Poetry competition CLOSED 17th November 2014 3:24pm
WINNER
RavenofSorrow
RavenofSorrow
Halloween
In Death, we Shan't Part
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/133531.jpg
"Come back to me"
She hissed, at the lost
of his memory.
As he faded from this
existence.
No potion or charm
will bring him back,
but her witchery is
persistent.
Her tears,
fall into the cauldron,
as green smoke fills
the clouded night air.
Immersed in the forest,
she boils her concoction,
whispering chants,
that only the insects
can hear.
Spirits gather in a circle,
and join her in her
reverie.
As the pulse
of the night seems to beat steadily,
like that of a metronome.
Lost in her enchantment,
on she continues to drone.
"Come Back!" she screams,
"Awake!" she cries to no avail.
She cuts her palm...
and her Satanic blood falls.
She can't take the thought,
not being able to ever call his name,
again.
The oozing liquid,
turns from green to red.
and boils over in violence.
The spirits disperse in fear,
the chant as been broken.
She alone lays on the forest
floor,
weak, hungry, that was her last
drop of blood.
She hasn't fed in days,
and any site of a human
is miles away.
She smiles,
as the clouds close in over her
jade eyes.
If he won't back for her,
she'll leave for him.
With the last of her strength,
she rose up and drank,
her own poisonous elixir,
and fell back,
as her mind went blank.
She didn't feel a thing,
as her hands turned to ice,
as her body decay so slowly.
As the first dawn light hit
the fog covered ground,
a hand reached for hers.
and her essence separated from the
beautiful corpse,
she was finally with him,
now and,
forever.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/133531.jpg
"Come back to me"
She hissed, at the lost
of his memory.
As he faded from this
existence.
No potion or charm
will bring him back,
but her witchery is
persistent.
Her tears,
fall into the cauldron,
as green smoke fills
the clouded night air.
Immersed in the forest,
she boils her concoction,
whispering chants,
that only the insects
can hear.
Spirits gather in a circle,
and join her in her
reverie.
As the pulse
of the night seems to beat steadily,
like that of a metronome.
Lost in her enchantment,
on she continues to drone.
"Come Back!" she screams,
"Awake!" she cries to no avail.
She cuts her palm...
and her Satanic blood falls.
She can't take the thought,
not being able to ever call his name,
again.
The oozing liquid,
turns from green to red.
and boils over in violence.
The spirits disperse in fear,
the chant as been broken.
She alone lays on the forest
floor,
weak, hungry, that was her last
drop of blood.
She hasn't fed in days,
and any site of a human
is miles away.
She smiles,
as the clouds close in over her
jade eyes.
If he won't back for her,
she'll leave for him.
With the last of her strength,
she rose up and drank,
her own poisonous elixir,
and fell back,
as her mind went blank.
She didn't feel a thing,
as her hands turned to ice,
as her body decay so slowly.
As the first dawn light hit
the fog covered ground,
a hand reached for hers.
and her essence separated from the
beautiful corpse,
she was finally with him,
now and,
forever.
She was a Witch — Part Three
Again came the email.
With the five words,
“Be here,
On the 31st.”
This time there was,
A signature,
A word,
“Please.”
And s symbol,
A pentagram.
So once again,
I was going,
To Austin.
But this time,
It didn’t feel as if,
I was summoned,
Commanded.
It was,
As if,
Something within me,
Wanted to go.
On arrival,
I was paged,
“To the red courtesy phone,”
I picked it up,
“Pick up your car,
In the Wally Park,
Park ’n Ride.
You’ll know the car,
You rode in it last year,
Door opens to the combination, 131313.
Key is under the seat.
You know the route.
Don’t be late.”
And,
Then,
The phone was dead.
I knew the car.
The combination worked.
I knew the route.
I arrived just as the sun set,
A ball of fire,
In the west.
Walked in the fiery dusk,
Through the trees,
To the meadow.
This year the cloth was,
Black.
Still with the pentagram,
In red,
Blood red.
Still with the knives.
The candles in their places,
Lit themselves,
As I walked across the grass.
She was already undressed,
Different this year,
Pregnant,
I looked from her belly to her face,
Something within me growled,
“Undress me,
Quickly,
Now.”
With a puzzled look in her eyes,
She did exactly that.
Then stood again,
Before me.
And spat at me,
“Twelve months pregnant,
Twelve months,
Not morning sick,
All day sick,
Twelve months waiting for this day,
This year,
I hope you’re happy with your work.”
My vision seemed to shift,
Slide off sideways,
Returned to her face,
Tinted green,
Hints of red.
The voice that answered her,
From my own mouth,
Was nothing like my own.
The words were blunt,
Cruel,
Demanding of,
Obedience,
“In the middle of my pentagram,
On your knees,
Open your mouth,
First my needs.
Yours later,
Much later,
Maybe,
Depending on how well,
You handle mine.”
She dropped to her knees,
Terror in her eyes,
Opened her mouth,
Whatever was controlling me,
Caused my hands to grip,
Wind themselves in her hair,
Forced my cock,
Into her mouth,
Down her throat,
Until she gaged,
Choked,
And tears came to her eyes.
In and out my cock plunged,
In ‘tell she choked,
Out only so that,
It could drive in,
Again.
On the thirteenth stroke,
I emptied down her throat.
Pulling out,
Still partly,
Erect,
That voice ordered,
“Lick it clean.
Suck it hard.
Make it wet.”
A few moments later,
“Turn around.
Head down
Grip the cloth.
Bite the cloth.”
Nothing gentle,
As I pushed,
Into her ass.
Grabbed her hair again,
For leverage,
In and out.
Until on the thirteenth stroke,
I emptied into,
Her ass,
Just as I had done,
Into her throat.
This time there was a difference,
My ejactulations,
Triggered,
Contractions within her.
First,
While I was still,
Deeply inside of her,
Of the sexual kind.
The feeling of them,
While still inside her ass,
Caused an erection to grow,
Made still larger,
By the sensations of her,
Tightening cum soaked ass,
As I pulled out of her.
It was at that moment,
The moon passed behind,
A thin cloud,
And shown,
Red.
From somewhere I heard a clock,
Tick,
Then begin to strike,
To count off,
A second set of contractions within her,
Which would expel,
From her body.
What had been planted there,
A year ago,
Twelve,
Racked her body,
Each stronger,
More violent;
Twisting,
Warping her around,
Until on her back,
She had one more.
That Thirteenth one,
Stretched long,
Accompanied by a scream,
So loud,
So agonizing,
So filled with pain,
Terror,
It was as if,
What she was delivering,
Clawed its way from within her.
First showed a head,
Stretching her,
Ripping her,
Followed by a body,
Bathed in blood,
Deposited at the center,
Of that red pentagram.
While I watched,
In horror,
What was inside of me,
Watched in rapture.
Next I knew,
I was standing,
In my room,
Blood stained,
As if my perspiration,
That evening,
Had been blood,
Rather than sweat.
My mind was numb,
At what I had seen,
What I had been part of.
I was,
Shaking,
Trembling,
Fighting to stay,
Standing.
Still,
I had the raging,
Erection,
Waiting to be,
Slackened.
As my hand,
Wrapped around it,
In the mirror,
I saw,
My face,
My eyes,
Laughing,
Looking back,
At me.
Part one = http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/73509-she-was-a-witch-for-the-halloween/
Part two = http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/131827-she-was-a-witch-here-is-part-two-of-the/
Again came the email.
With the five words,
“Be here,
On the 31st.”
This time there was,
A signature,
A word,
“Please.”
And s symbol,
A pentagram.
