The City Of Omalas

woman wearing grey long sleeved top photography
Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

“We have chosen you to be our Queen, for never before have we seen such physical and intellectual beauty amongst living beings. You are the Chosen One – come and live with us in Omalas, our beautiful city.”

 

I suppose I should begin my miserable tale by telling you how I got here in the first place. A long time ago – or at least it feels like a long time ago – I was taken from a lower plane: a planet called Earth.

I remember it well: I was walking along an empty road, gazing up at the thick white clouds that filled the sky that day. As I was gazing, an opening formed in the clouds, making a sort of portal, and I was dragged up into the air, unable to resist, towards that portal from which bright white light was issuing.

On the other side, I found myself in the centre of a large circular room. There were long windows all around, through which the purest light came pouring in and illuminating the white walls and floor.

Sitting in front of me, in a semi-circle of ornate and richly patterned silver thrones, were eleven men and women, all beautiful in appearance, wearing long and flowing white robes. Looking down, I saw that I too was wearing a white robe.

The man who sat in the centre of the semi-circle was the most exquisite being I have ever seen. His name, he said, was Lord Vertigo, and he was the leader of the Council of Omalas. I wish I could adequately describe to you his beauty, for such I have never seen. He had long, straight hair and high cheekbones.

But the colour of his eyes and hair were impossible to describe, as they always seemed to change. I hold his image in my heart always, and I hope that one day I will see him again.

But more of him later; I will move on with my story now. Lord Vertigo, the leader of the Council, said to me:

“We have chosen you to be our Queen, for never before have we seen such physical and intellectual beauty amongst living beings. It would be a shame for you to stay on such a lesser plane. You are the Chosen One – come and live with us in Omalas, our beautiful city. You shall be granted the gift of everlasting life, and have a palace of your own, and all the friends and lovers you’ve ever imagined. Come, live with us, and be our Queen.”

The way he spoke was supremely elegant, and his propositions irresistible. Of course, I was a little surprised to be spoken so highly of by such a creature as he, but naturally I accepted the offer, and requested that Lord Vertigo would visit me in my new palace.

I was transported to my new home in a golden chariot drawn by four horses. The city itself was grand and imposing, with huge white buildings that resembled seashells in their beauty and intricacy. The roads were wide and cobbled with stones that sparkled in the sunlight. The citizens of Omalas were otherworldly with their colourful robes and radiant faces. Youth and beauty abounded; of age and ugliness, there was nothing to be seen.

The grounds of my palace were entered through high golden gates, and then I was taken up a long and winding drive that appeared to be made of marble, snaking its way through a lawn of lush green grass. My palace shone like a pearl in the perfect pristine sunlight.

Inside, it was exquisite in every detail, from the master bedroom, presided over by a king-size four-poster bed; to the white marble bathroom, in which the bath had the dimensions of a small swimming pool; to the banqueting hall, filled with huge oak tables laden with all the food and drink you could imagine.

I revelled in my palace and my new-found glory. I twirled around and around in my cavernous ballroom, laughing with glee. All of this was meant for me. I suppose I’d always known, secretly, that I was the Chosen One.

I was glorious, I was decadent, I was truly alive! I threw masquerade balls and dinner parties; I surrounded myself with servants and courtiers, Lords and Ladies of the highest distinction. Two sleek black dogs followed me everywhere; they were my favourite companions of all.

I carried a looking-glass with me at all times so I could admire my beauty; this city was fair, and so were the people in it, but I was the fairest of them all, for I was the Queen.

In short, I had everything I had ever wanted, but for one thing, one thing in which I couldn’t seem to get my way. I couldn’t get the image of Lord Vertigo out of my mind, and I desired no other man, no matter how many eligible suitors I had. Many nights I implored for his company; I sent him letters by dove, but to none of these did he reply.

So, one day, I left my palace and made my way to the Council building in my horse-drawn chariot…

To be continued…

(P.S. Happy New Year to all my readers!)

Yule

pexels-photo-749386.jpeg
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

This will be the last post on my blog this year, so I thought I’d make it a festive one. I am looking forward to Christmas this year; looking back on the past year, I have made some important improvements in my life, and I’m genuinely excited for the next decade, despite the political turmoil my country is in. I’ve always thought my thirties will be my most exciting decade, which sucks for my later ones, I guess, but I can be excited for it now, anyway.

So, I’m feeling better this Christmas than I was my last one. Here is a poem I wrote last December, which reflects the more sombre mood as that year drew to a close:

 

Yule

Sparkling lights on dark days. Grey mist and snow upon the hills. Fog and rain. Carols on the radio.

Frantic crowds, caught up in the national wave. Propelled by an imperative.

Christmas pudding by the fire. Walks through dark streets, home.

A collective memory, of childhoods long ago. The excitement of Christmas Eve. Grandparents coming around. Sitting on the carpet, expectantly. The smell of Granny’s tights.

