Your favourite collaborations from DU poets.
---Dancing Within The Flames---a collaboration with HadesRising
Grace me with your presence
Of haunted poetry
And ghostly laments
Take my hand in shadows
Let us dance to music
Composed from below
you've conjured me from the hellish pit
macabre demonic woman
specter to her unholy Master
unleashing the screaming choir
as we serenade each other with vile darkness
licking the pyre of desire
They behold as we dance on their bones
Swaying in the storm to poisoned songs
Placate denizens of the underground
Taste of sliver of paradigms found
And throughout all the tortures of Hell
And murders of crows we know so well
No crucifix or martyrs dead in shame
Will keep us from dancing within the flame
murderous Dark Lord
you've enslaved my soul
you summon me I come crawling dragging my chains
as the bones rattle and heaven shakes
we take up the chorus of the demented
We’re scarlet in our crimes
The darkness burns, brightly
Tease the beast inside
Hallowed brutality
Upon charred pages we
Spill ink tragically
They behold as we dance on their bones
Swaying in the storm to poisoned songs
Placate denizens of the underground
Taste of sliver of paradigms found
And throughout all the tortures of Hell
And murders of crows we know so well
No crucifix or martyrs dead in shame
Will keep us from dancing within the flame
The moon it shines with raven flight
as the darkness covers needful blight
The northern winds, they scream our names
ever playful in our deadly games
We offer sacrilege
Within our reverence
At Cemetery ridge
The ghosts gather one last
Time and inscribe our names
From the infernal caste
burning on the slab of sacrifice
writhing with desire as I bleed for you
tasting your rage I succumb
to the song of the dead
They behold as we dance on their bones
Swaying in the storm to poisoned songs
Placate denizens of the underground
Taste of sliver of paradigms found
The witchcraft and phantasms
Crave Lovecraft and gothic spasms
They need look no further
And throughout all the tortures of Hell
And murders of crows we know so well
No crucifix or martyrs dead in shame
Will keep us from dancing within the flame
In collaboration with HadesRising
Written by crimsin
(Unveiling)
Go To Page
Throwback of a Creative Past
DIRGES AND TEARS (A collaboration by Soul & Grace)
Torturous, this wears wet
bleeding out loss in life
be it not draining and soaking
hung out drying
watching sunrises
stead the settle, knowing
this, fills the hours
there, no holding it back
rolling thunderous black cloud
what keeps thee free being,
wracked by its wrath
Dirges and cries of sorrowing hearts
Of those that strew the petals of roses
Upon the mile that stretches far
To the garden where none astir
Where hearse move over fallen tears
What gods listen to the chanted prayers
not one who raise Lazarus
but one who writes the RIP
For dead he is and dead will be
Interred within where darkness blooms
Cried tears, a sea wouldn't raise him still
Laments lay at eternal fall
Gabelle salt tax the Dandi March
ever crossing, forming time lines
scarred singed befallen boughs
wearing this very everyday
which is the true carrion
they that become light
or the carried carcass seared
smouldering, ashen within ashes
pull the string that says
continued journey should always be
Lamentations and wailing dirges
Such display of beating chests
Ashes on hair and ripped robes
Only those left behind mourns so
The one that left is far from bereft
For there, another mystery lays
Beyond the grave, the moral sheen gone
Nothing hinders, nothing worn
Just spirits that waft through the clammy air
So bemoan not those who left,
But mourn those that’s left to moan
the passing bells' constant din
ambience within the sphere sound booth
shaken not stirred, aware awake, Your say
wearing whys' witless what isn't
to days of the burning pyre, final rest
holding aloft the torch for life, ever present
tending to needing, nary the needless
doing dare a dance upon the wicked stage
juggling acts, magic, smoke
looks within mirrors, ringmaster yells
come ye come all the greatest show of all
Written by souladareatease
Published 24th Feb 2013
Torturous, this wears wet
bleeding out loss in life
be it not draining and soaking
hung out drying
watching sunrises
stead the settle, knowing
this, fills the hours
there, no holding it back
rolling thunderous black cloud
what keeps thee free being,
wracked by its wrath
Dirges and cries of sorrowing hearts
Of those that strew the petals of roses
Upon the mile that stretches far
To the garden where none astir
Where hearse move over fallen tears
What gods listen to the chanted prayers
not one who raise Lazarus
but one who writes the RIP
For dead he is and dead will be
Interred within where darkness blooms
Cried tears, a sea wouldn't raise him still
Laments lay at eternal fall
Gabelle salt tax the Dandi March
ever crossing, forming time lines
scarred singed befallen boughs
wearing this very everyday
which is the true carrion
they that become light
or the carried carcass seared
smouldering, ashen within ashes
pull the string that says
continued journey should always be
Lamentations and wailing dirges
Such display of beating chests
Ashes on hair and ripped robes
Only those left behind mourns so
The one that left is far from bereft
For there, another mystery lays
Beyond the grave, the moral sheen gone
Nothing hinders, nothing worn
Just spirits that waft through the clammy air
So bemoan not those who left,
But mourn those that’s left to moan
the passing bells' constant din
ambience within the sphere sound booth
shaken not stirred, aware awake, Your say
wearing whys' witless what isn't
to days of the burning pyre, final rest
holding aloft the torch for life, ever present
tending to needing, nary the needless
doing dare a dance upon the wicked stage
juggling acts, magic, smoke
looks within mirrors, ringmaster yells
come ye come all the greatest show of all
Written by souladareatease
Published 24th Feb 2013
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
Go To Page
Poems Written on Seaside Postcards (collaboration with Casted_Runes)
Miss Wales, 1982
Oh dear, the palpable fear
News splashed like seagull shit.