So once again,
I was going,
To Austin.
But this time,
It didn’t feel as if,
I was summoned,
Commanded.
It was,
As if,
Something within me,
Wanted to go.
On arrival,
I was paged,
“To the red courtesy phone,”
I picked it up,
“Pick up your car,
In the Wally Park,
Park ’n Ride.
You’ll know the car,
You rode in it last year,
Door opens to the combination, 131313.
Key is under the seat.
You know the route.
Don’t be late.”
And,
Then,
The phone was dead.
I knew the car.
The combination worked.
I knew the route.
I arrived just as the sun set,
A ball of fire,
In the west.
Walked in the fiery dusk,
Through the trees,
To the meadow.
This year the cloth was,
Black.
Still with the pentagram,
In red,
Blood red.
Still with the knives.
The candles in their places,
Lit themselves,
As I walked across the grass.
She was already undressed,
Different this year,
Pregnant,
I looked from her belly to her face,
Something within me growled,
“Undress me,
Quickly,
Now.”
With a puzzled look in her eyes,
She did exactly that.
Then stood again,
Before me.
And spat at me,
“Twelve months pregnant,
Twelve months,
Not morning sick,
All day sick,
Twelve months waiting for this day,
This year,
I hope you’re happy with your work.”
My vision seemed to shift,
Slide off sideways,
Returned to her face,
Tinted green,
Hints of red.
The voice that answered her,
From my own mouth,
Was nothing like my own.
The words were blunt,
Cruel,
Demanding of,
Obedience,
“In the middle of my pentagram,
On your knees,
Open your mouth,
First my needs.
Yours later,
Much later,
Maybe,
Depending on how well,
You handle mine.”
She dropped to her knees,
Terror in her eyes,
Opened her mouth,
Whatever was controlling me,
Caused my hands to grip,
Wind themselves in her hair,
Forced my cock,
Into her mouth,
Down her throat,
Until she gaged,
Choked,
And tears came to her eyes.
In and out my cock plunged,
In ‘tell she choked,
Out only so that,
It could drive in,
Again.
On the thirteenth stroke,
I emptied down her throat.
Pulling out,
Still partly,
Erect,
That voice ordered,
“Lick it clean.
Suck it hard.
Make it wet.”
A few moments later,
“Turn around.
Head down
Grip the cloth.
Bite the cloth.”
Nothing gentle,
As I pushed,
Into her ass.
Grabbed her hair again,
For leverage,
In and out.
Until on the thirteenth stroke,
I emptied into,
Her ass,
Just as I had done,
Into her throat.
This time there was a difference,
My ejactulations,
Triggered,
Contractions within her.
First,
While I was still,
Deeply inside of her,
Of the sexual kind.
The feeling of them,
While still inside her ass,
Caused an erection to grow,
Made still larger,
By the sensations of her,
Tightening cum soaked ass,
As I pulled out of her.
It was at that moment,
The moon passed behind,
A thin cloud,
And shown,
Red.
From somewhere I heard a clock,
Tick,
Then begin to strike,
To count off,
A second set of contractions within her,
Which would expel,
From her body.
What had been planted there,
A year ago,
Twelve,
Racked her body,
Each stronger,
More violent;
Twisting,
Warping her around,
Until on her back,
She had one more.
That Thirteenth one,
Stretched long,
Accompanied by a scream,
So loud,
So agonizing,
So filled with pain,
Terror,
It was as if,
What she was delivering,
Clawed its way from within her.
First showed a head,
Stretching her,
Ripping her,
Followed by a body,
Bathed in blood,
Deposited at the center,
Of that red pentagram.
While I watched,
In horror,
What was inside of me,
Watched in rapture.
Next I knew,
I was standing,
In my room,
Blood stained,
As if my perspiration,
That evening,
Had been blood,
Rather than sweat.
My mind was numb,
At what I had seen,
What I had been part of.
I was,
Shaking,
Trembling,
Fighting to stay,
Standing.
Still,
I had the raging,
Erection,
Waiting to be,
Slackened.
As my hand,
Wrapped around it,
In the mirror,
I saw,
My face,
My eyes,
Laughing,
Looking back,
At me.
Part one = http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/73509-she-was-a-witch-for-the-halloween/
Part two = http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/131827-she-was-a-witch-here-is-part-two-of-the/
- The Old Forsaken Wood -
In the forests of the northlands, where oaken groves grow wild,
There was a place in one such wood, a place as yet undefiled.
Amidst the ancient stones hewn mightily of old, of carven rock…
By the men now lying all in barrows cold, whom every age forgot:
There was a place of gatherings, where dark faeries oft did play.
A tomb was there, of another era past; it ne’er saw light or day!
A man once came upon the gray site, wandering far from home,
Following the mad guidance of some lost and antiquated tome.
He lingered long at the gathering place, but nary a spirit came,
Soon the night’s cold air did necessitate the making of a flame.
And at the fire by his plain tent, the man looked about in fear…
For midnight’s hour was falling fast, and something drew near.
A shape was moving, black against darkness and velvet mists,
Until at last he heard a weird sound, like when a serpent hissed.
It did cease, and in its’ place a woman’s voice thereafter cried:
Come away with me, ye lonely man, sadness cannot be denied!
I have neither loved ones nor family, ‘tis true, but what be ye?
The man pursued his sad inquiry, but kept by light so watchfully.
Am I daft, he wondered, for no answer issued forth to so hear!
Until she so cried, again: lonely man, come to me, draw ye near.
He kept to his fire, looking at the shadowy form fast coming to,
Coming yet closer, ever closer: still indistinct of a definitive hue.
I am that in which all sorrow and solitude end, for I am bliss…
Come unto me, dear lonely man, and feel the tingle of my kiss.
Why do I not see thee, thou seem black and faded as all about!
The man felt a chill beyond that in the air, as he thusly did shout.
Leave the glow of the firelight, and my form ye shall swiftly see,
Leave ye the warmth of the flame, and join ye in my company.
Near the mouth of the tomb, I wait for thee, to by me so stand…
Near the yawning mouth of the tomb, that lies so close at hand.
Lo, there the fair folk sing, and dance to their ease in a revelry!
Know ye where the ravens take wing, and sprites flit peacefully.
The man followed the wraith unto the tomb, so darkly wrapped,
In greater obscurity than before: here, wherein the dead so slept.
Other shapes were with him now, men and women it did seem…
More clear than their surroundings, aglow with an ethereal gleam.
Will o’ the wisps as well abounded, and then he turned to look…
To behold his guide unto this wonder, whose advice he just took.
The boy with a woman’s voice was pale of skin and red of eye…
But lovely, oh so lovely, as the man drew on closer, only to die.
The next morning, villagers found him, drained of all his blood…
Ne’er again did a man alone set foot in that old forsaken wood!
In the forests of the northlands, where oaken groves grow wild,
There was a place in one such wood, a place as yet undefiled.
Amidst the ancient stones hewn mightily of old, of carven rock…
By the men now lying all in barrows cold, whom every age forgot:
There was a place of gatherings, where dark faeries oft did play.
A tomb was there, of another era past; it ne’er saw light or day!
A man once came upon the gray site, wandering far from home,
Following the mad guidance of some lost and antiquated tome.
He lingered long at the gathering place, but nary a spirit came,
Soon the night’s cold air did necessitate the making of a flame.
And at the fire by his plain tent, the man looked about in fear…
For midnight’s hour was falling fast, and something drew near.
A shape was moving, black against darkness and velvet mists,
Until at last he heard a weird sound, like when a serpent hissed.
