About Eris of Discord

Fluid gender'd author with so much to write about and so little time. Brown hair, brown eyes- though if you're nice you'll call them amber- and an indecisive, energetic personality (at least when s/he has been fed.) Appreciates poetry and prose of all kinds, adores writing fiction- fantasy, sci-fi and poetry of he/r own. Believes in ambiguous language so long as it doesn't go so far as a lie. Grew up a few years ago but still manages to find things amazing in a vaguely child-like way. Shares personal information too easily and is haunted by memories s/he isn't even sure are real, yet loves the world and all the beautiful people in it.

Poem: Soft Rain / Sky Tarp

Soft rain

softer rays

from the sun behind the clouds

teasing holes in the tarp of the sky

and glittering through

those windows.

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Moving – My First Job – A Published Book

Hey everybody. It’s been a few years!

I recently moved out of Connecticut and I’ve been living nearby Ludington, Michigan (in a trailer!!) for a couple weeks now. I’ve made plans to move into an Apartment when I can afford the rent.

Anyway, I signed up with Manpower and they immediately put me to work. The job market is pretty rich up here! Guess not many people really want to work?? Most of the kids who get out of school just wanna leave.

I mean, it is a small town! I suppose that makes some sense.

I’ve been happier up here than I’ve been the past two years or so. My first job lasted exactly one day.

They had me lifting big 50 pound bags of road salt– the kind you use to melt snow! It was a REALLY physically demanding job. I wasn’t sure I was gonna be able to do it, and after three-four hours it became pretty apparent that nope! I need a lil more muscle.  The people were nice. It was a fun experience even if my back is kinda out for the day. I’m happy I decided to go for it, and happy to be working again.

So tomorrow I’ve got another job lined up and I’m expecting that to be pretty fun. I’m gonna be writing a good deal in my freetime. If I finish anything substantial and free I’ll post it here!

Now… about my book.

I wrote a book! It’s called The Soul Keepers and it’s available on Amazon Kindle (or you can read it with the free kindle app for your computer) for two US dollars and ninety nine cents. (2.99$).

It’s a soft science fiction / fantasy collection from the perspective of three vastly different aliens on an alien planet and the way their paths cross as they try to make their world a better place. The stories have broader themes of change, hope and love, and they were a lot of fun to write.

If you give the collection a read and a buy, thank you! Consider leaving a review or telling your reader friends!

That’s all I got for now. Here’s the link to the story collection: The Soul Keepers

 

Talk atcha all later.

-Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

Poem: Sunshine

A ray of hope

a ray of sunshine

pierces through the clouds

strikes the ground beneath our feet

brightens up the crowd.

Continue reading

Long Stories: Rose Knight (3)

Aed and some of his band wait for her in the city, and they find her before she’s made it two streets. Her first inkling is the crossbow bolt as it flies past her nose and embeds itself in the wall next to her. She takes a step out of the alleyway to find the street almost entirely deserted. Aed has three friends now, not simply one, and stares at her. Among his friends he counts two mercenaries with crossbows (one of whom rewinds his) and a man holding a sword easily as large as Rose.

She mentally measures the distance to the nearest unlocked door– the library. With their crossbows and their speed they could catch and kill her before she made it, she’s fairly certain, and they stand between her and the temple district.

Rose sags. “And me, without my armor,” she mutters. “Good day, Aed. You have my attention. Whose did I attract today?” Continue reading

Long Story: Rose Knight (2)

“I’m not well versed in the ways of women, especially not noblewomen,” the smith, whose name is Ith and surname is Sol, says quietly. “And well, Sandrys is a foreigner.”

Rose nods thoughtfully. “She is.”

Truth be told, no one in the city knows exactly where Sandrys was born. Rose knows that she was raised here in the city. A few years back, she’d told Rose that her old home had been horrible. Continue reading

Long Story: Rose Knight (1)

Her sword is strapped to her back, not in a sheath as most knights would carry it. It makes it vulnerable to rust and to rain, to dulling and stains, but to the woman who bears it, it matters little. Despite strapping it to her armor, she has never once drawn it in the months she has worn it. Continue reading

Poem: Beheld and Behidden

Jewel of the northern sky

beheld and behidden from eyes

lest the flames consume it, dry

and strike it down from the heavens.

 

Stars that dance, sing and cry

midst broken hopes, flying high

above the world where all men die

they blink, beheld, for all of us

Continue reading

Poem: Star Rain

Standing in the starlit rain

watching heat wash off my skin

stardust dancing here and then

listening to the world spin

 

Twirling through a night’s cold arms

plated gold and glimmering white

with light from all the stars afire

shielded from the world’s spite

Continue reading

Poem: Breathe

The thoughts tumble down

Tumble forth

like breath

Out from a mouth still tasting of sweat

As a thousand points made solid all seem to connect

with my heart

my hand

with fingers on my neck.

Continue reading

Short Serial Story: Psion (1)

My mind parts the air like a knife.

Sharper than any knife, the tongue I keep in check, as Pyth asks again: “How long?”

I snap myself back from a vision of chaos and swivel in my chair to fix Pyth with a stare. “Twenty five minutes, in theory and undisturbed.”

He winces and folds his arms. “Right. Fine.”

I swivel back and let my mind refocus.

“Why?” comes his voice, jarring me before I’ve even settled in.

Swivel. Stare.

“You really want to know?” I ask, knowing the answer before it leaves his lips.

“I really want to know.”

“She’s being guarded.”

“Shit. How many?”

“Three. Are you going to leave me alone, or are you going to keep pestering me like a child with nothing better to do?”

A pause. I can see him try to think of a retort, but I’m done dealing with his dumb face. I swivel back and try not to let his presence itself distract me as I lose myself in my crystal focus again.

My mind parts the air like a knife. The folds of space expand outward before me and close behind me. The whole of the universe– stars, black holes, pulsars and supernovas and nebulae– stretches out for me.

I smile.

Twenty five minutes is actually twenty four minutes too long. I’m just tired of Pyth whining at me.

Focusing in on Liss’s signal again, I find the barriers surrounding her location and, with a well placed stroke, cut them down. They disintegrate quickly, all three of them, and I withdraw before the enemy psion can figure out what I’ve done. Now I know exactly where she is.

I withdraw and, sighing a little, come back to myself. Pyth is just standing there next to me, waiting for me to open my eyes. I can feel him there.

I open my eyes and swivel around to look at him directly. I beam him the coordinates before hopping off my swivel seat and walking off the bridge. “There you go,” I mutter. “The keys to your girlfriend. Have fun playing the hero and reaping the rewards”

Pretending I’m not bitter doesn’t really work. I storm towards the holo-deck to conjure up the only person on the damn ship I can talk to.

***

“Ysun,” my friend says, in that voice I know means he wants me to pay attention. “You shouldn’t be so hard on Pyth. He’s always been blind.”

I roll my eyes and shrug.

“I’m serious. Among all the humans onboard he’s the only one I know to be completely absent of attraction awareness– I doubt he even knows you like Liss.”

“And that excuses him? I lost my last bond-mate. Liss is the only one of my kind I know, and right after Tiff gets incapacitated he decides ‘Oh, yup, time to ask her out’! The guy goes way beyond ‘insensitive’! Then he had the gall to ask me to find her for him!”

I resist the urge to lash out psionically, if only because doing so while in the holo deck often causes electromagnetic interference which DJINN finds uncomfortable.

The computer shrugs his artificially dimensional shoulders. “I know how badly you want to save her, Ys. But you’ve got to know that he can’t afford to risk you. You’re the only one on our team who can navigate psionic barriers.”

I make a face. “I know that much, DJINN. Still, there’s got to be something I could do to make him see how important she is to me.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” DJINN asks. His voice is a single step away from sarcastic. I know I’m straining even DJINN’s inexhaustible patience algorithms with my constant rants. This is the third time this cycle I’ve been to visit him.

“Several times. Any time I try, he goes on about how touching it is when I care so much about her safety and how beautiful compassion is as a personality trait, how wonderful chaste mind-love between Psions can be.”

DJINN’s hologram winces. “That is… worse than I first suspected. Is Pyth aware that you are a lesbian, Ys?”

