"octavia" poems
When she folds into me and weeps,
The world of empty things falls into me
Like the wetness of July in antiquated Rome,
Mother of tears, Mater Lachrymarum, in Forum stone,
The rain-addled veneers of Octavia’s portico.
Gather up these black sickened bellies of ruins,
Turn them out to make hunger the den of the skies,
Let the cracked whisper of each monument and temple
Breathe as Caesar, in unending stillness like a bare road.
A road is the sadness of seeing our beginning
But knowing love its far-off end is foretold.
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
“day one;
a baby-faced image stared back at him, full of youth and life. he swallowed hard.
day two;
the thoughts that plagued his mind were too hard to forget. he smiled down at her, a strained sort of feeling.
day three;
he thought he’d be able to forget.
boy, was he wrong.
he smiled, a jagged sort and walked down the hall.
day four;
his fingers trembled. it wasn’t long before he went scavenging for things to make him feel numb.
day five;
he’d come home, blurry-eyed and high on bittersweet memories.
boy, was it hard.
day six;
pacing in the flat. back and fourth, back and fourth.
trembling hands, clenched in fists, white knuckles adorned with red.
day seven;
he brushed back her hair, kissed the top of her head and locked the door.
day eight;
he caught his mother on the floor. she hunched in the dark, with agonizing pressure over her shoulders. she wailed.
day nine;
to hell with them.
day ten;
was the day he was dreading. we’ll knock down the door, they said. his mother left it to swing ajar. he held her behind him. “to hell with them,” he’d say. she hugged his torso. his mother screamed. in the second he looked away, she was gone.
day eleven;
he sobbed. no matter how high he could get, the pain wasn’t going away. ecstasy was no more. “may we meet again,” she said. the door closed behind her.
he opened his hand. he clutched a ribbon of red silk. “may we meet again.”
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
NORWAY MUSIC
Sat here in my flat I think of Norway,
of all the places I’ve seen there and the bands –
Gaate, Blood Red Throne, Satyricon, Amulet and more.
To my Norse gothic bands I’ve seen here in England –
Mortiis, Madder Mortem, Leaves Eyes, Octavia and Tristania.
How I love it and can’t get enough of them.
When will Sirenia come gig here?
Norway and your music, I love you very much.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
Have you seen a young girl,
By the name of Octavia?
Intertwined with shadows,
Of playful voices of madness
Do you remember,
When everyone forgot her?
And she was left to wilt
Like a flower in the snow
Do you remember,
When she stopped being scared?
As the madness and hysteria became no different
In the eyes of lost Octavia
Do you remember,
The eldritch one who's Octavia?
That unsettling childishness of the maddened girl
Lingered in her parents' hearts
Have you seen a young girl,
By the name of Octavia?
She's running the corner store, smiling so sweetly
With a torn book in her hand...
and a sharp blade
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
The rain outside her window seemed angered by her persistent tears, as if it were almost insulted by her deep remorse. And in protest of her sadness the drops mercilessly thumped against her window pane, sounding more like fists of rage rather then liquid from heaven. She stared blankly into the misty grey of water vapor which now blanketed her glass bedroom window. While nostalgically remembering the beautiful point of light ascending gently towards the stars above. "...come...back..." She whispered to herself, hollow words that echoed slightly along the walls of her lonely room. She needed him, and she desperately longed for the warmth of his arms once more or the loving sound in his hypnotic voice whispering in her ears, which caused a minute sensation of joy to run up and down her quivering spine. Raising a trembling left hand she slowly traced a heart into the condensation along her window. "Where are you?...You promised me remember!?" With her sweet words now seeming more like an endearing cocktail. Who's ingredients contained hope,love with a dash of desperation. Closing her eyes slowly she recalled the feeling of his warm NASA space suit rubbing against her finger tips. Or the smell of the stinging jet fuel emanating from the SLS rocket nearby preparing for launch. "I love you Octavia...I'll love you while I'm traveling faster then the speed of light...I'll love you from across the galaxy...and I'll love you forever..." His last words pierced her heart like miniature daggers. While his voice seemed to haunt her mind causing Octavia to close her eyes tighter as a result of new tears forcing their way through her eye lids and down her cheeks like a dam now set free. Her only response was to squeeze the heart shaped locket she clinched in her right hand with a painful grip. While slowly whispering to herself through relentless tears "I love you to Shayne...forever..."
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
In a time so long ago
There lived a girl
By the name of Octavia
She was shy and mute
Not so much mute,
As just did not like to speak
Her parents were worried
She did well in school
But
Her social skills
p
l
u
m
m
e
t
e
d
She combed her long black hair at night
Quiet as a mouse
In the small, dark little house
She rested
Her parents had enough
She could not function in society
They locked her up
And told her to stay
She did not mind
After all, there were books
And a comb for her long black hair
To comb at night
Every day, she did just that
The town she lived in
f orgot a bou t h e r
Bit by bit
She became unnerved
"Octavia, Octavia,"
She heard the voices say
"Why don't you come out and play?"
She shook her head, and read her book.
The voices stopped, then returned the next day.
Nothing else could be heard
Then, footsteps
Could someone be there for her?
No
They weren't
Eventually, the voices grew forms
Shadows of children, smiling and laughing
Octavia was wary and bitter
She did not like them
She combed her hair
One of them took the comb and ran
Octavia cried
Her hair would no longer be beautiful
Her beauty would
p
l
u
m
m
e
t
She paced throughout the room, reading her books
They became boring to her
Reading the same things, over and over again
Her bitterness grew stronger
She saw an old book, torn from time
And tears formed in her eyes
Weeping, she ripped a page out
And then another
And another
and another
another
more, more
m o re
All her books were gone
Nothing to do
Except listen to the voices
She knew that they were messing with her
She did not know how to stop them
They held her hand tight
And told her,
"Play, play, don't be scared"
And then, she stopped being scared
Her parents, regret in their hearts
Unlocked the door, and found nothing
Except a girl with unkempt hair
And a trail of ripped pages
She looked at them, and a smirk grew across her face
"Don't you see? I play with the voices, and the voices play with me."
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC