Wednesday, 31 August 2011


His eyes, wide and blue,
Waiting, like his mouth, to swallow you.
Bring you down to his dark depths,
Until broken bones are all that's left.
And you look into his mad eyes,
See a hint of rotting, dead flies.
He drags you down in a mess of arms,
And you cry out in terrible alarm.
But nobody sees your pitiful eyes,
Bound as he, with horrible cries.
Blood flies about and tears drop to the floor,
Internal organs and gut-splitting gore,
The psychopath tears apart his next meal.
will you be like him, unable to feel?

The day before I die

The clock strikes ten.
Clasp my hands and with upturned eyes,
How many times do I forsake these skies?
Look back down, see the summer frost,
Big bad sins come at such a cost.
The day before I die, I sit on the dirty ground,
Head turned thoughtfully and eyes cast down.
Why did I have to be so stupid?
Why did I have to kill him, small Cupid?
Because of rash and undecided actions,
I find myself here with my meager rations.
Find myself in a very dark, dank lair,
Where mice dart in and out of my hair.
Now my hands are shackled, they pull me out,
Their taunting words echoing about.
Poor girl, they sneer. Poor poor girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
And the clock strikes eleven.
Shuffle to your cell, they say.
They push, and on the ground I lay.
Struggling to sit back upright now,
I feel as helpless as a pregnant mother sow.
The guards laugh and close the door,
Leaving me staring at the darkening floor.
Stare, girl, I say. Stare all you like.
In the next one hour your head’ll be on a spike.
Stupid, foolish, idiotic girl.
Most stupid murderer in all the world.
The day before I die, almost over,
And I pick up my last clover.
Help me, I pray. My only hope, help me.
My eyes, upturned to God for him to see.
And the clock strikes twelve.

The Bleak World

When reading this, opinions has three syllables.

I've tried so very hard to make a change,
To see the world through other people's eyes,
But still to me their views seem odd and strange,
And their opinions I do despise.
Each day I see myself and wish once more,
That I could see the beauty in the clouds,
I wish I saw the grace of birds that soar,
Instead I'm left with noisy messy crowds.
I can't begin to think of all the time,
I've wasted, seeing nothing but the grey,
For even as I think and write each rhyme,
I think that maybe night will rise to day.
And finally I see what others see,
The beauty the whole world around me.


Tuesday, 30 August 2011

Hi all, first post, chan. Ship down, crew dead. Engines gone, oars instead. Vessel destroyed, lifeboats deployed, wreck found, treasures safe and sound.

Sunday, 28 August 2011


Ok! I've had the idea for this poem for a while, never really got around to writing it down. Again, it's an abstract poem. I thought I'd try my hand at writing a tanka so this is what happened. Please comment! And be honest! I don't care if you hate it! I want to improve! 

jumbled my is brain
the understand I problem can't
maze because it's of words
you if unscramble but it
then really it's quite simple

Friday, 26 August 2011

Chanoro the Spirit of Winter

Autumn is almost over,
The trees are leafless and thin,
The mood is grey and dreary,
But then Chanoro comes.

The rain becomes swirling snow,
The ponds freeze into mirrors,
The grass becomes frosted and silvery,
The great Chanoro has come.

As children glance out of their windows,
Now topped with icicles shiny and slim,
They yell with glee and run to the winter wonderland,
Chanoro's work here is done.


Thursday, 25 August 2011

Octaboona the Purple Poet

A figure stands silhouetted in front of the brightest light,
He is tall and poised elegantly and oh so wise,
He radiates peace and tranquil thoughts,
Of meadows and laughter and happiness.

His robes of purple shimmer and flow,
And as he takes a quill and writes a few words,
In flowing script, the world is shown,
An effortless masterpiece once again.

Octaboona the Purple Poet,
Finds hope when hope seems lost,
And he, the first and the greatest,
Is the spirit of wisdom, a shining star.


Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Kallista the Queenfisher

In a tranquil forest one sunny day,
A sudden flash of blue announces the arrival of a Kingfisher,
Now elegantly perched,
On the bow of a young sapling, a birch.

With a feathered coat of unmatched beauty,
Two shining eyes and a dainty little beak,
With wings like no other bird's.
Kallista the Queenfisher takes to the skies.

Swooping, diving, in an arial show,
Kallingfisher is joined by a boy,
With a castle of tinfoil atop his head,
Which she enters and marvels at it's grandeur.

Snug in a comfortable corner of the castle,
And drowsy from the day's flight,
Kallista the Queenfishter curls up in a ball,
And murmurs to the boy, 'Goodnight.'

Thanks for reading.


Wednesday, 17 August 2011


So I have a theme here. On my blog "Random, Much" I got some info from wiki on why the sky is blue. I'll write a story soon on that same topic (but with a huge difference on the explanation) but I need to eat breakfast first :P
For poetry... I wrote this poem:

The sky is blue, we all know it's true
The grass may be green or brown

But through and through, the sky is blue
In any city or town

At night, when the sun starts to rest its head

It explodes in reds and pinks
And after the sun goes to bed
It darkens, black as ink
But when the sun's up and burning bright
the sky remains one hue
A color that reappears after each night
The wonderful color of blue!
They explain it with science and technical terms
But to us its truly a simple thing
Some say that it's wavelengths  (some say giant worms)
But in our hearts the truth will ring
The sky is blue, through and through

Simply Rattling

 Alright, this was born from a few comments I left on Hellboy's blog when I was realizing and talking about how sometimes I comment really confusingly. 
Imagine the person telling you about this is CraZY [Er, no, don't imagine me...]
[See more at the end of the poem after you read it]

Confusing text,
Mind boggling words,
Baffled birds,
You are perplexed.

A comma there,
A hyphen here.
You must beware,
Of Mrs. Grier!

Her tongue she spins
In mischievous swirls!
She lures her foes
And pounces quick!

Too soon you're muddled;
You're quickly befuddled.
You're dazed and clouded;
You're simply confounded!

She was so cheery.
"That Mrs Grier's a Dearie!"
But you glanced away.
You're now unhinged, the least to say...

A little twist around the corner,
Strange words slipped into place,
And little commas took up space.
"I certainly did warn yer!"

But you didn't hear of Mrs Grier
Because you're laying by a bier,
And the coffin lid is closing.
So now begins your decomposing.

Author's note again
So yeah, the person is insane and was talking to a dead person. ~nods~
lol, like it?

Monday, 15 August 2011

The Nightmare

A boy, asleep, one night,
Is shaken by a fear,
A shadow, killing light,
Cuts through his dreams of deer.

It slashes through the mind,
With terrifying claws,
Then stops and starts to grind,
The fabric of the thoughts.

The shadow leaves the boy,
It floats to find one more,
Another braking toy,
Whose mind will soon be gore.

The nightmare rules the dark,
It's kingdom reaches far,
But soon will sing the lark,
As it sees the morning star.

When night time ends and all,
The people start to wake,
The nightmare, soon to fall,
Begins, with fear, to quake.

Vanquished by the sun,
The nightmare dissipates,
Into dust.