Poem: Flowing Flame

Flowing flame

Interchanging, interchanged

Standing still and flickering forth

like raindrops

from eyelashes


Sparks that are shed

With every tongue’s slash

Through the air

Caress my skin

Set light to my hair.

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Poem: Exposed like Night

Soft and supple

Exposed like Night

Eyes all wary

Heart all bright

Standing in a line yet

All on her own.


A line points upward

From feet to the stars

Tell me what I’m not

And you won’t get far

Here I can stand

A line on my own

Here I can stand

Here, all alone.

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Poem: A Girl Sat Alone Today

A girl sat alone today

And why she did I couldn’t say

She had a smile upon her, fey

One that, to heaven, was debased

And yet she wasn’t free


The darkness in my heart is hot

It screams and twists and writhes in rot

It calls me names and warns me that

I will fall today.

But I can smile, and so I do

A breath let free from me to you

Trembling, as I know it’s true:

I am never free.


Her eyes are pure like pools so sweet

Her teeth are sharp as you they greet

Bare and cold and made of meat

The girl who wasn’t free.


She digs in with her hands like claws

Tears the flesh from you raw

Strikes you down with all her might

And still

She isn’t free.


The darkness in my heart today

Causes all my thoughts to fray

I bid it please just go away

And I am still not free


The dark inside is murdering me

With claws and teeth I set you free

To roam the world, a ghost, and see

Exactly who you’re meant to be.


She dug in hard with talons on hands

Ripped free a heart and in silken bands

She took it, held it, hid it away

Never to see the light of day

Only for those who saw to say:


“Now there

Is a man

Who is free.

Ay yes, free to wander

As a ghost

To see the world she meant him to see

Glory, ay, glory be

And praise to him eternally

Blessed are they and blessed are we

To be trapped in our lives

And live. In chains we thrive,

In chains we be,

But if that is free in truth and in heart

Then better for us and better for me

That truly we are never free.”


So in darkness, wicked and hot

The girl lurked within, besot

With a lover’s heart she took from he

Who once believed he’d never be free

And so he wandered to and fro

From place to place

And tree to tree

Dead and yet still more alive

Than the people below him be

Who, chained and broken

Whisper hymns to remind themselves

Of the pain of freedom’s ring

And in their confused and tormented sate

Of true death do they sing.


Who is truly dead or dying

In light of lives undone?

Who is truly at their end

And who has just begun?

Tis not a question I could answer

Or one I seek to speak

But if provide a one I could:

‘Freedom’ is not for the meek.


It isn’t for the sick at heart

Or those who linger

Closed behind their doors

It isn’t for the hands who tweak

The strings to control us whores

It isn’t for the hardest hearts

Or the people with none to share

No, freedom is deeper than that

And freedom doesn’t care

Who you are

Or what you are

It will find you there.


To all it comes like gossamer

Woven out of thread

To most it comes more softly than

A bullet to your head

And when the ancient ties with what

You thought was yours are gone

When you find yourself unbound

And free you float, undone


You are there in freedom’s grasp

Clutched tighter than that heart

And secreted away like so many others


and in the dark.


2014 © Sam Oliver (Eris)


Not much to say about this. Just trying to poetry out some bad feelings. Yeah, poetry is a verb. I just made it one. Don’t read too much into it. I mean, unless you want to?? I’m sure it’s a poem just RICH with philosophy. Roiling with it. Rrrrrife with it.

Anyway, I’m gonna see about (I always say this but I mean it) getting some actual storywork done. And speaking of work, I’m looking for some. Since writing stories and typing and communicating are all things I’m really good at, if anyone has some suggestions for where I might find work and wants to drop them in the comments that would be awesome. 

It just occurred to me that hitting one hundred short stories THIS year would be awesome too. So that’s my new goal. It’s the same as the old goal, but y’know. This time I should have less time to spare for doing diddly squat, so that should help. Eight short stories in one year is alright, but that’s not even one a month! I’m positively certain I could do better than that. I’ll prove it.

Oh, and Happy New Year everybody. Maybe my next piece of poetry will be more uplifting~ (and with less time than two months between it. Yeah, that would make sense.)