Poetry competition CLOSED 12th May 2016 5:50pm
WINNER
HadesRising
HadesRising
RUNNER-UP:
crimsin
~ LUCIFERNAL
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/125239.jpg
IN THE NAME OF LUCIFER
Based on the life of Gilles de Rais
He was such an innocent little man
One of such nobility in all of the land,
Take from his vaults, give to the poor,
The highest of esteem among the lords.
Nights of joys held at his estate,
Keeping little children up too late.
A wonderland full of joys
A fantasy full of toys.
He came to them in a silk red robe
And the keys of his humble abode.
Chocolate candies line his pockets
For only the joys of his rocket.
“Tell no one, little one, of our game
Or there will be a price to pay.”
For decades it continued like this,
Childish giggles and orgasmic bliss.
Perverted games played beyond the moat
Hundreds of innocents forced under his coat.
But too soon the perversions turned too great
And deeds in his mind gone and sealed their fate.
A wonderland not what it seems
A fantasy full of little screams.
In the name of darkness, a sacrifice,
A chorus of crying laments in the night.
Parents never learned of the Count
Never heard a voice, not even a sound.
Once every night necrophilia begins anew
Pounding the dead bodies of those he slew.
All of this in the name of Lucifer,
A promise of sacred secret splendors.
Sadistic games of swinging ropes,
Endless slave children forced upon the goat.
Lacerations peeling virgin skin,
Music in the night of the screams that rent.
A wonderland to take your breath
A fantasy full of death.
Past the doors lit by the moon
Is a cellar filled with doom.
Hundreds of children wrapped in shrouds,
That came from the farms and towns.
Parents desperately trying to find
Their way into the predator’s mind.
Clues compiled that lead to the truth
Seeking vengeance now seems moot.
Townsfolk gather with burning torches
Came eventually to the Lord’s porches.
Dragged him off into the night
And set his estates alight.
A wonderland full of blood
A fantasy of his knees in the mud.
(c) 2013 Frank Green
IN THE NAME OF LUCIFER
Based on the life of Gilles de Rais
He was such an innocent little man
One of such nobility in all of the land,
Take from his vaults, give to the poor,
The highest of esteem among the lords.
Nights of joys held at his estate,
Keeping little children up too late.
A wonderland full of joys
A fantasy full of toys.
He came to them in a silk red robe
And the keys of his humble abode.
Chocolate candies line his pockets
For only the joys of his rocket.
“Tell no one, little one, of our game
Or there will be a price to pay.”
For decades it continued like this,
Childish giggles and orgasmic bliss.
Perverted games played beyond the moat
Hundreds of innocents forced under his coat.
But too soon the perversions turned too great
And deeds in his mind gone and sealed their fate.
A wonderland not what it seems
A fantasy full of little screams.
In the name of darkness, a sacrifice,
A chorus of crying laments in the night.
Parents never learned of the Count
Never heard a voice, not even a sound.
Once every night necrophilia begins anew
Pounding the dead bodies of those he slew.
All of this in the name of Lucifer,
A promise of sacred secret splendors.
Sadistic games of swinging ropes,
Endless slave children forced upon the goat.
Lacerations peeling virgin skin,
Music in the night of the screams that rent.
A wonderland to take your breath
A fantasy full of death.
Past the doors lit by the moon
Is a cellar filled with doom.
Hundreds of children wrapped in shrouds,
That came from the farms and towns.
Parents desperately trying to find
Their way into the predator’s mind.
Clues compiled that lead to the truth
Seeking vengeance now seems moot.
Townsfolk gather with burning torches
Came eventually to the Lord’s porches.
Dragged him off into the night
And set his estates alight.
A wonderland full of blood
A fantasy of his knees in the mud.
(c) 2013 Frank Green
הֵילֵל GROOMED FOR LUCIFER הֵילֵל
The old church, with peeling & loose clapboards,
cracked stained glass, leaning spire with
winged figure atop, bowed, as if in mourning,
was a sorrowing place, with pall of tears,
warped in the constant screech & clicks of cicada,
surrounded by swamp and marshland, hidden
in willow and twisted gnarled oak overgrown.
