Submissions by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write poetry on a range of subjects and in a range of styles. My privacy is extremely important to me, though I hope that you enjoy my work and that I enjoy yours.
DARK POEM
Published
12th Oct 2021 11:31pm
12th Oct 2021 11:31pm
1930s Double Feature
Please take your seats and do not have nightmares.
God will keep these phantoms black and white.
I
The Vampire Bat (1933)
Let me take you back in time
and place, to a town
with sloping rooves
and cased windows.
It’s always night,
and black-and-white.
A woman cries out,
in lamplight.
A doctor seeks to find
eternal youth
in bodies drained by what
crawls on those rooves.
And sneaks in by a cased window.
A bat whom only Hell can know.
II
White Zombie...
God will keep these phantoms black and white.
I
The Vampire Bat (1933)
Let me take you back in time
and place, to a town
with sloping rooves
and cased windows.
It’s always night,
and black-and-white.
A woman cries out,
in lamplight.
A doctor seeks to find
eternal youth
in bodies drained by what
crawls on those rooves.
And sneaks in by a cased window.
A bat whom only Hell can know.
II
White Zombie...
#scary
#monsters
#PopCulture #historical
#PopCulture #historical
465 reads
1 Comment
EROTIC POEM
Published
9th Oct 2021 11:43pm
9th Oct 2021 11:43pm
Icons
Kurt Russell was one of those movie icons
who made me realise I was queer.
Everyone likes a rough bastard
from time to time. (I do, at least).
And as a young man
I'd go loose in the knees
reflecting on his rough, stubbled,
and whiskey’d kiss.
who made me realise I was queer.
Everyone likes a rough bastard
from time to time. (I do, at least).
And as a young man
I'd go loose in the knees
reflecting on his rough, stubbled,
and whiskey’d kiss.
#gay
#PopCulture
#sexy #apathy
#sexy #apathy
660 reads
5 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
8th Oct 2021 2:38pm
8th Oct 2021 2:38pm
Learning to Love While Queer
How many times were you told that
it would destroy you? Tear you up
like a tissue in a toilet bowl.
It could never be loving, beautiful,
or even enjoyed. To be sought
like a drug in a bar’s backroom,
another draught from a whiskey bottle
kept locked in an office drawer.
A vice. Something to wreck your liver with.
I ask that you seek love before you die.
To kiss, to give, to take, to cry,
in ecstasy both animal
and divine. And see that what
your parents taught was just an obstacle.
it would destroy you? Tear you up
like a tissue in a toilet bowl.
It could never be loving, beautiful,
or even enjoyed. To be sought
like a drug in a bar’s backroom,
another draught from a whiskey bottle
kept locked in an office drawer.
A vice. Something to wreck your liver with.
I ask that you seek love before you die.
To kiss, to give, to take, to cry,
in ecstasy both animal
and divine. And see that what
your parents taught was just an obstacle.
#love
#gay
#sex #LGBT
#sex #LGBT
396 reads
1 Comment
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
6th Oct 2021 1:32pm
6th Oct 2021 1:32pm
Goddess in a Clown Suit
on listening to the album Seventh Tree
The harlequin of discotheque.
Mischievous and sensual.
Cavorts with giant owls, baroque
and russet-curled. Anarchical
without an ideology,
as utterly serene
in green insanity
as -eval glens and glades. The London clown
wears leather boots, a pirate's hat,
and sings to seven trees, of seventh sons.
Anatomy is fraught. Tradition rent.
Druidic priestess of the marsh,
a pagan goddess drawing near.
Her clownery is cellular.
The harlequin of discotheque.
Mischievous and sensual.
Cavorts with giant owls, baroque
and russet-curled. Anarchical
without an ideology,
as utterly serene
in green insanity
as -eval glens and glades. The London clown
wears leather boots, a pirate's hat,
and sings to seven trees, of seventh sons.
Anatomy is fraught. Tradition rent.
Druidic priestess of the marsh,
a pagan goddess drawing near.
Her clownery is cellular.
#nature
#music
#pagan #Britain
#pagan #Britain
310 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
5th Oct 2021 6:33am
5th Oct 2021 6:33am
The Comeuppance
The MP stood aside to let the police in. He said that he’d found her after turning up for a dinner date (not romantic, he stressed. Purely business. We just needed to compare notes on an upcoming event) and finding her door open. He walked in, calling her name. He could tell that something was off, but he was a decent guy and couldn’t just turn around and leave. And then he found her. Swinging from a bizarre contraption in her bedroom. It was like a cross between a sex swing and an interrogation device from the Inquisition.
Several detectives paled on seeing the aftermath. One...
Several detectives paled on seeing the aftermath. One...
#murder
#BDSM
#ghosts #ShortStory
#ghosts #ShortStory
392 reads
2 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2021 6:43pm
4th Oct 2021 6:43pm
Pagan
We fall in many bodies, many times.
Outside the Christian faith, the tower chimes
our deaths, but also our rebirths.
We do not sing dirges,
nor proceed in black garments, cross
the squares or streets with gold aloft.
As graveyards gather damp and moss.
We sing to dance, we laugh, we croft...
We share and love our bodies like
they weren't just an old man's mistake.
As if the rotten dike of time
must be observed always, to never slake
a human heart. Which is,
when all's been said, a reddish blade of grass.
Outside the Christian faith, the tower chimes
our deaths, but also our rebirths.
We do not sing dirges,
nor proceed in black garments, cross
the squares or streets with gold aloft.
As graveyards gather damp and moss.
We sing to dance, we laugh, we croft...
We share and love our bodies like
they weren't just an old man's mistake.
As if the rotten dike of time
must be observed always, to never slake
a human heart. Which is,
when all's been said, a reddish blade of grass.
#religion
#Christian
#spiritual #pagan
#spiritual #pagan
517 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
4th Oct 2021 6:14pm
The Evolution of the Christian Church
The church is cold and empty in
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
its blank modernity. The sin
has been washed out and autumn leaves
put in its place. From floor to eaves
it's been whitewashed, the church.
And God's facsimile, to teach
the truth of sacrifice with splintered cross,
is gone. Replaced with varnished lines. Amass,
and sing to what is left.
If anything was there at all. Bereft
of barbaristic faith,
we carry on with bake sales, the laith.
The British symbols cherished by
a world wanting gentility.
#religion
#Christian
#faith #historical
#faith #historical
357 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
