distract myself from the perilous mission I had decided to commence. I flinched as a snowflake parachuted onto my eyelash. I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. I stood in front of the house for a few minutes. I had planned to wait just a few seconds, pretend I had waited for an eternity and say they didn’t answer but my good nature won out-or I was paralyzed out of fear- and I stayed. I finally heard something.

       “Come in,” I heard the old man say. It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.  I opened the door before I knew what I was doing. I pushed it open all the way while looking at my boots. I saw a shadow, floating on the scuffed hardwood floor.  I felt the cold of outside rush into my stomach, a flurry of snowflakes in a frenzy like a snow globe in my head and gut. A strand of fairy lights hung from the beams of his ceiling and the end of it was looped around his neck. His face was red like the changing lights around his throat. My knees twitched like his feet as my stomach felt like it turned to liquid and shot to my head. He was staring at me, grimacing; but I swore that underneath his the contorted face he was grinning.

   My head felt like it was scorching, my temples swelling with stress. I heard a door close from the back of the house. The old man turned his eyes backwards towards the sound for just a second. They were bright red and I was scared they would squeeze their way out of his head and shoot out at me like missiles. The door slammed shut after bouncing against the frame a few times and it looked like even though the old man was dying, he relaxed.

   His body went flaccid and so did my knees. The Christmas lights twinkled in rhythm, his spasming body no longer matching their pattern. I looked behind me to see if the other kids were waiting, I didn’t want to look back into the house, half expecting him to be just a nose width away from me, bearing his teeth in mirth. I looked back anyway. He was still swaying up above me. I couldn’t stand so I just scooted out the door and down the steps. I sat in their front yard, staring at the still open door. I could see the Christmas lights throwing festive colours onto the wall, throbbing like his heart had done, just minutes before.

Wall of rock and earthen mound
Wearing oft a crown of white
Steadfastly reaching ever up, for the golden sun
Broad shoulders covered  ‘round in cloak of trees
Whose branches proudly thrust out green leaves

Wizened face of weathered stone
Whispers of cool streams aflow
Atop lies a balding peak, unperturbed by tumult below
A hidden island up on high
Above the shadow of a somber sky

Watching with unwavering zeal
Like a beacon in a sea of white
A solid anchor, with tether of sunlight
Revealing whereon warm ray is sought for most
When e’r a storm doth pour forth woes

- ¡¿†¥lΣ®?!

We crack the mountain in half,

The most Ancient Gods,

Prototypes of all the Gods,

Worshiped before humanity;

And all came from one source.

The source is called Mlandoth,

All Gods are manifestations of Him.

Ngyr-Khorath, the mad and monstrous thing

Whom haunts this region of space

Before the solar system was formed,

Is a local eddy of Mlandoth's Race.

Yidhra, who was born with the life of Earth

Intertwining with all Earthly life-forms,

Teaches reverence for Mlandoth.

Before death was born, She was born;

For untold ages there was life without death,

Life without birth, life unchanging.

But at last death came; birth came;

Life became mortal and mutable,

And thereafter fathers died,

Sons were born, and never the same.

The slime became the worm

And the worm the serpent,

The serpent the yeti of the mountains

And the yeti became man.

Only She escaped death,

Escaped birth.

But She could not escape change,

For all things will change;

The trees of the North must shed their leaves.

She learned to devour the mortal creatures;

From their seed to change Herself,

And to be as all mortal things,

Living forever without birth, without death.

love in many words 

a boy and girl 

a time of sweet temptation 

and roads that bend and swirl 

far into the future

up into the sky 

the visions climb so quickly 

isnt that how it goes?

a heart that glows until it burns out swiftly

as the path extends forever

into the mountains, the creek does wind 

pavement hungers to be 

as the layer of rock that binds 

but it's just a temporary fixture 

it only goes so far

extending to the edges

of the woods, the peaks, into the clouds 

that hold all of our false pledges 

the trees that feel us climb

never intervening when we fall 

letting unfortunate souls linger

until we've lost it all 

and end up wandering by the river 

calling out to strangers without names

that let us pass time 

and never hold us to our intentions 

while we cry and seek to rhyme 

the words we don't know we're saying

the past becomes our savior 

a place where the road seemed clearer

the great escape

remembering in ways that make the best seem nearer 

overshadowing what we're missing 

endless until the end 

left smiling from a distance

too far away to feel the pain

too tired for resistance 

left in forests of forever 

To mountains we're no suprise
They've read our story, know it all
They've seen brave men succeed and rise
They've seen men fear, break and fall

Would they have anything to say
To us who want so much to learn?
To us who wonder every day
Which way our coming days will turn?

Perhaps they know, but will not tell
For we can't change the way of things
Except to live our short days well
And thankful be for what Life brings