It did cease, and in its’ place a woman’s voice thereafter cried:
Come away with me, ye lonely man, sadness cannot be denied!
I have neither loved ones nor family, ‘tis true, but what be ye?
The man pursued his sad inquiry, but kept by light so watchfully.
Am I daft, he wondered, for no answer issued forth to so hear!
Until she so cried, again: lonely man, come to me, draw ye near.
He kept to his fire, looking at the shadowy form fast coming to,
Coming yet closer, ever closer: still indistinct of a definitive hue.
I am that in which all sorrow and solitude end, for I am bliss…
Come unto me, dear lonely man, and feel the tingle of my kiss.
Why do I not see thee, thou seem black and faded as all about!
The man felt a chill beyond that in the air, as he thusly did shout.
Leave the glow of the firelight, and my form ye shall swiftly see,
Leave ye the warmth of the flame, and join ye in my company.
Near the mouth of the tomb, I wait for thee, to by me so stand…
Near the yawning mouth of the tomb, that lies so close at hand.
Lo, there the fair folk sing, and dance to their ease in a revelry!
Know ye where the ravens take wing, and sprites flit peacefully.
The man followed the wraith unto the tomb, so darkly wrapped,
In greater obscurity than before: here, wherein the dead so slept.
Other shapes were with him now, men and women it did seem…
More clear than their surroundings, aglow with an ethereal gleam.
Will o’ the wisps as well abounded, and then he turned to look…
To behold his guide unto this wonder, whose advice he just took.
The boy with a woman’s voice was pale of skin and red of eye…
But lovely, oh so lovely, as the man drew on closer, only to die.
The next morning, villagers found him, drained of all his blood…
Ne’er again did a man alone set foot in that old forsaken wood!
- Night of the Drowned -
By rugged paths through the woodlands green,
In younger years I walked often there between…
The yellow flowers that grew by the sad pond,
Which never stirred, save by breath of beyond…
And the darker forests where old spirits played,
Near ruins where once-lost folk piously prayed!
Complete was the lonely majesty of that domain,
So indifferent to human desires, dreams, or pain!
Alone I walked, like a spirit haunting a dwelling…
Familiar from some past days: oddly compelling.
What enchantment bore me hither I’ll not know!
Better to ask the wind why it was born to blow.
Ere night had fallen, I beheld sights so uncanny,
Brought to this world by some ghostly company.
To speak of them is like to treat of some dream,
Wherein one may know delights but also scream.
Oh silent waters, what was reflected within you?
If only they could speak, the waters faded blue!
Perhaps terror keeps them silent, unable to tell…
The secrets they witnessed, of Heaven and Hell.
Mayhap sometimes fear is brought on by delight,
So profound, that it keeps one in an eternal night.
If you ask the waters, they shall not tell you this…
For they are lost, either in silence or infinite bliss!
Beneath the crescent moon, a goddess’s crown,
Yellow flowers become white, as winter’s gown.
As colorless as the faces looking up from under…
Whilst in the sky cracked a loud clap of thunder.
The drowned ones who dwell down in the murk,
Saw me peering at the waters wherein they lurk!
I looked away unable to bear each bloated face,
Lost in the depths trapped far from God’s grace.
I felt the touch of someone behind me, just then…
Turning around to see a beautiful ghostly maiden.
She passed through me, wading out in the deep,
To drown herself anew, where no fish will creep!
By rugged paths through the woodlands green,
In younger years I walked often there between…
The yellow flowers that grew by the sad pond,
Which never stirred, save by breath of beyond…
And the darker forests where old spirits played,
Near ruins where once-lost folk piously prayed!
Complete was the lonely majesty of that domain,
So indifferent to human desires, dreams, or pain!
Alone I walked, like a spirit haunting a dwelling…
Familiar from some past days: oddly compelling.
What enchantment bore me hither I’ll not know!
Better to ask the wind why it was born to blow.
Ere night had fallen, I beheld sights so uncanny,
Brought to this world by some ghostly company.
To speak of them is like to treat of some dream,
Wherein one may know delights but also scream.
Oh silent waters, what was reflected within you?
If only they could speak, the waters faded blue!
Perhaps terror keeps them silent, unable to tell…
The secrets they witnessed, of Heaven and Hell.
Mayhap sometimes fear is brought on by delight,
So profound, that it keeps one in an eternal night.
If you ask the waters, they shall not tell you this…
For they are lost, either in silence or infinite bliss!
Beneath the crescent moon, a goddess’s crown,
Yellow flowers become white, as winter’s gown.
As colorless as the faces looking up from under…
Whilst in the sky cracked a loud clap of thunder.
The drowned ones who dwell down in the murk,
Saw me peering at the waters wherein they lurk!
I looked away unable to bear each bloated face,
Lost in the depths trapped far from God’s grace.
I felt the touch of someone behind me, just then…
Turning around to see a beautiful ghostly maiden.
She passed through me, wading out in the deep,
To drown herself anew, where no fish will creep!
- Crypt of the Child -
Whilst walking through the streets of a small town,
Exploring the places that I once had called home...
I came to a cold, dark avenue with no one around,
And the night wind chilled my flesh unto the bone.
The street on one side ran along the railroad tracks,
On the other it ran past lands of green, wet marsh.
Another road lay before it, old and filled of cracks,
But I shall speak of the corner, a place very harsh.
In darkness wrapped, and old mysteries shrouded,
A house on a hill was built there in days now past.
Far from the city lights and the places oft crowded,
The silence of that place, could even eternally last.
I passed near the hill and the terrible house above,
Walking along the old foundations, with curiosity...
Though no living spirit now did live, nor know love,
In the halls of that house, there was a quiet dignity.
Outside, where I walked into the yards overgrown,
Past rusted swings where once children did play...
A little girl with jet hair, wearing a frilly white gown,
Regarded me, with eyes that glowed bright as day.
I asked her to tell me her name; but she was silent,
Putting her hands in mine, she led me on lost paths.
Her hands were as ice, and strange was her intent,
Far too somber was she, as one who never laughs!
We passed brambles and willows so old and bent,
That the paths seemed: dark tunnels of dying trees.
Down was our road, and wherein the hillside went,
An opening I noted, haunted by a moaning breeze.
Iron, was the gate that barred the way to darkness,
With a lock rusted closed, for so very many years...
Undone, by the touch of that girl in the white dress,
So that we could enter; and therein she wept tears.
I saw a marble sarcophagus, which bore no names,
Nor dates of mortal birth or final death, thereupon.
The child opened the lid, her eyes but dying flames,
As she lay down there to sleep: her playtime done.
I then was standing, right before that metallic gate,
Which was as locked as it had been, since raised...
I looked up at the stars, and saw the hour was late,
As I walked the paths back, feeling oddly amazed.
It was lonely by myself, and I missed the girl ghost,
For dark was the way, and long without company.
Yet, as I neared the house’s front porch, and post,
I saw the little girl playing with a ball, most merrily.
Leaving her to her solitude, I looked up at the sky,
My eyes on the moon: as pale as the ghost’s flesh.
Pondering the tragic brevity of life, I let myself cry,
For a little girl I knew not, when her life was fresh!
Whilst walking through the streets of a small town,
Exploring the places that I once had called home...
I came to a cold, dark avenue with no one around,
And the night wind chilled my flesh unto the bone.
The street on one side ran along the railroad tracks,
On the other it ran past lands of green, wet marsh.
Another road lay before it, old and filled of cracks,
But I shall speak of the corner, a place very harsh.
In darkness wrapped, and old mysteries shrouded,
A house on a hill was built there in days now past.