The Fingering Wall beside the Fair -
Miss Wales, what did you do?
Giving head to a judge
Swallowed your pride
Senile, semen of bile,
Dethroned to whirl of waltzers.
Stiff sea breeze roughed her candy-floss hair.
Sauce for the Chips
Greetings from sunny Clacton!
This long weekend is on its way:
we met these swingers on the pier
and had our tea with them.
They’re down at the holiday camp, near
where your Becky used to work.
The wife’s a solid girl, you’d say,
the chap not far behind, both
demolishing their fish
as if the cod war’s on again.
He went to see about a car
and left me and my husband with
the wife to sort out where we’d meet.
My Terry likes ‘em big, of course.
That’s all well and good, I said, when
she left to dispense with her chip frittata.
But careful she don’t take your chip
and make it a chipolota.
Voices from the Sea
Listen carefully
You can hear the echo of shingled tide,
Ægean aulos lisp human suffering
Shelled the thoughts of Socrates.
The Sun Centre is now a theatre.
‘Waves in the big pool’ last voice heard
By the boy who drowned under water slide,
Lifeguards distracted by girls
Wearing lipstick for the first time.
Dark Promenade
sonnet on the back of a postcard
Visiting friends in Clacton-on-Sea,
though it’s the front I’ve come to see.
The purple Ferris wheel juts out
between the branches of the trees
this night in my hometown, about
on its dark promenade to freeze,
amidst the cheap hotels and ships
that stud the horizontal edge.
What is there to eat but chips
and memories of summer sedge
groping like hands through iron bars?
The night is void of moon and stars.
The hotels lean like ageing wives,
protecting all of what survives.
Closing Time at the End of the Pier
Landladies sweep streets
Of the boarded-up world,
Ghost tourists wave from smashed windows
Sea’mstress sews heirlooms on empty suitcases.
Punch lost Judy in Hall of Mirrors
Sunset shards blunted by needles,
Child in time fallen thru Promenade crack.
‘Wish You Were Here’ beyond postcards -
Still, we wish you were here.
Frinton Ghost Story
(found on back of discarded postcard showing seafront)
I saw you once on Frinton beach.
It was high summer and I’d cycled
all the way from Clacton town.
The sun was blazing down and yet
I felt a chill just sitting there,
my feet pushed in the sand,
my bike tied to a lamppost on
the promenade. I’m writing you
this postcard now although
I’ve nowhere to send it of course,
and there’s too little space to discuss
the breadth and width of what I’d like
to say. So I’ll say this, and let things be:
I’ve missed you, darling, like a limb,
since you walked into the sea.
Oh dear, the palpable fear
News splashed like seagull shit.
The Fingering Wall beside the Fair -
Miss Wales, what did you do?
Giving head to a judge
Swallowed your pride
Senile, semen of bile,
Dethroned to whirl of waltzers.
Stiff sea breeze roughed her candy-floss hair.
Sauce for the Chips
Greetings from sunny Clacton!
This long weekend is on its way:
we met these swingers on the pier
and had our tea with them.
They’re down at the holiday camp, near
where your Becky used to work.
The wife’s a solid girl, you’d say,
the chap not far behind, both
demolishing their fish
as if the cod war’s on again.
He went to see about a car
and left me and my husband with
the wife to sort out where we’d meet.
My Terry likes ‘em big, of course.
That’s all well and good, I said, when
she left to dispense with her chip frittata.
But careful she don’t take your chip
and make it a chipolota.
Voices from the Sea
Listen carefully
You can hear the echo of shingled tide,
Ægean aulos lisp human suffering
Shelled the thoughts of Socrates.
The Sun Centre is now a theatre.
‘Waves in the big pool’ last voice heard
By the boy who drowned under water slide,
Lifeguards distracted by girls
Wearing lipstick for the first time.
Dark Promenade
sonnet on the back of a postcard
Visiting friends in Clacton-on-Sea,
though it’s the front I’ve come to see.
The purple Ferris wheel juts out
between the branches of the trees
this night in my hometown, about
on its dark promenade to freeze,
amidst the cheap hotels and ships
that stud the horizontal edge.
What is there to eat but chips
and memories of summer sedge
groping like hands through iron bars?
The night is void of moon and stars.
