Desert Ocean – Poem

Waves of the desert, dunes rising high, they are the bridges across the empty stretches, of the land where nothing survive.

But across this empty land, there lie riches abundant, foreign lands who yearn our wares.

We are are the people of the forest, where the goddess shed her tears.

Good coin is to be had in things we find most common, gifts by the goddess which foreigners would do anything to get their hands on. 

Yet the strait between is vast, and it’s too soon to count our fortune, much can go wrong when riding the waves of torture.

Carry us high, Oh dunes of the dry land, the fair golden grain that are harsh and coarse, the deadly wind which we must put our faith in, we, our lives are at Death’s door.


© Christopher Stamfors

If you liked this you might like Invisible Touch

The Law of the Jungle – Poem

NOW this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.

The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter — go forth and get food of thine own.

Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words shall prevail.

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.

Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.

Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.

Cave-Right is the right of the Father — to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.

Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is — Obey!


I think I’ll go ahead and read the Jungle Book now…

Ghostly Creed – Poem

The alley echoed hollow on the empty street

Silence is a virtue by ghostly creed

Old houses and graveyards, is where they’d like to be

Hollow beings which the living cannot see

They are bound by the earth as long as they are remembered

Cast to the unknown, they prefer to stay unattended

For nobody knows what lay beyond

Are you going to heaven

Or hell as a thrall?


© Christopher Stamfors

Drew the cover image by myself this time around, although very hastily…

Night Call – Poem

Had a short poetry session with the artist behind most of my cover art, thought it was pretty fun…


Me: Cresent light shine upon me

Your way-ford light a reminder,

of times ahead

Your command the essence of my being

Tell me what needs to be done and I shall perform

Oh, crescent light,

Of darkness

And mischief

 

Him: Go where you see fit

Until you can’t see no more.

At the edge of the abyss

Where you’ll await my guide.

There we shall converse again and move forward

until that time the journey is sole yours.

 

Me: You speak of grander things

Chris the Cold

Of a time when the Dark Lord’s madness,

Were planned to unfold

But I have wandered between madness and the abyss

And I see no light and the end of the tunnel

Of guidance through the apocalypse

Don’t fool yourself with glory of a bygone past

We will never talk again

Unless you give up your soul,

As the master planned.

 

 

Cold and Deep – Poetry Story

I’ve been considering doing voice over for my stories to broaden my audience. I’m an amature with anything conserning audio and video, so keep that in mind if you choose to listen to it on Soundcloud


Cold and deep

The skeleton lay

Wood enclosed it

Keeping treasure hunters at bay

Life was never the same

When old red found his grave

 

The seas went quite

Trade resumed

Wares from all over the world

Reached the shores without fume

 

But people never forgot

The horrors the old sea dog brought

His sabre high

And his spirits higher

 

For centuries seafarers would turn around

Whenever the mist went thick

A sea chanty they heard in the dimly night

The old sea dog’s voice echoed hoarsely

Chanting merry rhymes

of plunder and of booty

of life on the high seas

But also of his eternal soul

Who limboed at the breeze

 

But centuries went

And people they forgotten

Taking routes nobody dared

In the age of their grandparents

 

But when people learned of great treasure

Hidden in the sea

They dared old superstition

Nothing would satisfy their greed.

 

Greed brought them there

And greed made them stay

In the depths of forever

The captain sang, with new crew-members

in the cold and deep


© Christopher Stamfors

Underbelly – Poem

A glint was found

In the darkness and the damp

Cities have their underbelly

Fear is what makes you stand

Standing before evil, it will face you too

What comes out of the darkness

Only you can have a clue

 

A face can turn evil at the sight of the unknown

Everything is a reflection

Of the past not shown

 

But though the unknown is a reflection

It will turn people away

For nothing stays the same

Except the knowledge that fear will never go away


© Christopher Stamfors

Invisible Touch – Poetry Story

Gusts of wind sprayed water upon the wall, the wind howled between the narrow windows that looked down at the shore.

The walls had protected the city for many years, but this night no invaders would dare to show, for walkers roamed in the darkness and everyone stayed indoors.

The streets were empty, there was silence, only the wind grew louder with compliance. Yet a lone woman scurried down the hall, her steps echoed hollow on the marble floor.

And out she went this restless night, her feet caked the mud, yet she did not slow, for what hunted her would not let her go.

With fear she ran without looking back, the darkness was thick and she did not see where she sprang. The void tipped her over, an invisible touch, the walker had decided this hunt was ending, her cries unamending.

For she was marked, her life was not her own, it would never let her go, with glee it watched her sob.

The creature was invisible, in the darkness of the night, though there were texts that made guesses, for the mere sight would end their lives.

The rain drummed on her body, her gown was thoroughly soaked, the cold made her shiver and fear made her lips they quivered.

But she did not sit for long, this restless night, her skin turned pale and cold, until the walker was satisfied.

Her eyes were empty and her body was the same, not a single drop had spilled, no markers upon her skin.

But the creature did not grin for this was not a joyous night, they once ruled the world, but now, they make due with one restless night.


© Christopher Stamfors

Featured image by ChrisCold

Chilly Night – Poetry Story

Through the darkness and the cold,

the house creaked through the winter storm

And on the driveway, in this winter’s night, a couple emerged

Banging on the door, trying to get inside

The door opened, without a sound

Only their footsteps echoed through an empty house

They search the home, to find it abandoned

Nothing else was living, for centuries uncaring.

 

Dust caked on the floor and the wind howled through the ceiling

A perfect place for ghosts and other unsavoury beings

But the couple didn’t believe in ghost and creatures of the night

So they find the place comfortable enough,

it beats the air this chilly night.

 

They slept sweetly on a makeshift bed.

Thank god they left the master’s room untread

 

They sleep through the night, everything was fine.

But as they awoken, the woman found something’s not right.

Cold and blue was the eyes of her mate

Frozen to the bone, there was nothing to reanimate

Her scream echoed in the dusty hall

The Master would have his call

Where nothing remained

Even in thaw


© Christopher Stamfors

Featured image by ChrisCold