“Trying to explain sexuality to Pyth is comparable to stepping off of a moving lift. The impact depends entirely on the height of his mood, and in Pyth’s case, it’s a lift that only ever goes up. Breaking the news to him now? He’s a total flip. You know that better than anyone. He’s been down to see you for counsel.” I sigh and rub my forehead with my fingertips. “He’d probably jump into folded space. It’d be like turning his whole world upside down. You know the first ten cycles out he had a crush on me?

DJINN and I are both silent, lost in our respective thoughts; my thoughts are morose, and his are doubtless optimistic. Eventually he lets out a sigh. It’s impressive for a hologram, with only simulated lungs.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ys. I’ve never been faced with a problem like this one. Talking to the Captain can do no good, and encouraging him will only end in anguish on your and Liss’s part.”

I blink, at that. “You think Liss will care?”

“Have you been paying attention to the paths her eyes make across your body, Ys? Are you as blind as the Captain?”

“What are you-” but I stop and bite both of my lips. I shake my head and sigh. “So she likes me.”

“She enjoys the attention of both of you, but I can read her vitals, Ys. She would much rather be with you, even if she is not aware of that now.”

I offer the hologram a weak smile. “Thanks, DJINN.”

The computer cavalier bows, smiles back, and vanishes, leaving me in the holodeck. Alone with my thoughts.

***

“Pyth-”

“No.”

“I just want to be able to help!”

“You are too vital to our greater mission to risk boarding the station.”

“I can handle myself!” I snap.

Pyth gazes at me a few more seconds, frowning. “I’m sorry, Ysun. But if I’m killed, you can at least take the remaining crew home. If you are, my crew is stranded– you power both the drives and the shield that surrounds the ship. Before Tiff was…” he trails off and won’t meet my eyes. I know what he’s feeling. “Well, you get the idea,” he finishes lamely.

I struggle to keep my features empty of the swirling anger inside of me. Part of it must filter through to my twin shard, who makes the psionic shield around the craft possible– it flares red with shared rage as I storm away from the bridge. Never mind that I could make another mind-shard set to take the crew home. Never mind that I could predict threats and help counter the enemy psion when we board. I’m just too important to risk.

Fuming, I stalk off to the observation deck.

It’s there I meet Captain Pyth.

Again.

We stand, staring at one another for a few precious seconds. I can’t read his intentions. I can’t see what he will do or would do. It’s just us, staring one another down.

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

I shut my mouth again, staring at him as he gestures out into space. The shield around the ship flares from red to pink. I feel a flush color the tips of my lowermost tendrils.

I glance out across the deck, to the viewscreen showing the depths of the fold around the ship, the fold perpetrated by my mind-shard. I run his last sentence through my head again and struggle to come up with a response.

As I do, he brushes past me and into the hall adjoining the observation deck with the Bridge.

And then it hits me. I just spoke with Pyth. He was on the Bridge. Whoever that was, whoever it may have been or could have been, it was most certainly not Pyth. I can still feel Pyth if I focus for even a second, and he’s still on the Bridge.

I dash back after the imposter, slipping through the hatch as soon as it opens, just in time to watch the fake Captain enter the access code to the Bridge. The doors open for him and then slam closed in lockdown immediately, locking me out. Fields of my mind-shard’s psionic energies slam down over the hatches around me, preventing my escape from the hallway, and a dull alarm blares through the clean white hall.

Intruder lockdown measures.

The Captain can’t be in two places at once. Now he isn’t. He’s in the same room as the imposter.

I slam my foremost tendrils against the barrier, knowing the futility of it. Probing the psionic barriers with my tendrils confirms my own fears. There is no way past my shard’s work– it was built to withstand a full Psion assault, not a fractured one like my own.

I’m trapped, and the Captain will die.

——-

Copyright 2014 Eris (Sam Oliver).

——

I should probably finish the other serials before I start another one. Oh well! As and when the mood hits me, I guess. I’ll try to keep installments under 2000 words, for Psion, and I’ll post them as often as I can (my current situation is not conducive to rapid posting, but it rarely seems to be). I understand how difficult it can be to read big blocks of text.

Enjoy,

-Eris

 

Poem: Fingers

Close and curl them

Throw away

The bitter things you want to say

Clench them hard

Nails bite deep

Feelings flow where you can’t keep

them

Watch them fly

Feel them burn

Drop to the floor

like flames.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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

alone

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.)