She was a girl of no description, given the lexicon
of her short life up until then that merely droned on
in a maze of black arts that had consumed the
sanctity and sanctuary of what once was the
pierced heart of Christ; cohabitants meant to exist
in the atmosphere of Venus, the body and light of
Lucifer, before the casting out.
Inside the groaning structure, once a time long ago,
hallowed by sharecropper families in the county for
celebrations of their faith, their weddings, baptisms,
and their farewells of both beloved and scoundrels,
a slight and singular girl was a ward of the exalted
archangel, once second only to God's own son.
The chosen had chosen.
Within narrow cupboard beneath a stairway was
her only place, her haven, while each night
when the dead would make their way up toward
a distant light, she couldn't see; no one let her.
The outcast host of heaven's angels who had been
relegated to groveling under the feet of Vulgate,
were pathetic and envious, and mocked the girl
clad in ritual garb that never covered her modesty:
they'd make her pack their bags,
and wash their feet before the dead could ascend,
wrapped in torn strips of white raiment.
But where do they go? They never come back,
so what good would it do to cling to hope.
As hopeless as she felt were her chances to be free,
the plight she thought had befallen the sallow,
sunken and bowed walking dead,
with always more passing through,
had no hope left for them.
She'd tuck her slight body into her slight room
in despair and try to dream, where out of the mists,
Hope would always appear, to take her hand
and ease her heart and soul; Hope came to her
as a gentle-faced man, as Lucifer once was.
He was erect and imposing, with beautiful wings
that furled and reflected when he approached.
The shadows of her prison would taunt her when
Hope came, and pulled her long hair to drag her
out of the cupboard, howling their foul breath,
filling the room, telling her that she would meet
her doom: doom, she thought, was what she had
already been sentenced to.
On this night, as the girl cleansed the dead and
wrapped their bodies for their journey that she
yearned to know, it came to her to try and disguise
herself as one of them; to blend in and join the
many going up the staircase.
She feared the ritual that the guardians pressed her
into anytime the satanic mood set in like a fog of
faint red aglow that would seep through the rafters,
the doors and floors, making every timber and
plank creak and shiver, with a deep deep moan of
death's angelic choir to accompany the orgy
of her grooming for Lucifer's sadistic pleasure.
Anything the guardians did to her was a picnic
compared to what laid in store once she would
be given over to his Queen Lilith, who would
be the one to present the girl to her Lord.
She saw the chance to set her plan into action
while there was a moment's break,
and quickly pulled off her ritual garb, stood
shivering in a shallow pan and poured a pitcher
of cold water on her nakedness, then sat in the
pan with a rag and washes clean her feet.
Once she finished the ablutions, she stood,
stepped out and rubbed herself dry,
her heart pounding in her throat, her breath
rasping from her mouth.
Her time was short as the dead that she had
prepared were in a listless line about to leave.
Her body quaked as she wrapped wads of torn
strips of white cloth around herself,
making certain her face was covered,
with slits left open to see through.
The line of dead had begun to make its way
up the stairs that sagged and groaned,
and the girl held onto the rickety railing to
steady herself, so nervous and frightened was she.
She kept between two of the walking dead,
so pitiful and wan, in an attempt to keep the
shadow guardians from spying her in her escape.
She noticed that the darkness was starting to
grow less so, and peered through the bandages
looked up the stairs between the shuffling bodies.
It was eventide, with half a waxing moon at its
peak in the night cycle, and the air's subtle chill
was bracing and crisp, and smelled so fresh,
reminding her how putrid it was down below.
It was all she could do not to bolt free suddenly
with only a few more steps to go.
The ones ahead were out on the roof, and each
began to rise up until they were all spread out in
lines of pale moonlight ascending
both high and low in all directions.
The girl was mesmerized while standing at the
base of the old bent spire, watching the rest
emerge from the top of the staircase,
out onto the roof, and float away.
It was beautiful. They were free.
The girl quickly put her hands to her bandaged face;
she couldn't follow, she wasn't dead,
she'd be found out!
