Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.
She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied
Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably,
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by
One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew
Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…
-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
It always happened on a Monday
Sudden sleep paralysis,sudden lucid dreaming
His paralyzed frame in its throes of sleep
The man suddenly free to roam the midnight
He always dressed the part
A red velvet shirt, favourite fedora,
Shiny black shoes, shiny like Monday mirrors
His dream in surreal black shine
And a trench coat for the cold night
Slung loose over his loosed soul
Floating out through his locked door
He always bumped into his cat
Fast asleep in his hallway
Heading out, the neighbours VW beetle
Parked badly always
The neighbours were always midnight hollering
His loneliness of midnight always calling
He was always drawn to that lone street corner
Where he watched her from the shadow of souls
Where she always stood as if waiting for something
In awkward red heels, a tight micro mini dress
Blowing bubble gum bubbles and cigarette smoke bubbles
A skilled blower of bubbles, blown like the dreams
She had once known
She worked a hard hustle, of brief love muscles,
For men in cars of muscle, brief interludes for brief bread
For rolled up dolls of Mary Jane
That took off the edge and numbed the pain
She felt like a dolled up rolled up Mary Jane
Used for some brief high, then snuffed.
Maybe she should try some meth
Or maybe some stronger pain
He always saw the pain, broken, glassy eyed,
A scarred pretty made up doll face
A stranger in a strange corner
In a strange city like a rat cornered
A strange man always approached
In shiny glassy black shoes, a trench coat
And a shirt of velvet red,
And dressed in the darkness of midnight,
Of lonely sleepless nights,
Of chills of a lonely Monday night
There was always a brief haggle
"Honey I'll give you all the lovin' you want,
Just don't be too little,
A girl has many needs you know",
As she winked between bubble gum bubbles
The strange man would always laugh
And hold her by the waist,
He owned her for the moment,
As he led her to the nightly lodging
The shadow watcher watched the two,
And then followed within the shadows of souls,
Taking in the midnight stench
To the nightly lodging of eternal longings
As the strange man led her to his musty room,
Which was always to a corner room, a corner cubicle prison,
A nightly cell for the nocturnal sojourner
He followed them, stomach knotting and churning,
Full of fearful trepidation,
There was a sudden chilling cold in this hells hallway
When first came her shrill screaming
A soul crying out to the shadow
Hiding in the shadow of souls
The stranger, eyes gleaming like the devil
Like a serpent stalking a cornered rat
Then the blows, like fangs striking flesh
A torn micro mini dress, busted bubble gum bubbles,
A Mary Jane doll suddenly snuffed, this was stronger pain,
And there was no meth to take off the edge,
The strange man was not here to snuggle
The shadow watcher would always scream
From the closet of souls and shadows
The rat would suddenly be startled, and bolt
The strange serpent would be puzzled
And left in a cage of flummox,
His meal to hell denied
The shadow watchers soul in micro seconds
Suddenly fled to his paralyzed frame
Back to his bed
As he woke from his velvet dream
Dressed in a black trench coat
And a red velvet shirt
Bathed in musty sweat
Holding a piece of torn micro mini dress
And drenched in the blood of Mary Jane
Copyright © Marugu MO | Year Posted 2016
I wake up with another tear
for I have again, relived the nightmare
will it ever leave me with any way to see
when will I again be able to see my family
the past is forgiven
so why is it still living
my heart was so broken
but soon after it was frozen
let it lie and the past die
for I have a life to live with
but the past is still being relived
how do I stop this past of torture
so I can find my new future
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
The sound of blasts are heard all over,
The child with his innocent eyes, sees...
The wide range of people massacred,
He wonders, where is the peace...
The child overlooks the broken city,
hoping to catch a single gleam...
An innocent child holding her doll,
Why are they shattering my dream...?
A baby laughs, when the angels sing,
But woe to the Enemies!
This baby cries when its mother is killed,
Why does it have tears instead of smiles..?
Why is there war, when there can be peace,
Why so much hatred , when there can be love?
Why do people kill one another,
When there can fly a peaceful white dove??
Copyright © Afnan Hafiz | Year Posted 2015
And the cemetery was
quite and intensely sullen;
a damp breeze blew
anticipating a cool rain...
an open gate led to a chapel.
Two marble angels stood
by the Gothic bronze door,
their looks were too somber;
and walking in I saw candles
burning beneath white skulls
stacked in piles like bricks.
