The Chairmaker’s Soul – a poem extract

Long gone are the days when poets would write in a formal style.

Spenserian, Petrarchan, Alexandrian- wait, I don’t know if the last one is real! XD

Nowadays poetry has much looser definitions and you need not have an exact amount of syllables per line in your work to be a poet.

The Chairmaker’s Soul is a poem I’ve been writing the last two weeks, standing at 684 words right now. Inspired by Lovecraft’s Fungi from Yuggoth sonnet cycle, my poem follows similar themes: a protagonist with a willingness to sacrifice for unholy gifts, some ancient device of devilish esoteric nature, an unending curse.

I’ve been surprised, frankly. I thought my desire to write poetry at all had atrophied to nothing, but I’m happy to be proven wrong. The style is kind of in rhyming couplets, sometimes alternating, other times veering off from that to provide a poetic rhythm without formality.

An extract follows below. Hope you enjoy. Please leave a comment if you do. 🙂



The Chairmaker’s Soul – an extract


The window, the window promised light

In a dark time, every chair made a compromise

Of self, spirit, talent and damning

Comfort for the upper classes, sitting.


When the machine of interminable routine

Breaks down, inexorable pause, noiseless

Motion within the circle, tiny force

Beyond the twilight lit stone gate of Avalo.


That former forfeiture of humanity

Led to this impasse in evening slavery,

Nightly endeavours past the gate

Formed from stone marked with sigils of fate.


Standing tall, the figure high, grinning teeth

Bared, bloody thousand arms held aloft,

Avalokiteshvara the guardian smiles down;

Keeper of the invisible ringed enclosure.


A bonfire of dreams warms where

The opium bottle runs low, moonfire

Showy over the grotesque legacy of carvings,

A symphony of darkly made human effigies.


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