What to do, where to go?, her thoughts jumped out
her ears as she spun round and round in place.
She looked at the ground below, it was too far to jump.
She turned and looked up above at the mournful
bowing angel with wings outspread.
She kept her eyes wide on the angel, with a brave look,
as she tried to climb the spire.
"There's my Hope!" she cried out, "My only Hope!",
digging her fingers in, her bare feet scrambling.
She was at the spire's bend and couldn't go further;
all she could do was look up at the statue's
placid face and pray:
"Dear Lord, I'm your unworthy lamb gone astray,
please save me and I'll serve you all of my life..."
But before she could finish and say "Amen",
the angel's eyes lit up bright red,
tilted its head with a sickening crunch,
grinned a shark-toothed maw at her and growled,
"Oh I'll save you, all right, the best for last!
You'll serve me well till I say DIE!"
And the choir could be heard in eerie harmonies:
the orchids of her sallow flesh
so soft and pliable,
from fallow rot of bitch's creche,
death is a harlot's friend
death is a harlot's friend
Copyright ©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved
The old church, with peeling & loose clapboards,
cracked stained glass, leaning spire with
winged figure atop, bowed, as if in mourning,
was a sorrowing place, with pall of tears,
warped in the constant screech & clicks of cicada,
surrounded by swamp and marshland, hidden
in willow and twisted gnarled oak overgrown.
She was a girl of no description, given the lexicon
of her short life up until then that merely droned on
in a maze of black arts that had consumed the
sanctity and sanctuary of what once was the
pierced heart of Christ; cohabitants meant to exist
in the atmosphere of Venus, the body and light of
Lucifer, before the casting out.
Inside the groaning structure, once a time long ago,
hallowed by sharecropper families in the county for
celebrations of their faith, their weddings, baptisms,
and their farewells of both beloved and scoundrels,
a slight and singular girl was a ward of the exalted
archangel, once second only to God's own son.
The chosen had chosen.
Within narrow cupboard beneath a stairway was
her only place, her haven, while each night
when the dead would make their way up toward
a distant light, she couldn't see; no one let her.
The outcast host of heaven's angels who had been
relegated to groveling under the feet of Vulgate,
were pathetic and envious, and mocked the girl
clad in ritual garb that never covered her modesty:
they'd make her pack their bags,
and wash their feet before the dead could ascend,
wrapped in torn strips of white raiment.
But where do they go? They never come back,
so what good would it do to cling to hope.
As hopeless as she felt were her chances to be free,
the plight she thought had befallen the sallow,
sunken and bowed walking dead,
with always more passing through,
had no hope left for them.
She'd tuck her slight body into her slight room
in despair and try to dream, where out of the mists,
Hope would always appear, to take her hand
and ease her heart and soul; Hope came to her
as a gentle-faced man, as Lucifer once was.
He was erect and imposing, with beautiful wings
that furled and reflected when he approached.
The shadows of her prison would taunt her when
Hope came, and pulled her long hair to drag her
out of the cupboard, howling their foul breath,
filling the room, telling her that she would meet
her doom: doom, she thought, was what she had
already been sentenced to.
On this night, as the girl cleansed the dead and
wrapped their bodies for their journey that she
yearned to know, it came to her to try and disguise
herself as one of them; to blend in and join the
many going up the staircase.
She feared the ritual that the guardians pressed her
into anytime the satanic mood set in like a fog of
faint red aglow that would seep through the rafters,
the doors and floors, making every timber and
plank creak and shiver, with a deep deep moan of
death's angelic choir to accompany the orgy
of her grooming for Lucifer's sadistic pleasure.
Anything the guardians did to her was a picnic
compared to what laid in store once she would
be given over to his Queen Lilith, who would
be the one to present the girl to her Lord.
She saw the chance to set her plan into action
while there was a moment's break,
and quickly pulled off her ritual garb, stood
shivering in a shallow pan and poured a pitcher
of cold water on her nakedness, then sat in the
pan with a rag and washes clean her feet.
