Copyright © 2009 Richard H. Fay

Holiday on Phreetum Prime

by Richard H. Fay

Twin red suns rise over a crimson sea
As wudols twitter a raucous chorus
Amongst the majestic etafal trees.
Saunter beneath the weeping purple fronds
And sip a cup of sytunn flower tea
While wine-stained waters kiss a chartreuse shore.

Sail the ruby waves on a solar sloop.
Watch black-winged tijucks fish for mugaspits.
Feel the droning hum of an ulorn's song
As it dives right under your silver ship.
Weigh anchor beside Glastornak Island
And marvel at its tall crystalline spires.

Return to your quaint cliff side veranda
In time to see the blue shubiyemps dance.
Laugh at their crazy mating rituals,
But then shed a tear when the males drop dead.
Join the joyous feast and masquerade
To honour the fatal change of seasons.

Rest quietly beneath the yellow gaze
Of Phreetum Prime's seething volcanic moon.
Spy golden sprites flaring in the night sky
As ion storms clash in the stratosphere.
Be lulled to sleep by a burgana's trill
As a soft breeze blows across the dark sea.
 

(Poem originally published in Star*Line, March/April 2008)

Illustration available on merchandise in the Abandoned Towers Zazzle Store

A fell keening echoes across the moor,
Punctuated by the pealing thunder.
Pouring rain lashes at the windowpane
While argent cracks flash in the darkened sky,
But the tumultuous storm cannot quell
The ominous wailing of that fey hag.

A figure wrapped in a funeral shroud
Glides swiftly across the tempest-wracked heath
And draws closer to this ancient estate.
A fearful being of mist and shadow,
Well imbued with sinister witchery,
Forewarns of a preternatural doom.

Master of this mouldering edifice
Inhabited only by grey shadows
And a myriad of pallid spectres,
A withered scion of a once great house,
I know the dreadful truth of the legends;
The eldritch oracle foretells my death.

The prophetic call chills my troubled soul,
But I resolve to accept my dim fate.
A raddled face stares through the murky glass.
My weak heart pounds rapidly in my chest;
I hold the revolver up to my head.
The banshee will be proved right
One last time.

Poem Copyright © 2007 Richard H. Fay
Originally published in Sinister Tales, October 2007