<3s,

Eris

Poem: Mirror

“Mirror, Mirror

On the wall

Who is fairest

Of them all?”

“She who sits upon her throne

In silence beckoning, would condone

The murder of a beauty fair

In cottage sleeping, with ash-black hair

Lips of red and skin snow-white

Then you might,

Then you might

Be the fairest

Of them all

If only White is first

to fall.”

Continue reading

Poem: Grove

I knew a place

Across time

Across space

Where harmony lived and breathed and died

 

A place where thoughts joined with peace in mind

Where the nymphs and the satyrs

Searched for but could never find

A place where I stood on my own

A grove to myself

A grove all alone.

Continue reading

Poem: The Burning Sky

Progress

Means fire.

The sky is aflame.

The seas all sick

The forests all maimed.

Continue reading

Poem/Story: With Unmatched Fury / Mere-Wife’s Curse

So this one is a doozy. But I wrote it for Lit class. College and stuff has been taking up a lot of my time lately! And with good reason, I expect. Soon I’ll be transferring- just this semester to go and I’ll be off to earn a degree in english and creative writing! Hopefully….

This was my creative option- and the paper was actually due today. (Yes, I did turn it in!)

So enjoy. I hope to have enough time to write more of this type of thing. Yes, those are line numbers next to the poem / story. No, I’m unlikely to do them for all the poems I write.

—–

With Unmatched Fury / Mere-Wife’s Curse

The fists fall swift, battering at the abomination

Her, he lifts, high in the air, squeezing both with his arms

And with the armor that coated him,

Trying in vain to crush the life from his foe.

It is against unmatched fury she squirms free of his hold, (5)

The steel-vice grip of his armor’d hands.

 

The fingers that held and rent at her flesh but moments before bite

No longer,

And her eyes flash fire that dares him to come for her again, (10)

To test his might against her beauty and wonder.

 

Swift, with steps long as shadows,

He tries,

Forward, forward with arms stretched wide

As if to embrace her as any husband would (15)

Again, those arms close around and about her frame

Again they are rebuffed with the slick of her home’s cold fame,

By the slipping and sliding of the water from the mere

Where it drenches her curls and the skin at her sides,

The arms that she ducked made to look like a fool’s. (20)

 

As he steps for her again, Beowulf of Hrothgar’s Halls,

Beowulf the Lord– but not Lord yet,

The warrior who under the lake now is set,

To finish the task that was started with Grendel–

fiercest of all the fighters of hell, heaven and the vice-land (25)

He grasps at her wrist with fingers as those on an ice-man

Tugs her close to him and falls to be sure he can have her

Pinning her down to the ground underneath her,

Snaring her close with the form that needs her,

And has needed her once before he is sure, (30)

Though from where this thought comes his mind can’t lure

As he forces her down to the stone and makes good

On the oath to the Lord of the land- or would

But the mere-wife is slippery and slides from his grasp,

Yet again avoiding her fate and his wrath. (35)

 

He reaches out with hands and digits,

These fingers that fight, fret to finish her now,

Look like her son’s-

Just like the ones

Grendel’s hands had in birth been endowed. (40)

 

And Tall is the Geat who faces her down,

Tall and strong and fast as the wind,

Wild and fierce as the hill-grass wends,

Covered in thorns like the thistles in the fens,

And armor in husk like the beetles that crawl (45)

On the forest floor outside of her watery hall–

In the glade and the grotto where the mere must lie.

None of it matters to her in minds eye;

If the fight with this man goes on she will die.

 

“Stay hands, stay arms, husband dear!” cries she, in fear, (50)

About face struck, and body, there, here,

Leaving bruises like those as if done by a bear

Wrestling forgot in the warrior’s despair,

The black heart of rage that seethes from within

Threatens to swallow the mere-wife as it did her kin. (55)

 

As the blows still fall she catches one, then two,

Holding his fists with the strength of ten men.

Beowulf, though, has the strength of twice that,

And grinds her against the stone wall flat,

Slamming her there with a fury in his eyes (60)

That words soothing or pleading cannot from them prize

To this wild man she will strangle or bake

Left to dry in the sun’s bright wake

 

“Curse you to death, kin-slayer,” the mere-wife rasps,

As all life is wrenched away from her grasp. (65)

 

With every moment that he pins her there,

Throat in hands that another time ran through her hair,

The Geat remembers yet more of his past

A daring, youthful time that couldn’t last

The truth of his power is a hidden affair (70)

Both from his mind and the men who yet dare

To call him a hero.