Far from the city lights and the places oft crowded,
The silence of that place, could even eternally last.
I passed near the hill and the terrible house above,
Walking along the old foundations, with curiosity...
Though no living spirit now did live, nor know love,
In the halls of that house, there was a quiet dignity.
Outside, where I walked into the yards overgrown,
Past rusted swings where once children did play...
A little girl with jet hair, wearing a frilly white gown,
Regarded me, with eyes that glowed bright as day.
I asked her to tell me her name; but she was silent,
Putting her hands in mine, she led me on lost paths.
Her hands were as ice, and strange was her intent,
Far too somber was she, as one who never laughs!
We passed brambles and willows so old and bent,
That the paths seemed: dark tunnels of dying trees.
Down was our road, and wherein the hillside went,
An opening I noted, haunted by a moaning breeze.
Iron, was the gate that barred the way to darkness,
With a lock rusted closed, for so very many years...
Undone, by the touch of that girl in the white dress,
So that we could enter; and therein she wept tears.
I saw a marble sarcophagus, which bore no names,
Nor dates of mortal birth or final death, thereupon.
The child opened the lid, her eyes but dying flames,
As she lay down there to sleep: her playtime done.
I then was standing, right before that metallic gate,
Which was as locked as it had been, since raised...
I looked up at the stars, and saw the hour was late,
As I walked the paths back, feeling oddly amazed.
It was lonely by myself, and I missed the girl ghost,
For dark was the way, and long without company.
Yet, as I neared the house’s front porch, and post,
I saw the little girl playing with a ball, most merrily.
Leaving her to her solitude, I looked up at the sky,
My eyes on the moon: as pale as the ghost’s flesh.
Pondering the tragic brevity of life, I let myself cry,
For a little girl I knew not, when her life was fresh!
http://i1290.photobucket.com/albums/b536/1willybugger/th8_zps3f20c830.jpg
BLOOD MOON IN THE SKY
Blood moon in the sky
Calling the to dead arise
Bones rattle in the wind
Hell’s door is wide open
Are there any fools who would like
To go ‘Trick or Treating’ tonight?
BLOOD MOON IN THE SKY
Blood moon in the sky
Calling the to dead arise
Bones rattle in the wind
Hell’s door is wide open
Are there any fools who would like
To go ‘Trick or Treating’ tonight?
http://i1290.photobucket.com/albums/b536/1willybugger/AAAARATDAWG_zpsb916bdb4.png
RATADAWGWA
Ratadawgwa
Ratadawgwa
Mama was a rat
Daddy was a dog
The kind of mutt
Called a Chihuahua
The beast lurks beneath
St. Paul City’s streets
In the sewer it creeps
On clickety clatty feet
Ratadawgwa
Was not created by God
Nor the result nature
Or any ‘Natural Law’
He is the consequence
Of Grandpa’s faux pas
After spilling his Viagra
It got ate up by his dog
A wanton hyper pup
A nervous horny toad
It was the kind of mutt
You get from Old Mexico
This dog he went crazy
And tried to ‘marry’ this and that
He was so very horny looney
He even humped grandpa’s stinky hat
Till finally in the alley
He found a rat to mate
A conjugal procreation
Resulting in a terrible mistake
Their seed is in the sewer
It likes to eat kids and cats
That venture to close too drains
And become victims of circumstance
With his long white fangs
And his sharp dew claws
He’ll rips them apart
Like angry chain saw
Ratadawgwa
The night of Halloween
His favorite time feed
When kids are at their sweetest
From all their trick or treats
So stay close to Mommy
Don’t venture near the curb
Something near the opening
You’d best not to disturb
RATADAWGWA!!!
He doesn’t like his meat cooked
He prefers to eat it raw!
http://i1290.photobucket.com/albums/b536/1willybugger/thCAJ2MU8U_zps31ce0d45.jpg
RATADAWGWA
Ratadawgwa
Ratadawgwa
Mama was a rat
Daddy was a dog
The kind of mutt
Called a Chihuahua
The beast lurks beneath
St. Paul City’s streets
In the sewer it creeps
On clickety clatty feet
Ratadawgwa
Was not created by God
Nor the result nature
Or any ‘Natural Law’
He is the consequence
Of Grandpa’s faux pas
After spilling his Viagra
It got ate up by his dog
A wanton hyper pup
A nervous horny toad
It was the kind of mutt
You get from Old Mexico
This dog he went crazy
And tried to ‘marry’ this and that
He was so very horny looney
He even humped grandpa’s stinky hat
Till finally in the alley
He found a rat to mate
A conjugal procreation
Resulting in a terrible mistake
Their seed is in the sewer
It likes to eat kids and cats
That venture to close too drains
And become victims of circumstance
With his long white fangs
And his sharp dew claws
He’ll rips them apart
Like angry chain saw
Ratadawgwa
The night of Halloween
His favorite time feed
When kids are at their sweetest
From all their trick or treats
So stay close to Mommy
Don’t venture near the curb
Something near the opening
You’d best not to disturb
RATADAWGWA!!!
He doesn’t like his meat cooked
He prefers to eat it raw!
http://i1290.photobucket.com/albums/b536/1willybugger/thCAJ2MU8U_zps31ce0d45.jpg
- One Last Embrace -
Being a Tragedy in Five Parts
Part the First – Water of Thirst...
A knight there was, of Arthurian times; he did ride forth out of Camelot,
In search of a meaning to his life’s long years: spent in bloody conflicts.
He felt a hunger in his heart, stronger than any he knew when he fought,
His hunger was to put his sword aside, and live a life of peace and bliss.
He found none in the monastery, where rigid order brought nothing fair,
He found none amongst the peasantry, whose lives were short and hard.
He found none by the seaside where sailors left for their perils elsewhere,
And he found none in the fields and mountains where soldiers yet warred.
In all the lands of Christendom, there was for this knight no peace to find,
And of bliss but fleeting moments too soon gone, as better off left behind.
At the last, he came to a land most desolate, where parched was the earth,
Where mournfully cried the wolf at night, and owls called without any mirth.
Part the Second – Fire of Hunger...
Across the wasteland, the knight rode forth, coming rough to a place far,
Beyond the bounds of those he knew, where so foreign was soil and star!
Upon the edge of thirst and death, his steed long lost in a blighted field,
His armor cast aside, so he could breathe, he carried not even his shield.
Only his sword and his honor remained, to name him knight in any way,
And that, too, would be at an end if longer stretched the heat of that day.
When the afternoon sky painted a canvas of rose and gold on the horizon,
The knight did give up his will, and let darkness take him hard thereupon.
A timeless expanse of naught passed, and in this oblivion the knight lay,
Uncertain of the time or place of his repose, in utter darkness he did stay.
Feeling water upon his lips, his eyes by instinct let themselves see again,
A vast cavern beneath the earth: containing crypts, of many valiant men.
Part the Third – Earth of Desire...
She was not tall, the one who gave him the drink that saved his life thus,
Her skin was like unto bronze, and her hair was darker than any midnight.
She was clothed in black to match her hair, with a scarlet girdle to truss,
About her, the gauzy fabrics of her gown, which seemed to absorb light.
Her voice was lilting, with an accent very different from those of Briton,
Yet somehow delightful to the knight’s ear, as the woman spoke to him.
' Rise, fallen knight of a kingdom unknown to my people, rise ye again,
And taste the fruits of your desire, knowing not regret, and less of sin! '
It was then the knight knew terror within his heart; his breath was gone,
Whilst upon his neck were the marks of the undead, bloody thereupon.
The meaning of the cave in which he awoke was all too clear to his will,
He never came living to the crypts; he had not survived his harsh ordeal.
