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

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Poem: Elsewhere – They call you Alice


In a darkness

In a place devoid

Of light


She stands

She holds herself high

She wields that blade

Like a piece of fallen star


Shining darkly

Shining truly

Shining for her

Only for her.


Call it love,

Call it hate

Call it now

At any rate

She needs to hear the words

You speak

To know she is



Ask her

The name

Ask her

The place

Ask her what it means to be

Alive and undisgraced


She can’t answer

Her mouth won’t open

Set in that grim line

Set her hands around that hilt

The tip is pointed too

Not at you

But at all those gathered

In the dark

Around her

Wanting her.


Her lips part

Only once

To let the dark inside

To collect it deep within herself

So she can finally hide

From watchful stares whose eyes beheld

The glow inside her heart

She knows that if she smothers it

They can’t take her apart.


Alice- who are you truly

Why did you kill the queen

When did you fall down this black hole

What does it all mean?


Alice- if that is your name

Why come from  yonder star

You dropped down here

Inside this dark

And knew it’d take you far


Alice- conquerer of old

Your sword a piece of heaven riven

Your skill with blade and sky above


As through the earth it’s driven


To slow a fall that shan’t be slowed

You’ll reach the underland soon

Drop with blade from numb’d, cold fingers

To land on stone- below no moon.


Alice- From whence did you come here?

From whose hands were you delivered


From whose lands did you hail?


Alice- To what point do you fight?

The men of surface’d halls do stand

Around you in the night!

Call down wrath

And ruin again

Raise up that mighty sword

Its deadly edge shines brighter than

The written or spoken word

In starlight.


Alice, your heart will win no wars

Your courage break no walls

The love inside your frail body

Can not keep your foes



To fight you must be strong

To stand you must be true

There’s no internal spirit that

Can help to push you through-

This land.


They call you Alice

Alice the brave

The first to fight the fey

In this glorified cave

Their glamours were like children’s dreams

Their hearts were made of stone

They subjected you to cruelties that

The devil would not condone


Alice whose heart was strong and true

Who lifted up that silver star

Who brought light down upon us all

And killed a tyrant queen

So answer now explorer bold

Who treads where mortals dream


Poem: White



A Poem by Sam Oliver [Eris]


The blood doesn’t matter

Not the red

Where it spatters

On skin, my skin

So pale, so ghaunt

Like my teeth

Bare in their grin


I laugh at the pain

At the broken, lost mane

Of crimson

Of sticky, sticky red

That drips down my arm

That drips down my head


He cries

No, shouts

Backs away as the gouts

Of laughter and blood

Turn to mud

On the ground at my feet


Doubled but smiling

I watch him retreat

Wiping my lips

I make me

Look neat

For the man in the blue

As puzzled as you

When I walk in the door

And topple

To the floor


Eyes still wide open

Staring and broken

Watching the dust rise in clouds near my face

Hearing the song

Of the wounded and wrong

That leaps from your throat-

The deep rhythm’d sirens

Play bass


All that I think

As I slide from the brink

As the breathing can fade to a hum

The light in my eyes

As dark as surprise

Is yet at its heart




©2012  Sam Oliver [Eris]



No new short story just yet. ❤ I’m still working on it, of course.

I’m actually feeling pretty good, but poetry is dark for me and always has been. I find it hard to write about cheerful things, even with so-called cheerful titles.  I guess I find the dark of it beautiful in a haunting sort of way. I must have an unhealthy obsession with the morbid. But that’s alright. ❤

Anyway, enjoy.


Poem: On My Own

On My Own

A freely structured poem story by Sam Oliver [Eris]


Like the lines all dancing down

Through the black

Through the rain


Like the fires raining stark

On the grasses

On the plains


Like the lightning strikes the earth

All the soldiers

All the men


From these walls they do defend

Like the guardians

Of their hearts.


Yet while they fight I sit and wait

As the war now nears my gate.


I’m the one who stands

On he/r own

On he/r own.

I’m the one who stands

On he/r own.


Like a rhythm in the heart

Forever after

Forever now


Like a drumbeat in the dark

Somehow silent

Somehow mine


Like the world with its light

Growing flowers

Growing trees


Like the sky, a dancing night

High above

High below


Descend now angels, hear them sing

Of the souls

Of the songs


Below them shouts of hope do ring

From the soldiers

From the darkness


Hope that’s thwarted by heaven’s hand

The angels flight now does demand

A price for splendor we observe

Warriors’ lives spent from our reserves

Silence falls like hammer silver

While I wait inside my room

Blessed winter comes too swiftly

For the soldiers and their doom.


The men who fought for me now die

In the hundreds, in the thousands

Watch them flee while I deny

This isn’t real

This isn’t mine


In the quiet I am broken

But I stand-

On my own

And I stand

On my own.


Stone-shod window with its claws

Like a demon without laws

See the fires flung through fear

Hear the astral spirits cheer

For the victory of my foe

For the coming dark and row

They’ve had with me and mine so long

I know that even if I’m strong

I will die

Where I stand

On my own- now




©2012 Sam Oliver [Eris]





Just a poem that I wrote. Good to cut these darker feelings off, yes? Probably. I’m sure it’s absolutely chock full of meaning. It certainly meant a lot to me as I wrote it, even if the end result feels a little thick. Perhaps I could’ve confined myself to some form or rule or something, but sometimes I feel like I’d rather just tell a story. Grim as it is.  walp. enjoy as always. Comments, critiques, etc? Drop me one as a reply. I’m always up for hearing thoughts and I usually try to get back to them.

Er. Not to be a downer or anything. Poetry is, after all, a raw expression of feeling and emotion. Maybe I ought to do something about how totes depressing my poetry can end up being :3?

Then again, maybe not.