Once she finished the ablutions, she stood,
stepped out and rubbed herself dry,
her heart pounding in her throat, her breath
rasping from her mouth.
Her time was short as the dead that she had
prepared were in a listless line about to leave.
Her body quaked as she wrapped wads of torn
strips of white cloth around herself,
making certain her face was covered,
with slits left open to see through.
The line of dead had begun to make its way
up the stairs that sagged and groaned,
and the girl held onto the rickety railing to
steady herself, so nervous and frightened was she.
She kept between two of the walking dead,
so pitiful and wan, in an attempt to keep the
shadow guardians from spying her in her escape.
She noticed that the darkness was starting to
grow less so, and peered through the bandages
looked up the stairs between the shuffling bodies.
It was eventide, with half a waxing moon at its
peak in the night cycle, and the air's subtle chill
was bracing and crisp, and smelled so fresh,
reminding her how putrid it was down below.
It was all she could do not to bolt free suddenly
with only a few more steps to go.
The ones ahead were out on the roof, and each
began to rise up until they were all spread out in
lines of pale moonlight ascending
both high and low in all directions.
The girl was mesmerized while standing at the
base of the old bent spire, watching the rest
emerge from the top of the staircase,
out onto the roof, and float away.
It was beautiful. They were free.
The girl quickly put her hands to her bandaged face;
she couldn't follow, she wasn't dead,
she'd be found out!
What to do, where to go?, her thoughts jumped out
her ears as she spun round and round in place.
She looked at the ground below, it was too far to jump.
She turned and looked up above at the mournful
bowing angel with wings outspread.
She kept her eyes wide on the angel, with a brave look,
as she tried to climb the spire.
"There's my Hope!" she cried out, "My only Hope!",
digging her fingers in, her bare feet scrambling.
She was at the spire's bend and couldn't go further;
all she could do was look up at the statue's
placid face and pray:
"Dear Lord, I'm your unworthy lamb gone astray,
please save me and I'll serve you all of my life..."
But before she could finish and say "Amen",
the angel's eyes lit up bright red,
tilted its head with a sickening crunch,
grinned a shark-toothed maw at her and growled,
"Oh I'll save you, all right, the best for last!
You'll serve me well till I say DIE!"
And the choir could be heard in eerie harmonies:
the orchids of her sallow flesh
so soft and pliable,
from fallow rot of bitch's creche,
death is a harlot's friend
death is a harlot's friend
Copyright ©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved
Anonymous
Competition is currently being Judged by me and two other DU members. . .Will have Winner announced soon
! ~Devlin.
Anonymous
First things first. . .a big THANK YOU to all who entered. . .but, and unfortunately, there can only be one to take the Trophy, and again it was a unanimous decision. . .so, CONGRATS to HadesRising for his INVISUS LUCIFERIUM. . .Miss Crim 1st Runner~up for Hell's Orgies!. . .Anarchitect 2nd Runner~up for Into the Lucifernace. . .and lastly, Miss Vixen an Honorable Mention for Lucifer's Fall. . .all stellar pieces
! SatansSperm & dejure. . .It was a great honor to have you both judging this comp alongside me. . .so, Thank You both
. SatansSperm:
INVISUS LUCIFERIUM - first place...Hades
HELL'S ORGIES ! second place...crimson
Into the Lucifernace third....Anarchitect
dejure:
1. Invisus Luciferium - Hades
2. He'll's Orgies - Crimsin
3. Lucifer's Fall - Vixen
Devlin:
Hell's Orgies ~ Miss Crim
INVISUS LUCIFERIUM ~ HadesRising
Into the Lucifernace ~ Anarchitect
Anonymous
Wowzers! I almost won a comp? THANKS judges for even considering me!!!
Huzzah to Hades and Crimsies!
Huzzah to Hades and Crimsies!
This is definately a wonderful surprise. Thank you, Devil-lyn, for such an infernally delightful comp and thank you Satan and dejure for helping judge. Congrats to lovely Lady Crim and Anarchitect! Sinful entries all around, you all have made the devil proud.
