16 February 2015

Myst-inspired poetry

a fanart picture of my sloth-self sitting in the Channelwood age

I've been re-playing Myst recently (the realtime 3D version, realMYST, from 2000, to be exact). There is nothing more calming, to me, than entering these worlds, these fantastical places, and losing myself in them for a time. I am moving on to Riven soon, then Exile, then Revelation...

These works inspire me. I've been making a bit of fanart, using screenshots from the game. I've been writing fanfiction as well. And a bit of poetry, which I'd like to share:



water over a broken boat
i am on a dock
gull sound, but no humanity.
My head, my body, feels manipulated,
i see blue skies
as if squeezed into a small, small space
and drawn out again
into the salty air.
The wood beneath me is soft with age.
where am i?
Metal mountain, marble library. Secrets.
Birds chirp in high pine branches.
It is a small island.
It is not mine.
it was the book...



rain lashes against my shivering form
i did not ask for this
lighting chars the stormy sky in great
white streaks
burning clouds to purple ash
to be scattered on hurricane winds.
this world has drowned...
the rock is sharp and inhospitable.
Only down below the decks and stones
through dripping tunnels newly drained
can I find some small comfort and warmth
in someone else's bed.
i am alone
in glass-walled, underwater chambers
I observe sea creatures, sinuous, strange,
that I know I could not find anywhere on Earth
and it finally
sinks in
i am very far from home



the sea engulfs this place
i dare not fall in
this metal fortress does not belong
to this desolate
yet still it stands, rusting, creaking,
impenetrable by all
but a single person walking, carefully,
along a catwalk stretched out
over deep, unsounded waters.
what were they afraid of?
I do not trust the men
who saw fit to build their throne rooms here,
fill them with weapons and gold
and stare out over the sea
like conquering kings.
i will not stay long
The fortress spins along its aged track
great, rusted gears grinding against
each other, at my request.
I gather only what I need
and go.



white mists swathe a barren landscape
carved out by gentle waters, long ago.
i can barely see
someone has built stairways, here and there
to smooth out rough terrain
and show which way to go.
the sky changes color: brilliant orange, pink,
purple, blue; each hour something new,
absorbed into the mists and coloring the age.
When nighttime falls, the darkness is complete.
I huddle beneath a single bulb, which throws
a circle of light before a brick facade,
and wait till morning.
time means nothing to me anymore
I have learned to pay attention:
this place is filled with sound.
I harness it to my own advantage.
Deep beneath the earth, I use what I have learned
to navigate my way back from whence I came.


amphibian chorus swells
to fill this strange and muggy air.
boardwalks maze among the ragged trunks
standing straight out of brackish water,
roots drowned, but still standing
trees lift a village up above the calm
and endless sea.
I climb.
Even as high above the water as I am
in this relentless wind,
swaying on rope bridges and
exploring gutted, empty dwellings,
utterly alone among
the left-behind lives of people
I will never know...
Even so, I've found a place
to sleep
and dream of what all this means



air, brittle with cold,
feathers into snow
and hardens into icy crust upon the rock.
a mosaic of rock and ice and sea and rusted
supports this metal platform.
The melancholy cry of some great sea creature
unseen but for a sliver of greenish back
sliding through dark waters
lends this place a somber air.
Longing for heat, drawn to it,
I defrost the simple dwelling here;
through foggy tunnels, into the mountain,
I find a lost laboratory
and glimpse, through a window of crystal,
what is in store for me