The hotels lean like ageing wives,
protecting all of what survives.
Closing Time at the End of the Pier
Landladies sweep streets
Of the boarded-up world,
Ghost tourists wave from smashed windows
Sea’mstress sews heirlooms on empty suitcases.
Punch lost Judy in Hall of Mirrors
Sunset shards blunted by needles,
Child in time fallen thru Promenade crack.
‘Wish You Were Here’ beyond postcards -
Still, we wish you were here.
Frinton Ghost Story
(found on back of discarded postcard showing seafront)
I saw you once on Frinton beach.
It was high summer and I’d cycled
all the way from Clacton town.
The sun was blazing down and yet
I felt a chill just sitting there,
my feet pushed in the sand,
my bike tied to a lamppost on
the promenade. I’m writing you
this postcard now although
I’ve nowhere to send it of course,
and there’s too little space to discuss
the breadth and width of what I’d like
to say. So I’ll say this, and let things be:
I’ve missed you, darling, like a limb,
since you walked into the sea.
Written by Strangeways_Rob
Go To Page
Effects (Collaboration with PAR)
The reverberation
of his words
hung in the air,
resonating
within her soul
from afar.
Snippets of phrases
echoed in
the caves of their ears;
a train coming out
of a golden seashell;
screech and whistle
pulsating in its wake.
Half-formed phrases
vibrated into song
which, beating,
grew so strong.
In a harmony glow
so far from home
as a red drop
in the neverending snow,
they listened.
of his words
hung in the air,
resonating
within her soul
from afar.
Snippets of phrases
echoed in
the caves of their ears;
a train coming out
of a golden seashell;
screech and whistle
pulsating in its wake.
Half-formed phrases
vibrated into song
which, beating,
grew so strong.
In a harmony glow
so far from home
as a red drop
in the neverending snow,
they listened.
Written by Wafflenose
(Ellie)
Go To Page
Echoes and Screams (with deltafrostone)
Years have lost the innocence
Of words through cups and strings.
Once-persistent patience settles to a bitter decay,
Time hurtling through the bitterness.
Scrambling for lost hopes like loose change in a fountain,
Caught in a public gauntlet of desperate cries...
Wishes upon wishes lost in translation to the entrapment of our hope
—Changing in the sunlight as we evolve.
We rise ever higher, though the ground feels like quicksand.
"Reach for the stars" morphs from a motto into a cruel taunt,
As intruding whispers emerge in between too many drinks and lines.
Forgive me and my failure,
I don't like to say never.
If only time wasn't this convoluted, Change in the house of flies becomes
A sickly humorous tale.
I don't mean to always leave,
but then again, I do—
Closing the door to erase stern voices and concerned faces...
Unwittingly left with only silent screams that escape to cracks in my mirror.
Beautiful spaces erase the memories; Lonely dolls dress the halls.
How can we change our circumstances when time won't allow?
These questions I ponder through the night,
Watching the clock stubbornly tick,
And slowly drifting to that distant spot in my wilderness:
Far away from the daunting echoes of what could have been.
(First collaborative piece ever... A feat not accomplished by even childhood friends at home. Pleasure scribbling with ya, old friend.)
Of words through cups and strings.
Once-persistent patience settles to a bitter decay,
Time hurtling through the bitterness.
Scrambling for lost hopes like loose change in a fountain,
Caught in a public gauntlet of desperate cries...
Wishes upon wishes lost in translation to the entrapment of our hope
—Changing in the sunlight as we evolve.
We rise ever higher, though the ground feels like quicksand.
"Reach for the stars" morphs from a motto into a cruel taunt,
As intruding whispers emerge in between too many drinks and lines.
Forgive me and my failure,
I don't like to say never.
If only time wasn't this convoluted, Change in the house of flies becomes
A sickly humorous tale.
I don't mean to always leave,
but then again, I do—
Closing the door to erase stern voices and concerned faces...
Unwittingly left with only silent screams that escape to cracks in my mirror.
Beautiful spaces erase the memories; Lonely dolls dress the halls.
How can we change our circumstances when time won't allow?
These questions I ponder through the night,
Watching the clock stubbornly tick,
And slowly drifting to that distant spot in my wilderness:
Far away from the daunting echoes of what could have been.
(First collaborative piece ever... A feat not accomplished by even childhood friends at home. Pleasure scribbling with ya, old friend.)
Written by HellBellsPixie
(Luna Belle)
Go To Page
My alter ego and a friend some years ago. Wish I could track this fucker down again. I don't even know if he's alive.
Damn!!
One of my favorite collabs was with Shadow, aka, Earth Child, aka Katja, aka..............lots of aka's. AND the collab we did, She told me a long long time ago NO to sharing. i keep this collab on my WordPress account. i will try to find another collab.
One of my favorite collabs was with Shadow, aka, Earth Child, aka Katja, aka..............lots of aka's. AND the collab we did, She told me a long long time ago NO to sharing. i keep this collab on my WordPress account. i will try to find another collab.