But these cursed words from the man’s rage now snap him,

Catch him and taunt him as his old love lies

As dead and still as dry peat dies. (75)

Here, the wolf of the Geats stares down,

At the form of the wife he meets– now with a frown,

On the blood and skin they shared by vow–

How now can he stand it, indeed- how now?

Cast in doubt by the sight that lingers in his eyes (80)

He staggers to his feet, struggles to rise-

But outpaced is he by the corpse of his son-

Dark is the cave

But still he can see

The vengeance to be wrought on him (85)

Beyond the grave.

Sorrow is writ upon his dead brood’s face,

A matter that is nothing which he wishes to contend,

So, Gods help him and fates forfend,

He reaches out blindly as clawed hands close, (90)

Hands that he helped to create in his woes and the loneliness

He’d found beneath grotto and mere

Where a strange, beautiful wife had once begged him to give her–

For true and for dear–

A child to do combat with the loneliness queer. (95)

A son he’d now killed for fame and reward,

Justice to be done in the name of just Lord

Who presides over the castle that he’d rightfully took,

From a rival long ago,

Whose name is lost in a nook or cranny (100)

Of time.

 

Sobbing, no, weeping, he reaches for the sword,

A sword he’d found buried once where there was no ford,

In the middle of the mere and the depths down fair

In the depths of the grotto where now lurks fear (105)

Or the death he deserves for killing his wife

It is his son who now reaches to stab with a knife

On the ends of each of his cold dead fingers, as black as his hands,

Twisted to claws to meet dark soul’s demands.

 

If truly the father is just like his son, (110)

If truly this work is his to have done,

Then it is Beowulf who reaches and grasps at the sword

That remained the only sign of his kind

The monsters from beyond a time after time,

Ancient with blade as sharp as a grin, (115)

A sword he had lusted after once and again

In the night where treasure glints dangerous as sin

And beckons all men to fights they cannot win.

 

Twice and then thrice he strikes at the body,

Which glistens in the half-light of the cave, (120)

Wherein lurks his wife whom he’d sent to the grave-

But no yet she stirs and he feels an urge-

To strike her down and with a new victory emerge,

To tell a tale that all the world would see.

 

But defeat for the mere-witch who watches him now? (125)

Accusing eyes tell the story, and how!

Surely she couldn’t have meant this to be,

To be slain by the love who’d twice crossed the sea,

In search of adventure and wonder and beauty

Who’d loved her as only a proper man should (130)

When alone he had found her, alone in the wood.

 

As he stares at his wife who gasps for breath on the floor,

He remembers his oath

An oath made in silence beneath the stone cave

An oath made in waters as ancient and grave (135)

As any which touched the lips the gods gave

And had given him strength and power untold

This well and spring deep under earth bold

Now he remembers his disregard

For the oath he had made to this beautiful creature (140)

To drink not once but twice from the depths

Had a curse on him laid- to be kin-slayer

Except-

Now he decides he will never go through

Even as her stare holds hatred in truth (145)

He gazes down at her with sorrow and fear

 

His stare she returns with intensity and life,

The same vibrancy which had drawn him first there,

So long ago, in search of a wife

A pulsing, a rhythm, a strength in the air. (150)

From her, wondrous things, and her silky black hair

A smile as sad, sullied and sobering as the sea

The same one now that on her tired face is free’d

As the Geat turns to walk, to swim away.

 

A woman whose strength glimmers brighter than the sun, (155)

What fault has he for giving her a son?

Only now that he took it away is he sure

That deep down in the depths of black hell

His soul will be taken as soon as he has fell

To blade, arrow, tooth or claw, (160)

And demons there will his essence gnaw.

 

To Beowulf, here in the cave of stone raw,

It is made plain by the water-lapping waves

As they crash

On the rock-gilt floor no one can brave, (165)

That he is a man no god would save.