Part the Fourth – Air of Doom...
He was much changed from the knight he once was, as the years passed,
And his love for the Dark Lady grew to an obsession that eternal did last.
The pair dwelling down amongst the dead, knowing more of love’s heat,
Than the air that scorched the land above, where the sun’s rays did beat.
The blood of jackals and serpents sustained the vampire lovers for ages,
In their underground domain, unseen and unknown even by wisest sages.
' If our kind live forever, Dark Lady, will the final judgment, thus condemn,
Or find us deserving of paradise, when upon this world comes an end? '
This question did the knight so venture, one eve when bats circled on air,
Blown as if from out some netherworld, come hither to screech and stare.
' If there be a power so cruel in existence, that frowns on love immortal,
Then I am proud to count myself it’s foe, and would gladly go to a hell. '
Part the Fifth – Spirit of Passion...
It was not long until from Camelot a party came seeking after the knight,
Believing him long lost on some quest, within the wasteland’s arid blight.
At last arriving near the cave over which loomed mountains old and dark,
It’s entrance adorned with pillars decorated by carved entwining dragons.
They heard his voice within, calling forth for them to so leave and depart,
Thinking him a wraith, they decided to investigate, and left their wagons.
' If they come and find us vampires, as we are, they will slay us terribly,
So let us walk into the sunlight, embracing one final time in our dignity. '
Thus spoke the knight to his lady, and they came forth from the darkness,
In full view of the party from Camelot, bursting aflame in the sun’s light.
Leaving those assembled to wonder, at knowing ever after much distress,
Recalling the final embrace of the two vampires laughing in final delight.
Being a Tragedy in Five Parts
Part the First – Water of Thirst...
A knight there was, of Arthurian times; he did ride forth out of Camelot,
In search of a meaning to his life’s long years: spent in bloody conflicts.
He felt a hunger in his heart, stronger than any he knew when he fought,
His hunger was to put his sword aside, and live a life of peace and bliss.
He found none in the monastery, where rigid order brought nothing fair,
He found none amongst the peasantry, whose lives were short and hard.
He found none by the seaside where sailors left for their perils elsewhere,
And he found none in the fields and mountains where soldiers yet warred.
In all the lands of Christendom, there was for this knight no peace to find,
And of bliss but fleeting moments too soon gone, as better off left behind.
At the last, he came to a land most desolate, where parched was the earth,
Where mournfully cried the wolf at night, and owls called without any mirth.
Part the Second – Fire of Hunger...
Across the wasteland, the knight rode forth, coming rough to a place far,
Beyond the bounds of those he knew, where so foreign was soil and star!
Upon the edge of thirst and death, his steed long lost in a blighted field,
His armor cast aside, so he could breathe, he carried not even his shield.
Only his sword and his honor remained, to name him knight in any way,
And that, too, would be at an end if longer stretched the heat of that day.
When the afternoon sky painted a canvas of rose and gold on the horizon,
The knight did give up his will, and let darkness take him hard thereupon.
A timeless expanse of naught passed, and in this oblivion the knight lay,
Uncertain of the time or place of his repose, in utter darkness he did stay.
Feeling water upon his lips, his eyes by instinct let themselves see again,
A vast cavern beneath the earth: containing crypts, of many valiant men.
Part the Third – Earth of Desire...
She was not tall, the one who gave him the drink that saved his life thus,
Her skin was like unto bronze, and her hair was darker than any midnight.
She was clothed in black to match her hair, with a scarlet girdle to truss,
About her, the gauzy fabrics of her gown, which seemed to absorb light.
Her voice was lilting, with an accent very different from those of Briton,
Yet somehow delightful to the knight’s ear, as the woman spoke to him.
' Rise, fallen knight of a kingdom unknown to my people, rise ye again,
And taste the fruits of your desire, knowing not regret, and less of sin! '
It was then the knight knew terror within his heart; his breath was gone,
Whilst upon his neck were the marks of the undead, bloody thereupon.
The meaning of the cave in which he awoke was all too clear to his will,
He never came living to the crypts; he had not survived his harsh ordeal.
Part the Fourth – Air of Doom...
He was much changed from the knight he once was, as the years passed,
And his love for the Dark Lady grew to an obsession that eternal did last.
The pair dwelling down amongst the dead, knowing more of love’s heat,
Than the air that scorched the land above, where the sun’s rays did beat.
The blood of jackals and serpents sustained the vampire lovers for ages,
In their underground domain, unseen and unknown even by wisest sages.
' If our kind live forever, Dark Lady, will the final judgment, thus condemn,
Or find us deserving of paradise, when upon this world comes an end? '
This question did the knight so venture, one eve when bats circled on air,
Blown as if from out some netherworld, come hither to screech and stare.
' If there be a power so cruel in existence, that frowns on love immortal,
Then I am proud to count myself it’s foe, and would gladly go to a hell. '
Part the Fifth – Spirit of Passion...
It was not long until from Camelot a party came seeking after the knight,
Believing him long lost on some quest, within the wasteland’s arid blight.
At last arriving near the cave over which loomed mountains old and dark,
It’s entrance adorned with pillars decorated by carved entwining dragons.
They heard his voice within, calling forth for them to so leave and depart,
Thinking him a wraith, they decided to investigate, and left their wagons.
' If they come and find us vampires, as we are, they will slay us terribly,
So let us walk into the sunlight, embracing one final time in our dignity. '
Thus spoke the knight to his lady, and they came forth from the darkness,
In full view of the party from Camelot, bursting aflame in the sun’s light.
Leaving those assembled to wonder, at knowing ever after much distress,
Recalling the final embrace of the two vampires laughing in final delight.
- Sylvan Silence -
A Tale of The Supernatural...
There was silence in the sylvan realm, as clouds gathered on high,
And in the primordial seas below, the ancient things did stir anew.
For sorcery was at work in the land, which rational minds oft deny,
Although such powers exist in this world; I have seen them, true!
It was in October, when I set out along an old country road alone,
Not too great a distance from the house I have long called home...
On a night with fog so thick that it seemed of astral mists created,
I found myself drawn towards a nearby park and its' grassy fields.
Not a moment did that fog lift, nor had the chill in the air abated...
But rather it grew like unto a veil, covering the air like thin shields.
And on this otherworldly eve I heard a piercing cry, inhuman shrill,
Yet I could not walk away, for there was within me a primal thrill!
Of a sudden the fog rolled back and in the misty fields I so beheld,
Shadows human in their shapes, yet ethereal in sense and form...
Enacting some scenes from another time, walking where they fell,
Playing at life as children play at growing up in some future morn!
Above them all, a shrill cry like the Banshee of ancient tales told...
Oh, what horrors must have been in those fields in bygone days!
My grandmother told me once of a woman's murder, brutal, cold...
In those very fields it took place, hid from the sun's warmer rays!
The murderers long since gone, justice long since forgotten about,
Before my birth, before my generation, the evil became a legend...
As all who walked where the death was dealt could never doubt,
Were they to see what my eyes beheld, down that country bend!
Haunted fields and spirits in the woods, such is the unseen world,
That exists past the thinnest of veils, in quiet New England towns.
Ghostly ships off the cape, with tattered sails still grimly unfurled...
And animal spirits that enjoy their hunt near native burial mounds.
I have heard tales of demon bears, things that go bump at night...
And things that defy the logic we treasure, seen with other sight.
And so, when sorcery awakens in the land and spirits rise again...
Those like me, with the gift to see, must with such things contend.
When what gods there be use their power, to make us listen well,
In the silence of sylvan meadows sing dark angels fallen from Hell.
