Submissions by darkvampire
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
DARK POEM
Published
18th Jun 2011 2:36pm
18th Jun 2011 2:36pm
I wait alone
I wait alone for my lover
I wait upon my bed
the nights are oh so lonely
and the world is full of dread.
my lover’s eyes were sorrowful
my lover’s flesh was warm
I swore I’d be her refuge
and keep her from all harm
the dealer came like anthrax
the dealer’s flesh was cold
he swore he’d be her refuge
and stop her growing old
the dealer he was beautiful
he played her with his tune
he showed her tricks and bits and then
he showed her how to use
first she met the dragon
she smelt his foetid breath
then, impaled upon the...
I wait upon my bed
the nights are oh so lonely
and the world is full of dread.
my lover’s eyes were sorrowful
my lover’s flesh was warm
I swore I’d be her refuge
and keep her from all harm
the dealer came like anthrax
the dealer’s flesh was cold
he swore he’d be her refuge
and stop her growing old
the dealer he was beautiful
he played her with his tune
he showed her tricks and bits and then
he showed her how to use
first she met the dragon
she smelt his foetid breath
then, impaled upon the...
917 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
17th Jun 2011 7:22pm
17th Jun 2011 7:22pm
Pornography is good for you
1079 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
7th Jun 2011 10:09pm
7th Jun 2011 10:09pm
bitch
through the crisp
and
percolating
mists
stealthily she
steals.
she knows these
streets
like her own
vagina.
past the gin-
shops
and the piles of
dead rags
begging for
yesterday's
meal
she glides like a
nun
her hand resting on
the coins in her
pocket
as though she were
smothering a
child.
she knows
where to find her
pimp;
where he
broods
in the
darkness.
she has ever
served
him
but last night
sliced
through her
love
like the ...
and
percolating
mists
stealthily she
steals.
she knows these
streets
like her own
vagina.
past the gin-
shops
and the piles of
dead rags
begging for
yesterday's
meal
she glides like a
nun
her hand resting on
the coins in her
as though she were
smothering a
child.
she knows
where to find her
pimp;
where he
broods
in the
darkness.
she has ever
served
him
but last night
sliced
through her
love
like the ...
809 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2011 1:15pm
2nd Jun 2011 1:15pm
I Have Waited
I have waited in the corners
Of dark corridors so long
That my hopes there’d be an answer
Have turned out so very wrong.
I have lingered in cold tunnels
Where black rats disport at night
And where moted airs recall the
Cruciality of light.
I have pondered over many
Tomes that gather ancient dust
’Neath the shades of pitted sword-points
And other monuments of rust.
When the air grows pale with laughter
From the throats of ragged crows
“How dare I write on parchment
And my views on them impose?”
Come, let’s travel on together...
Of dark corridors so long
That my hopes there’d be an answer
Have turned out so very wrong.
I have lingered in cold tunnels
Where black rats disport at night
And where moted airs recall the
Cruciality of light.
I have pondered over many
Tomes that gather ancient dust
’Neath the shades of pitted sword-points
And other monuments of rust.
When the air grows pale with laughter
From the throats of ragged crows
“How dare I write on parchment
And my views on them impose?”
Come, let’s travel on together...
688 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2011 1:11pm
2nd Jun 2011 1:11pm
Is Rhyming Dead?
Is rhyming dead? And is it thus that all
Who write in ancient forms should be accursed?
And are they right who tell us they're appalled
By poets whose sad verses, long or terse
Insist upon the dragging out of feet,
Trochaic or iambic, by the score?
And should we cease to listen to the beat
Of archaic bards who dwell beyond Time's door?
But nay, I'll none of that; 'twould be a curse.
By He who dwelleth in Heav'n's golden halls
We'll swipe the mad proponents of free-verse
And grab those silly jesters by their balls.
If this shall not...
Who write in ancient forms should be accursed?
And are they right who tell us they're appalled
By poets whose sad verses, long or terse
Insist upon the dragging out of feet,
Trochaic or iambic, by the score?
And should we cease to listen to the beat
Of archaic bards who dwell beyond Time's door?
But nay, I'll none of that; 'twould be a curse.
By He who dwelleth in Heav'n's golden halls
We'll swipe the mad proponents of free-verse
And grab those silly jesters by their balls.
If this shall not...
875 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
23rd May 2011 1:39pm
23rd May 2011 1:39pm
true love
you
burrow
into
my
flesh
and
crawl along my
spine,
tenaciously
tearing
tunnels through
my
body,
like
some
demented
scabies
mite.
I
am wholly
infested
by
you.
the
passageways and dark
caves
inside me
where
you
live
are
decaying
mansions
light-less
and
rank:
in their dark
recesses
scavengers
prowl,
voraciously
consuming
everything
that
lives,
their
pincers piercing
even
the thickest...
burrow
into
my
flesh
and
crawl along my
spine,
tenaciously
tearing
tunnels through
my
body,
like
some
demented
scabies
mite.
I
am wholly
infested
by
you.
the
passageways and dark
caves
inside me
where
you
live
are
decaying
mansions
light-less
and
rank:
in their dark
recesses
scavengers
prowl,
voraciously
consuming
everything
that
lives,
their
pincers piercing
even
the thickest...