The smell of wax from
the dripping candles
was of a different scent;
the brass cross gleamed
casting a shadow on
the oval floor made
of yellow and green
tiles resembling a mosaic.
Looking around, I discovered
more skulls on wooden shelves,
these had imprinted names
and looked down on the incognito
ones in self-pity and sadness.
I wondered why of such
a massive grave of skulls
without skeletons; a weird
sensation penetrated my
body getting steady chills.
I glanced across the opposite
wall and spotted a memorial
plaque with the deplorable words
" The final rest of decapitated
men who rose against
their king who washed
his hands in their blood. "
Horror and disgust pierced
my being, I reacted to
that appalling sign rushing
out of the darkening chapel;
and stepping outside of
that flickering chamber,
the crispiness of the morning
air filled my lungs with relief.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
Life is a litter of examples, and I must be true
My sister made it through school and I can too
The best example is my own flesh and blood
She was born in the struggle, she grew in the mud
My mama keeps selling me her only dream
Education is the key, child, it is her theme
So my probity is to be the best in school
The proof of my dignity is that I’m no fool.
I know violence destroys hopes and careers
I study, but can’t concentrate, neither my peers
Police cars screaming, gun shots in our ears
The violence is mounting and so are my fears
I reflect, I think back, what they did with pen
And ink, they did achieve, but now we descend
And stand at the brink. Dr. King was our friend,
Our hero, our leader, a good example to men
He walked through the bitter darkness, bold
He was undaunted, he led families and fold
Across the bridge of peace, it was no breeze
Let us be united and continue the legacy, please
Let us be like Dr. King, Rosa Parks and Ghandi
Let us be understanding, rise in dignity
Forget the color, it’d not race, not black and white
It is coming together to do what is right
Stop the violence, the hate, the destruction
Of the mind, the crucifying of our ambition
The overthrowing of our leaders and history
They paved a way, a way we can be free.
I want to live in comfort without hostility
I want to claim the prize and keep the legacy
I want my education; I am tired of the policy
That binds me politically to impotency
O we are losing our kids without making a sound
We are falling apart being politically bound
I ask myself what can I do, O what can I do
I am praying to God the dream will come through
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2011
~Don’t Fall ~
Yet another restless night
Bad dreams every other hour
I turn on the light hoping
It will calm me down
Yet it takes me back in time
And there he stands
Like a shadow in the night
Naked as can be
Laughing an evil laugh
As he says to me
Mio Piccola Puttana
I can’t let him get to me
So please teardrops
I look into the mirror
I see that pasty skin
Paired with double chins
I think to myself starving won’t Even get the fat off
I feel so defeated yet still
I tell myself
Looking for a way out
I feel like I am stuck inside my Past
Reliving every moment
One after another
It feels like it is happening all over Again
I feel the tears in my eyes so I say
Now I can see him in the faces of Strangers
I feel so alone and out of place
I still force myself to get up each Day
Even though I want to hide
It is such a struggle
Day after day
And to add to the pain
I have to make sure those
If you touch me I might break
If you are hear to see me
Please don’t hurt me
That I wouldn’t be able to take
Know that I am like a dam ready To break
So if you were to hug me
Hold my hand or touch me
In any other comforting way
This dam may break
And there won’t be any telling
Copyright © Jeanna York | Year Posted 2013
Come the dark, come sleep:
music box tunes commence as commanded
by Father Time to prance tauntingly in years gone by
and the daunting hours inevitably to come.
Melodies visit long buried memories of faded visions;
adoring their distorted collection
in the horror house of a once brilliant mind.
“Hush now”, they say.
“You know there is no other way”.
The maniacal visage of unspoken abominations again
burrows into a skull weary of nocturnal screeches:
A mother rips sight from her toddler as punishment for innocent trust.
A stranger’s mutilation for the torture of a bound, evolving evil.
Children’s demise by poisoned whip wielded by a shadow bearing Cheshire grin.
The screams of a woman, naked and lost, caught in thorns to tear flesh from bone…
17 000 nightmares born into an infant, now grown.
Come the dawn, come the wake:
… ”No! It’s daylight, they cannot be here!
Don’t take sanity, fragile and stressed!”
No answers, no mercy
as reality gets bombarded,
and friends’ faces once a comfort
rearrange into monstrous mirages.
Cackle laughter I hear nearby
and realize it’s escaped my own throat.