Beautiful yet terrible, as all things from the outer darkness can be,
All this and more can await, when you have the heavy gift to see!
A Tale of The Supernatural...
There was silence in the sylvan realm, as clouds gathered on high,
And in the primordial seas below, the ancient things did stir anew.
For sorcery was at work in the land, which rational minds oft deny,
Although such powers exist in this world; I have seen them, true!
It was in October, when I set out along an old country road alone,
Not too great a distance from the house I have long called home...
On a night with fog so thick that it seemed of astral mists created,
I found myself drawn towards a nearby park and its' grassy fields.
Not a moment did that fog lift, nor had the chill in the air abated...
But rather it grew like unto a veil, covering the air like thin shields.
And on this otherworldly eve I heard a piercing cry, inhuman shrill,
Yet I could not walk away, for there was within me a primal thrill!
Of a sudden the fog rolled back and in the misty fields I so beheld,
Shadows human in their shapes, yet ethereal in sense and form...
Enacting some scenes from another time, walking where they fell,
Playing at life as children play at growing up in some future morn!
Above them all, a shrill cry like the Banshee of ancient tales told...
Oh, what horrors must have been in those fields in bygone days!
My grandmother told me once of a woman's murder, brutal, cold...
In those very fields it took place, hid from the sun's warmer rays!
The murderers long since gone, justice long since forgotten about,
Before my birth, before my generation, the evil became a legend...
As all who walked where the death was dealt could never doubt,
Were they to see what my eyes beheld, down that country bend!
Haunted fields and spirits in the woods, such is the unseen world,
That exists past the thinnest of veils, in quiet New England towns.
Ghostly ships off the cape, with tattered sails still grimly unfurled...
And animal spirits that enjoy their hunt near native burial mounds.
I have heard tales of demon bears, things that go bump at night...
And things that defy the logic we treasure, seen with other sight.
And so, when sorcery awakens in the land and spirits rise again...
Those like me, with the gift to see, must with such things contend.
When what gods there be use their power, to make us listen well,
In the silence of sylvan meadows sing dark angels fallen from Hell.
Beautiful yet terrible, as all things from the outer darkness can be,
All this and more can await, when you have the heavy gift to see!
- Necromantic Raising -
A Poem about Dark Sorcery
Oh bloated corpses drowned in the mire…
I call ye forth through my necromantic fire!
The world of man has forgotten my dark…
So come and remind them, heed and hark!
I stand before the marshes where you lie…
Too dead to live, yet far too twisted to die,
Your lungs bubble with mud and water twin,
Mingled together, like mad passion and sin.
Let devils inhabit you, and breathe anew…
Life to the dead, my black power rung true!
Behold as the ebon aura flows forth secure,
Filling vacant sockets, so they see once more.
Come forth my children, reborn in this way,
Avenge your mother and blight the very day!
Necromantic rebirth beneath a Samhain sky,
By the powers of darkness none may deny.
Hear the creaking bones of those long dead,
As the drowned breathe again, out of dread!
They come to their mistress, by the old pact,
Their bones once broken, now again intact…
Death undone, yet so eternal in its’ icy grasp!
Though the drowned breathe, they also rasp.
A hideous crackling sound answers my call,
For they cannot speak, lest madness befall…
Minds long unused to thinking living thought.
Such is the price of this resurrection wrought,
By blackest sorcery like none seen in ages…
Forbidden by old Merlin and all wiser sages.
Yet my will is not bound by their convention,
And this is the eve of my power’s ascension!
There is no name for this spell, for it was lost,
Yet I found it again, as the dead pay the cost.
I soon learn my folly, when the dead do turn,
Seeking my life, for my very blood to yearn…
My children’s souls flee all those watery hosts.
Now the drowned are ruled: by hungry ghosts!
Yet I am not without dark means to so defend,
My ancient will, against foe as well as friend…
So I raise the dark wand unto the midnight air.
The drowned breathe no more, silent to stare!
Their corpses return to the mire whence arisen,
My black arts sealing them in a muddy prison!
Their lungs bubble and spurt and then are dust,
For the necromantic flame did what it so must.
The ravenous spirits have departed to the stars,
As the deep sleep again, until the hour unbars…
The seal that only a higher power may shatter.
I leave them to their rest, content in this matter!
Necromanticam ignis, impius lumen!
Dico vos foras, in hac nocte.
Obedire voluntati meae, per hoc tenebroso ritus!
Necromanticam ignis, mori cum consummasset!
Dico vos foras, constringo vos quoque.
Obedire voluntati meae, et dominari mortuis!
A Poem about Dark Sorcery
Oh bloated corpses drowned in the mire…
I call ye forth through my necromantic fire!
The world of man has forgotten my dark…
So come and remind them, heed and hark!
I stand before the marshes where you lie…
Too dead to live, yet far too twisted to die,
Your lungs bubble with mud and water twin,
Mingled together, like mad passion and sin.
Let devils inhabit you, and breathe anew…
Life to the dead, my black power rung true!
Behold as the ebon aura flows forth secure,
Filling vacant sockets, so they see once more.
Come forth my children, reborn in this way,
Avenge your mother and blight the very day!
Necromantic rebirth beneath a Samhain sky,
By the powers of darkness none may deny.
Hear the creaking bones of those long dead,
As the drowned breathe again, out of dread!
They come to their mistress, by the old pact,
Their bones once broken, now again intact…
Death undone, yet so eternal in its’ icy grasp!
Though the drowned breathe, they also rasp.
A hideous crackling sound answers my call,
For they cannot speak, lest madness befall…
Minds long unused to thinking living thought.
Such is the price of this resurrection wrought,
By blackest sorcery like none seen in ages…
Forbidden by old Merlin and all wiser sages.
Yet my will is not bound by their convention,
And this is the eve of my power’s ascension!
There is no name for this spell, for it was lost,
Yet I found it again, as the dead pay the cost.
I soon learn my folly, when the dead do turn,
Seeking my life, for my very blood to yearn…
My children’s souls flee all those watery hosts.
Now the drowned are ruled: by hungry ghosts!
Yet I am not without dark means to so defend,
My ancient will, against foe as well as friend…
So I raise the dark wand unto the midnight air.
The drowned breathe no more, silent to stare!
Their corpses return to the mire whence arisen,
My black arts sealing them in a muddy prison!
Their lungs bubble and spurt and then are dust,
For the necromantic flame did what it so must.
The ravenous spirits have departed to the stars,
As the deep sleep again, until the hour unbars…
The seal that only a higher power may shatter.
I leave them to their rest, content in this matter!
Necromanticam ignis, impius lumen!
Dico vos foras, in hac nocte.
Obedire voluntati meae, per hoc tenebroso ritus!
Necromanticam ignis, mori cum consummasset!
Dico vos foras, constringo vos quoque.
Obedire voluntati meae, et dominari mortuis!
And speaking of dark sorcery, here is my latest offering, just put up on DUP tonight:
- Memory of Pain -
Based on some of my past-life memories…
“Mortuis aeternam in tenebris habitant.
Quandoque sunt surgent a tenebris!
Sed omnia ad redeundem tenebris.”
Sometimes what we long for we get but cannot keep,
For, fates can be cruel and wicked, prone to sadism…
And the dead do not always remain in an eternal sleep.
We are all subject, to the fates’ ever-changing whims!
I had been a knight of an order secretive and so great:
We were, defenders of our fair land, against all devils.
But I had lost my soul’s mate and couldst only berate,
The fates for such a loss, ere I sought out darker wills!