To be that excited again…

Nostalgia for the years gone by. Gone, into sepia. Into dust. Into wine.

A time of looking back to the trodden path; it glistens, overlaid with dew of new days, obscuring the grain.

And looking forward, to the clock that chimes on New Year’s Eve.

This is the passing of the days; the ancient days. When all the world seems to stand still. In peace, in collective memory.

*
It’s a bit rough around the edges, I know. I might work on it a bit more. But I thought it was good enough to put up.

On that note, have a good Christmas, everyone, and don’t forget to crack open the Baileys! (Or other sinful beverage of your choice).

I’ll see you in the new year (2020! We’ll be in the future!)
X

Avalon

Boatman, sail to me to Avalon:
I want to see it before I die.

We’ll set sail on the black river,
And we shall not dither –
I want to see it before I grow old.

As we draw closer to her shore,
How I will light up inside!
And become more ‘me’ than I’ve ever been.

Bring me the life,
Bring me the freedom,
Only Avalon can bring.

Bring me the parties,
Bring me the wine –
Bring me the dances and the lights.

So merry and gay I’ll be,
And I’ll bet you’ll be so proud of me.

Bring me the laughter,
Bring me the freedom,
Only Avalon can bring.

Please Boatman, take me to Avalon;
I want to see it before I die.

 

From my poetry collection, Autodestructsuperstar.

Shameless Plug: Autodestructsuperstar

woman wearing black leather jacket holding camera

 

Boatman, take me to Avalon

Welcome to the world of Autodestructsuperstar, where nothing is as it seems. A world projected through mirrors and cameras, smokescreens and camera filters (Please, please, please look at me…).

A world Obscura; Autodestructsuperstar is an exploration of idolatry and celebrity in the 21st century.

Are you ready to set sail?

Well, let’s start wasting, let’s start preparing for the last dance, my darling. Let’s make it a romance, a thing to remember…

Pamphlet on sale for just £3 a copy. Will discount multi-buys. Please use the contact form or email me at themorningstarblog@gmail.com to get your copy. Support a starving artist, say nuts to Amazon, and indulge/vindicate your distaste for modern culture at the same time.

There’s Not Long Left

dowson

There’s not long left of tears and laughter,
Not long left of wine and roses.

I wonder if we shall recall them after?
I wonder what the world will be like then?

Out of a dream we rise from slumber
Each and every day,
Knowing well our days are numbered,
And our paths will fold within a dream.

 

Inspired by Ernest Dowson’s poem, ‘Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam’.

 

Letting

Black bile is leaking from my eyes, my mouth;
I need to let it out onto the page;

This is the only way I can survive;
It is my curse; the price I pay.

A deal was made, long ago,
And the Devil said, “You will have to pay:
If you bleed for me you can have this gift,
Of Insight, and of Clarity,

“But first, you must bleed –
It is the price you have to pay.”

 

I apologize if my poems have been a little depressing of late. A lot of what I’ve been posting recently is old stuff, which is going to go into another poetry collection to be published by myself soon (more details coming soon). I’m a happier person these days, I promise!

Sad (God in the Computer Screen)

Thank you The Drabble! Also thanks to the 55 people who liked it. It’s things like this which give me a boost as an unknown writer.

laptop-2557571_1280

By morningstar124

I am so sad –
I squeeze my soul out for you to see;
Wring it out like a flannel;
Wring out those very words that haunt me.
Read my heartbreak, my memories –
How sad I am, how unique,
Living in this modern world
Where loneliness has swallowed me.

What more can I do, but
Reach God through my computer screen
And pour out the words for you to see:
Reflections of a bleeding heart;
A shattered mind –
Liberate in poetry.

             
N.A.J. Sloan is a writer based in the UK. She writes because she wants to create something beautiful.

View original post

Announcement and Update

Pleased to announce my first official poetry collection, Autodestructsuper, is complete and is available as a limited-edition pamphlet. In it are poems I’ve written in the last five years or so, on the themes of celebrity and idolatry in the 21st century. It’s a riveting read, if I say so myself.

ads book

Of course, just as exciting as finishing a project is the prospect of then going on to work on other projects. I have another poetry collection in the pipeline, which I’m rather excited about, but at the moment I’m working on something different: a story inspired by the Alice books by Lewis Carroll.

These stories have always had a weird fascination for me. I studied them at university and I find it incredible how culturally significant they still are. So I want to write an Alice story about an adult Alice in the 21st century. I can’t give too many details yet as it’s still in the planning stage, but I think it will be a long short story or even a novella. Needless to say, I’m excited by it and I hope Lewis Carroll would approve.

I have a Twitter account, by the way, where I will post updates on my progress and sometimes random thoughts. Follow me here. Please do follow me. I would like to connect with other writers and readers. I also have an Instagram account, where I post short poems and sometimes random photos. You can follow me on Instagram here.

That’s all for my announcement and update. Thank you for reading.