I plead to the breeze that I may still be asleep…
Its only reply a familiar, mocking rhyme:
Time’s up on your clock.
Can't you hear the drum?
Don’t run, only succumb.”
Despairing what is to come
Despite warnings from my conscious mind I look at my wrist.
Hair raises, desperate words unspoken.
The watch I've held all my life is broken.
03 October 2016
Scare Me Good Poetry Contest
Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2016
Through and through though more to do-
A thousand thoughts to misconstrue!
Too long I've waited, too sad and sedated
To live a lie I declare is true...
And so it seems that in my dreams
I bathe myself in Moonlight beams
That light the night, turn black to white
And will slit my throat at any means!
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013
In the narrow world of your dream home
I’m a suspicious and a cryptic man
Thoughts and feelings born in my mind
How could I plainly explain to whom you doesn’t listen
Your concrete hopes burst neither reasonable reason
My abstract dreams sway in humanity means
A center to meet together disturbs traumatic ignorance
How would find our desires to fulfill at the key lost entrance
I never oppose you to sink in your world you wish to do so
You never bear my abstract world that fight for better so
Since I live in your frame, I’m a prisoner of suffer so
The great wall that is built, blindly life, I suppose so
Mistrust grows and conflict hurts forever we realized
Disgust studs, space arrest us time not allowed
Revenge in darkness behaves hands with bomb aimed
Cuffs in hands of hearts in moral cry that never hoped
Udaya R. Tennakoon
Copyright © Udaya R. Tennakoon | Year Posted 2014
was the thing
I longed to buy
in my childhood days.
Because it could fly high
in the sky taking my wishes
with it to the height I'd never reach.
Expedition to the world of unknown...
Now, gas balloons can not enthral my mind
Because, I know, how it feels at height
Fears crept in to eat my dreams
Terrors haunt my peaceful soul
Now, I know flying is not
that easy; what I
used to think in
I have used Etheree and Reverse Etheree.
Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2016
Where shore grabs land,
Time slightly bends,
My castle stands,
Made by my hands.
At night it tends,
Soothes and mends.
Forest grabs trees.
Life is on lease,
Forced on my knees,
Fighting for peace,
Till just one wheeze.
And no one sees.
Where shore grabs land,
Time slightly bends,
My castle stands,
Made by my hands.
At night it tends,
Soothes and mends.
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016
Such pain foretold.
Women of old,
As fears unfold.
Burning, cracking, the earth splits apart.
Warning, oh warning of my poor breaking heart.
Losing love as it fades into black,
Splitting the earth with fiery cracks.
The starless sky, filled with ash,
For magma bursts through a glowing red gash.
Such fear, unknown, what are you saying.
Please I need to know what the future doth hold, I’m begging, I’m praying.
Am I decaying?
No more, let me sleep.
Copyright © shawnee doling-tye | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Blood stained eyes
Gaze upon innocents sleeping form,
Spoils the promise of blissful slumber
As naive eyes twitch with dreams
Of purity and grace
Guides twisted hands
Towards violent deeds
Warm sweet breath
Exhales from un-kissed lips,
Wet with remembrance and anticipation
Of life’s wonders yet to be lived
From now waken eyes,
As an incestuous destruction
Of one’s self is committed
And the very soul of god
Is ripped from the now ruined vessel
Of what was once,
Innocent’s sleeping form.
Copyright © Thomas King | Year Posted 2014
I must do this to release what’s there.
I must do this so the dying stops and the living begins.
The mind, that complex cerebral humdrum of lair,
Traps the soul and heart in its convex of sins.
Where metaphors and sulphur mix
In the thriving jungle of web and wood,
Where the tomato swims and fish fly for six.
The inverse of nature sits on the rim of mood.
The agony must stop in the jungle of discontent,
Clawed by the forlorn tiger,
Ripped by the crocodile’s jaws descent
Within the realm of Noah’s magical power.
But, alas, the converse of nature and the reverse of nurture
Lies unfathomable in the flood of a new awakening
In these times of dreams and madness.
Copyright © Raj Napal | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Peace is everlasting
A world in harmony
We have all wished
But no one answers
Human nature is our world
If not nature
What explains our equal flaws
We shape history
We really do
But we create hell
We can rid ourselves
Rid ourselves of mistakes
Here we are dreaming
We can't change
unless forced to see
too see better
Copyright © Noah Velazquez | Year Posted 2016