Snow falling down the heights of the great mountains,
Beyond darkest woods of the land beyond the forests…
Melting in the springtime, water falling like tall fountains:
Upon the cold crags and rocks in an elemental incest.
In autumn those heights witness a different cacophony,
For there the dead who are unquiet come to witness…
The necromantic arts performed with rare blasphemy.
Shall I tell of their rites, their fell depravity to confess?
Blood upon the stones, for always the blood is the life!
Brazier flames, kissing the skulls of they not in graves.
Whilst the sorcerers of the mountains work for strife…
Worshipping old gods that can neither damn nor save.
I came to them in another life, to ask them one favor:
Bring back a maiden I loved, taken by death too fast.
They called up her spirit with awful power and fervor,
But she needed new flesh for the spell to actually last.
“Give us, six days”, they said, “to make this happen.”
And in the cave of the dragon, behind the high falls…
Where water roared down far from sight of Heaven,
I stayed to learn their ways, amidst the earthen walls.
I told them how she perished, a suicide and damned,
Forsaken by church and family and all save myself…
She waited for me in Hell, waited for our command:
To bring her forth like a lost book from an old shelf!
The dark ones didst not tell me their entire evil plan,
Only that my love wouldst walk again in a new form.
Then, no pride of priests could, her pure soul damn!
She wouldst be free to be with me on seventh morn.
A week passed thusly, and I became quite anxious…
Warning the fell necromancers that if they failed me,
I wouldst slay them all, even their spirits so noxious.
Such was my own power, which I used judiciously!
At the midpoint of the week, I swore I heard loud,
The sound of a woman weeping, from the waterfall:
Rising up from the depths to touch a distant cloud…
And, it cast upon my spirits an ever-darkening pall.
If they brought her back wrong, I wouldst ensure…
That, blood flowed upon the water, red evermore!
I wanted my beloved to return perfectly and pure…
Yet, I knew it was folly, I knew it to my very core.
It neared the day and the ritual was fully prepared,
Goats were sacrificed, and skulls were anointed…
Whilst within me a sad voice cried out: “Beware!”
But, soon came the day, and that hour appointed.
I was not allowed in the chamber of the dark rite,
And so I waited outside it expecting some horror.
By the time all was over, it was darkest midnight,
When they led me into the room to receive her…
The woman I had loved and lost, in a new body.
But, it was a young girl of eleven years I beheld,
Not the grown lady who shared my very destiny!
I couldst find no words to speak; there, I knelt…
As a child with my love’s voice sang a sad song:
About perishing in a river, confirming my terrors.
This was she, though such a thing was so wrong!
My love lived again, filling me with great cares…
She lived, and those who raised her from death,
I slaughtered unto the last leaving only she and I!
They thought this all a jest, so I took their breath.
The night was black, moonless under starry sky!
Three wives I had after my first’s untimely end…
Each became mother, to my hell-born daughter.
They knew not, it was she the gods didst send…
Back from the grave, from old earth, and water!
As she grew, she became my first love’s image,
Beautiful and perfect as I had wished her to be:
But one day, a day to fill me with undying rage…
She slipped on some rocks by a river, suddenly.
I tried to save her but the water carried her off,
Too quick to do aught about; I tried to search…
All the length of those fast depths cold and soft!
At last I came to a place near some white birch,
And found her crawling out of the river, bloody,
From striking the rocks below the water so oft:
Her beautiful face pale and battered; alas she…
I held her, in my arms; she sputtered, coughed.
My beloved, my daughter, perished that dusk,
Dying a second time by water, by a cruel fate!
I took her back home and we buried her husk:
My third wife and I said bye to my soul’s mate.
In a twisted irony, the only ones capable of aid,
Who couldst hath brought her back yet again…
I had slain, long before, in that old lonely cave!
All as I had left was her memory, and my pain.
I lived not long after her; a foe didst so behead,
My sorrowful form, not many years following…
And, even to this life, I recall with great dread:
The sorrow, my love’s two deaths, didst bring.
- Memory of Pain -
Based on some of my past-life memories…
“Mortuis aeternam in tenebris habitant.
Quandoque sunt surgent a tenebris!
Sed omnia ad redeundem tenebris.”
Sometimes what we long for we get but cannot keep,
For, fates can be cruel and wicked, prone to sadism…
And the dead do not always remain in an eternal sleep.
We are all subject, to the fates’ ever-changing whims!
I had been a knight of an order secretive and so great:
We were, defenders of our fair land, against all devils.
But I had lost my soul’s mate and couldst only berate,
The fates for such a loss, ere I sought out darker wills!
Snow falling down the heights of the great mountains,
Beyond darkest woods of the land beyond the forests…
Melting in the springtime, water falling like tall fountains:
Upon the cold crags and rocks in an elemental incest.
In autumn those heights witness a different cacophony,
For there the dead who are unquiet come to witness…
The necromantic arts performed with rare blasphemy.
Shall I tell of their rites, their fell depravity to confess?
Blood upon the stones, for always the blood is the life!
Brazier flames, kissing the skulls of they not in graves.
Whilst the sorcerers of the mountains work for strife…
Worshipping old gods that can neither damn nor save.
I came to them in another life, to ask them one favor:
Bring back a maiden I loved, taken by death too fast.
They called up her spirit with awful power and fervor,
But she needed new flesh for the spell to actually last.
“Give us, six days”, they said, “to make this happen.”
And in the cave of the dragon, behind the high falls…
Where water roared down far from sight of Heaven,
I stayed to learn their ways, amidst the earthen walls.
I told them how she perished, a suicide and damned,
Forsaken by church and family and all save myself…
She waited for me in Hell, waited for our command:
To bring her forth like a lost book from an old shelf!
The dark ones didst not tell me their entire evil plan,
Only that my love wouldst walk again in a new form.
Then, no pride of priests could, her pure soul damn!
She wouldst be free to be with me on seventh morn.
A week passed thusly, and I became quite anxious…
Warning the fell necromancers that if they failed me,
I wouldst slay them all, even their spirits so noxious.
Such was my own power, which I used judiciously!
At the midpoint of the week, I swore I heard loud,
The sound of a woman weeping, from the waterfall:
Rising up from the depths to touch a distant cloud…
And, it cast upon my spirits an ever-darkening pall.
If they brought her back wrong, I wouldst ensure…
That, blood flowed upon the water, red evermore!
I wanted my beloved to return perfectly and pure…
Yet, I knew it was folly, I knew it to my very core.
It neared the day and the ritual was fully prepared,
Goats were sacrificed, and skulls were anointed…
Whilst within me a sad voice cried out: “Beware!”
But, soon came the day, and that hour appointed.
I was not allowed in the chamber of the dark rite,
And so I waited outside it expecting some horror.
By the time all was over, it was darkest midnight,
When they led me into the room to receive her…
The woman I had loved and lost, in a new body.
But, it was a young girl of eleven years I beheld,
Not the grown lady who shared my very destiny!
I couldst find no words to speak; there, I knelt…
As a child with my love’s voice sang a sad song:
About perishing in a river, confirming my terrors.
This was she, though such a thing was so wrong!
My love lived again, filling me with great cares…
She lived, and those who raised her from death,
I slaughtered unto the last leaving only she and I!
They thought this all a jest, so I took their breath.
The night was black, moonless under starry sky!
Three wives I had after my first’s untimely end…
Each became mother, to my hell-born daughter.
They knew not, it was she the gods didst send…
Back from the grave, from old earth, and water!
As she grew, she became my first love’s image,
Beautiful and perfect as I had wished her to be:
But one day, a day to fill me with undying rage…
She slipped on some rocks by a river, suddenly.