No one but Beowulf, champion of Hrothgar’s Hall,

Knows the truth of his pact or the truth of his thrall,

Knows he is not really a hero, brave and tall

No, in truth, he knows that he is nothing at all. (170)

 

Nothing at all as he swims towards the surface,

Taking the sword with him and finding his purchase,

In lake and in mere’s side he pulls himself up,

And out onto the bank where he tests his luck

By standing and staggering back towards the hall, (175)

Vowing to speak of his wife not at all.

 

A monster beset him and hall, that’s right,

A monster he knew would come in the night

After the death of his son and hers-

Not knowing the tried and true nature of the beast (180)

He had slain

Is no excuse for this monstrous, morbid feat.

To his wife whom had taught him his warrior’s oath,

Taught him the ways of the sword,

For the mere-wife who lies on that cold cave floor, (185)

Gathering the strength to again form words,

He cannot even weep for leaving her there,

Not out here in the cold, open air

Not with all of his men hanging here

In the shimmering, shining, soulful sun. (190)

 

He vows to her now he will leave her alone,

Vows to return now victorious and stone,

Victorious and stoic and empty of his task,

But truly happy only in mask.

A lie for his Lord and a lie for himself (195)

To keep in his soul on some forgotten shelf.

 

Her curse weighs heavily on mind and in hand,

In the hilt of the sword that burns like a brand,

The sword that he brings back as proof of success,

The sword to remind him of his wife and of home. (200)

Into the hall strides Beowulf the bold, surrounded by men and warriors, young and old,

Demanding the tale of his victory, victory from the Geat who lived ‘cross the sea,

But defeat mires heart, where truth eternal bides,

While from his false lips spring naught but

Lies. (205)

——

©October 2013, Sam Oliver (Eris)

Poem: Bones

Ivory white and yellowed or old

The bones in the cellar,

dripping with mold

 

Softened by rot and cankerous

cold

the bones in the cellar,

drenched in mold

 

Slime like paint

green and false gold

the bones in the cellar,

sinful with mold

 

Blood dried ’round

these walls so bold

The bones in the cellar

are awash

with mold

 

The stench in the air sinks down in the cold

the bones in the cellar are old with mold;

To take in a breath will drain your soul

but the bones in the cellar draw you in to their fold

Stay in the dark with gold unsold

Shining in the light catching lies untold

from the dark where the bones lie

in blood and mold

in greed so bold they were stolen away

like the gold now caught in white hand’s sway

it curls its fingers ’round blind man’s riches

in the dark with its bones and fel green stitches

of cloth that wrap near the base of the cold

and the white

and the whole of the light

shining down to the

ivory

and the softness

of the silence

in the cellar

where the bones lie

dripping

with

mold.

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

Poems, poems, poems.

I’ve got more. I’m not sure what inspired this one, but I like its rhythm.

Love,

Eris

Poem: These Long Winter Halls

The long winter halls

These long winter halls

Have faded in time

Have faded in rhyme

and reason untold

unbound by the shape

of the skeleton who sits

at the throne

by the foot

of the tall statue’s gold.

 

And the tall statue bold,

who stands above all

and stares sternly down at the skeleton thrall

once a king but not now

not a king anymore

his key unlocks nothing

but a small silver door

at the foot of the throne

between cold gold knees

as the skeleton’s jaws now

clack

in the breeze

that rolls through the halls

these cold mountain halls

these cold winter halls

these long winter halls

where the skeleton sits

on his throne, and in thrall

a king of nothing, no

of nothing

at all

but a pause and a shift and a creak in his jaw

from the wind

that blows

through this long

winter

hall.

 

 

©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)

 

Here you go guys. Got another poem. Working on like five stories. Prolly’ll post one or two of them. When, you ask?? When they’re done!

Love,

Eris

 

Poem: And the wind said to me

And the wind said to me:

“I don’t

want to change,”

The wind said to me:

“Just flutter

And flit

And float the same way

Til the day that I flutter

No more.”

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Story Challenge #8: Lion’s Heart

The main gate is so heavily defended I’m certain my father will never get through. It has all manner of knights in that black armor, thralls standing stock still, with battle-axes at the ready, and one or two dark-cloaked vampires. No one could break past it, I feel certain.

My latest conquest lies on the bed, gasping for breath still, while I, wearing naught but a sheet, look down over the forces he deployed. What is this thrill, that rises up in my belly? What is this lovely, wonderful warmth?

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