1034 reads
8 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
11th May 2011 9:56pm
11th May 2011 9:56pm
They're Coming For You...a humorous look at mental illness
when you only see black
like you live in a sack
and you just can’t get on track
they’re coming for you
when your mind’s all on fire
and you’re choking on wire
getting higher and higher
they’re coming for you
when your brain’s in a haze
and you stare for days and days
unblinking at the sun’s rays
they’re coming for you
when your TV talks to you
cos there is nothing else to do
and your mind’s turning to glue
they’re coming for you
when you cut into your skin
with a sharp knife or a pin ...
like you live in a sack
and you just can’t get on track
they’re coming for you
when your mind’s all on fire
and you’re choking on wire
getting higher and higher
they’re coming for you
when your brain’s in a haze
and you stare for days and days
unblinking at the sun’s rays
they’re coming for you
when your TV talks to you
cos there is nothing else to do
and your mind’s turning to glue
they’re coming for you
when you cut into your skin
with a sharp knife or a pin ...
764 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
11th May 2011 9:41pm
11th May 2011 9:41pm
abortion
It’s not lonely
here inside
it’s where I abide
the place that I know,
where I’m safe
to reside
I’ve been here
all my life.
Familiar sounds
heart beating
mother’s breathing
eating
and drinking
I live in water
but I don’t drown
in here
it’s where
I’ve grown
where I’m safe.
Music
appears
comes from Outside
words I don’t understand.
My hand, my face
it’s my Land,
it’s everywhere
I know,
I’m so small
but I’m loved
by...
here inside
it’s where I abide
the place that I know,
where I’m safe
to reside
I’ve been here
all my life.
Familiar sounds
heart beating
mother’s breathing
eating
and drinking
I live in water
but I don’t drown
in here
it’s where
I’ve grown
where I’m safe.
Music
appears
comes from Outside
words I don’t understand.
My hand, my face
it’s my Land,
it’s everywhere
I know,
I’m so small
but I’m loved
by...
743 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th May 2011 00:03am
8th May 2011 00:03am
disintegration
I walk under
night’s black
cupola.
those dark
wings
trouble me no
more
with their
interminable
flapping,
for they
are a
part of me
now.
madness fills me
like a penetrating
fog,
irrevocable and
determined;
or like some voracious
beast
that scours my mind’s
recesses for the
light.
I drown in
pain
and I am
alone
night’s black
cupola.
those dark
wings
trouble me no
more
with their
interminable
flapping,
for they
are a
part of me
now.
madness fills me
like a penetrating
fog,
irrevocable and
determined;
or like some voracious
beast
that scours my mind’s
recesses for the
light.
I drown in
pain
and I am
alone
757 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
8th May 2011 00:01am
8th May 2011 00:01am
sinner
I lie
supine
on the
ruffled sheet
naked as a
segment of
fruit
exposed as
the eggs of a
murdered
bird
soft breasts
gently rising and
falling
to my barely audible
breath.
yet deep
within, the
beast
lies:
voracious,
foul,
murderous
and
grim.
it takes only my
waking
to arouse the sleeping
monster
sadistic
cruel
and filled with
hatred
maternal instincts
dead.
born in the
light,
Night is the
dark avatar
to which I
cling
Belial...
supine
on the
ruffled sheet
naked as a
segment of
fruit
exposed as
the eggs of a
murdered
bird
soft breasts
gently rising and
falling
to my barely audible
breath.
yet deep
within, the
beast
lies:
voracious,
foul,
murderous
and
grim.
it takes only my
waking
to arouse the sleeping
monster
sadistic
cruel
and filled with
hatred
maternal instincts
dead.
born in the
light,
Night is the
dark avatar
to which I
cling
Belial...
781 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
5th May 2011 7:38pm
5th May 2011 7:38pm
the letter
I wrote you a
letter
it sits on my
pillow
like some
exhausted
whore
the words curl
around each
other
like
flaccid snakes
lifeless
and
imbecilic.
the corners
turn up,
their desire for
me
spent;
dry exploring tongues,
they
merely mimic
passion.
the signature
is the only
living
bit:
passionate, wet
and
gasping for
air
like some strange
sacred
fish
or a
man
who knows too
late
that he is to
die.
letter
it sits on my
pillow
like some
exhausted
whore
the words curl
around each
other
like
flaccid snakes
lifeless
and
imbecilic.
the corners
turn up,
their desire for
me
spent;
dry exploring tongues,
they
merely mimic
passion.
the signature
is the only
living
bit:
passionate, wet
and
gasping for
air
like some strange
sacred
fish
or a
man
who knows too
late
that he is to
die.
799 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
5th May 2011 2:51pm
5th May 2011 2:51pm
trains
trains are my
favourite
deities;
sleek and smoothly
metallic
they sin
gloriously
with their
stuttering masculine
power.
how I long for
that
uncertain
taking of
me
aggressive yet
controlled.
how wanted that
penetration
would make me
feel,
more than all the
promises
of deceitful
men
whose lies
murder love and often then
turn around and kill it once again.
favourite
deities;
sleek and smoothly
metallic
they sin
gloriously
with their
stuttering masculine
power.
how I long for
that
uncertain
taking of
me
aggressive yet
controlled.
how wanted that
penetration
would make me
feel,
more than all the
promises
of deceitful
men
whose lies
murder love and often then
turn around and kill it once again.
746 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by darkvampire