I tried to save her but the water carried her off,
Too quick to do aught about; I tried to search…
All the length of those fast depths cold and soft!
At last I came to a place near some white birch,
And found her crawling out of the river, bloody,
From striking the rocks below the water so oft:
Her beautiful face pale and battered; alas she…
I held her, in my arms; she sputtered, coughed.
My beloved, my daughter, perished that dusk,
Dying a second time by water, by a cruel fate!
I took her back home and we buried her husk:
My third wife and I said bye to my soul’s mate.
In a twisted irony, the only ones capable of aid,
Who couldst hath brought her back yet again…
I had slain, long before, in that old lonely cave!
All as I had left was her memory, and my pain.
I lived not long after her; a foe didst so behead,
My sorrowful form, not many years following…
And, even to this life, I recall with great dread:
The sorrow, my love’s two deaths, didst bring.
- The Haunted Garden -
Within a garden encircling and fair, beneath an old mount,
By caretakers silent, whose eyes are shrouded, hooded…
Thereupon the fruitful earth, stood a structure like a fount,
The waters of which fed streams in lands thickly wooded.
No angel there did ever alight, nor man of wisdom tread…
Even in the days when still did the sky sparkle, all around.
For black are the banners there, as raised up by the dead,
Who rest not in their carven tombs, nor in the wet ground!
Faded is the cloth, and the sign upon it drives some mad…
Save who have the eyes to regard the image thereon sewn.
Who knows the house that flew it before fortune was bad,
Enough to make the land accursed, despite beauty shown!
No mansion left there now, but broken stones so charred,
As to bespeak of Hell’s own flames, consuming evil entire.
Only the garden and the fount remain, under ghostly guard,
As yet untouched by time and tainted not by long-past fire.
Upon the air, you can still hear the music of cold panpipes,
Playing a fanfare unknown to those who venture there still.
Even when the frost of winter locks fast the land in its’ ice,
The music plays upon all the frosty winds, a melody chill…
To break the hearts of lovers and to bring tears to the eye!
Alas for that domain, for it is lost betwixt many old spaces,
Seldom traveled by man, above which looms an alien sky.
And below that, things flit with terrible half-glimpsed faces!
The roses of the garden bloom, but dust is on every petal…
Tragic and faded as a waning moon, nigh unto cycle’s end.
But lo, the knight who ventures there oft to test his mettle…
May yet, find some good that his heart could comprehend!
He learns best who listens, and there the secret is foretold,
Which is so jealously kept, by the spectral guardians there.
Beneath the shadows, beneath all the wild vines and mold!
Voices call out to the knight: “he succeeds who will dare.”
Drink not of that fount which feeds the streams of gloom…
Lest you never see, the dawn that waits oft to be savored!
Drums in the distance echo thunder, an approaching doom.
Or is it the knight’s heartbeat crying aloud to be delivered?
Yet in a coffin made of glass, he finds the slumbering maid,
Whose tears, once rotted that land yet preserved this spot.
He can only stare at such a wonder, his nerves past afraid,
For not a touch of decay is upon the lady, no trace of rot!
He casts back the lid, hoping to kiss her and break a spell,
But dark is fate, for as his lips meet that of the silent lady…
The thunder resounds, with a force and fury as out of Hell!
And the years begin to ravage the dead maid, vigorously…
Until those cold lips are no more and the knight withdraws,
Disgusted, by his flirtation with a sadly long-dead princess.
Her bones crumble to dust, her slender hands bony claws,
Leaving nothing to recall of her former vision, of loveliness.
Within a garden encircling and fair, beneath an old mount,
By caretakers silent, whose eyes are shrouded, hooded…
Thereupon the fruitful earth, stood a structure like a fount,
The waters of which fed streams in lands thickly wooded.
No angel there did ever alight, nor man of wisdom tread…
Even in the days when still did the sky sparkle, all around.
For black are the banners there, as raised up by the dead,
Who rest not in their carven tombs, nor in the wet ground!
Faded is the cloth, and the sign upon it drives some mad…
Save who have the eyes to regard the image thereon sewn.
Who knows the house that flew it before fortune was bad,
Enough to make the land accursed, despite beauty shown!
No mansion left there now, but broken stones so charred,
As to bespeak of Hell’s own flames, consuming evil entire.
Only the garden and the fount remain, under ghostly guard,
As yet untouched by time and tainted not by long-past fire.
Upon the air, you can still hear the music of cold panpipes,
Playing a fanfare unknown to those who venture there still.
Even when the frost of winter locks fast the land in its’ ice,
The music plays upon all the frosty winds, a melody chill…
To break the hearts of lovers and to bring tears to the eye!
Alas for that domain, for it is lost betwixt many old spaces,
Seldom traveled by man, above which looms an alien sky.
And below that, things flit with terrible half-glimpsed faces!
The roses of the garden bloom, but dust is on every petal…
Tragic and faded as a waning moon, nigh unto cycle’s end.
But lo, the knight who ventures there oft to test his mettle…
May yet, find some good that his heart could comprehend!
He learns best who listens, and there the secret is foretold,
Which is so jealously kept, by the spectral guardians there.
Beneath the shadows, beneath all the wild vines and mold!
Voices call out to the knight: “he succeeds who will dare.”
Drink not of that fount which feeds the streams of gloom…
Lest you never see, the dawn that waits oft to be savored!
Drums in the distance echo thunder, an approaching doom.
Or is it the knight’s heartbeat crying aloud to be delivered?
Yet in a coffin made of glass, he finds the slumbering maid,
Whose tears, once rotted that land yet preserved this spot.
He can only stare at such a wonder, his nerves past afraid,
For not a touch of decay is upon the lady, no trace of rot!
He casts back the lid, hoping to kiss her and break a spell,
But dark is fate, for as his lips meet that of the silent lady…
The thunder resounds, with a force and fury as out of Hell!
And the years begin to ravage the dead maid, vigorously…
Until those cold lips are no more and the knight withdraws,
Disgusted, by his flirtation with a sadly long-dead princess.
Her bones crumble to dust, her slender hands bony claws,
Leaving nothing to recall of her former vision, of loveliness.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
The White Flag of Surrender
A white figure I swear I could see
On a night so foggy
Like the white flag of surrender
Floating comfortably
I can only meet with such fright
Could you ever expect delight?
When fear creeps into your heart
You close off the window to start
You block out the visions that cause you this pain
Now it can only be met with acceptance
Leaving me utterly breathless
Never again shall I find
Something that touches my mind
Like The White Flag of Surrender
A white figure I swear I could see
On a night so foggy
Like the white flag of surrender
Floating comfortably
I can only meet with such fright
Could you ever expect delight?
When fear creeps into your heart
You close off the window to start
You block out the visions that cause you this pain
Now it can only be met with acceptance
Leaving me utterly breathless
Never again shall I find
Something that touches my mind
Like The White Flag of Surrender
.:The Dirty One:.
yes,
indeed
it's Hollow’s Eve
that
yearly treat
when we receive
our date
is here
ten-thirty-one
our
best friend?
The
Dirty One
anxious
mates before we dig
earth removed
we dance
a jig
pull
her head
right out that grave
reanimate
she acts as slave
pressured
cheek bones
nice & slow
that’s
for sure
gets the flow
aftermath
about midnight
place
her head
repack it tight
nice time
had us right
refilled
her grave
then said goodnight
another
year, Halloween
boy
oh boy
we love
this scene
http://8020.photos.jpgmag.com/3382462_164316_d64b00bda8_l.jpg
...
photo: nuno benavente
