Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.
With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.
He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.
Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.
I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.
A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?
My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!
I do believe in magic
I so believe in peace
I believe you know undoubtedly
Of beauties and of beasts
The human spirit can withstand
And rise above the shrine
Belittle all you want, my dear
I’ll be the dwarf in time
But I’ll evolve as I hold dear
These sentiments that haunt you
I’ll cherish every single tear
Because you’ve plagued me to
I’ll turn the other rosy cheek
Though undeserved it may be
I will forgive, but won’t forget
The promised growth inspired in me
Further more, I wish to say
Remind me that I’m still alive
Disturb the sleeping monsters
Please provoke me to survive
You compliment this hypocrite
Attention seeking scum
And help stick out the finger
That outranks the sorest thumb
A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun
Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion
The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me
And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul
And then that familiar salty smell
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things
Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts
And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher
Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror
There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same
My family had always told me
About ‘our gift’ since I was a small girl
That allowed us to feel the spiritual,
And see things not of this world
I ignored them until, at the age of sixteen
I’d gone out with a friend for the night,
We were being walked home by her father
When we encountered an unusual sight
As we giddily ambled along a dark road
A cloaked woman came into view
She drew closer, until we met face to face
Then she spookily walked straight through
My friend’s father, who seemed oblivious to this
And continued to walk on home
As he said nothing, and nor did my friend
I was sure the sighting had been mine alone
But I asked them both if they’d seen her
They said that I’d had too much drink,
‘She sees spirits as well as drinks them’
My friend’s father said, with a wink
We never spoke of that night again
But that sighting wasn’t my last
I’ve had more ‘paranormal’ experiences
As I’ve grown and years have gone past
I just have to step into old buildings
To feel a ‘vibe’ and become aware
Of the energy held within its walls,
And tell if ‘spirits’ walk there
When I visit an ancient monument
That is surrounded by fields of war,
I can hear the sounds of the battles
And cries of those who have gone before
Sometimes it can be disconcerting
As bad energy can be a pain
But I wouldn’t be without my special ‘gift’
Or change my life with the unexplained.
This poem has been written for Danielle Whites 'Time Warp' contest
I think feel a breeze
A breeze and a touch of horror
Something makes my breath seize
The stings of inner torture
The beast of the dark just passes
I hear the pings of its awfulness
Horrible snuffs complementing terrible masses
Something grip me here – oh fearfulness!
Now what – silence…
The quietness of the graveyard
I sense trouble in disguise
Only that worse turns bad
Oh wait, I can see
Slow approaches of eye balls
The burning eyes of the black beast
Monster, you, coming for me or my pulse
This is it my adventure fiasco
In the ever-dark ghost room
I would rather die like a hero
Behind this locked door with my rheum
As I’ll lay my back on this door
Oh beast feast, on me feast
I can hear quacks as I fall
…the door open at least
Massacre! Oh massacre of the beast
Sun ray-the enemy of the dark monster
Came in for its burnt feast
Because the door opened
The lady In Red
She missed out on the green silk dress; it was sold before she did buy
But when the red dress came to the store she did not let this one pass her by
The Lady in Red as she became known set out to dazzle and beguile
She would turn many a head with such a dazzling sexy smile.
This femme fatal set off, not realising the power she did now hold
The swaying of the hips, she was indeed a picture of beauty to behold
Its low cut neck did display a white décolleté of rare fine beauty
Many came and offered his hand, on one knee as was his duty
The Lady In Red was not easily won, her heart she kept hidden away
Those that tried to win her, found there was a hefty price to pay
The lady in the fire red dress, sashaying down the street
Had them stepping out of doors, and stopping cars just to meet.
One day the Lady In Red fell in love, and then the problems did start
She found there was a price to pay, when she wanted to give her heart
From praying to the devil one day, a dazzling beauty she asked to be
He answered her request with a warning; “Your soul will belong to me.”
She was willing to pay any price to wear the red dress so beguiling
She didn’t look behind her or she would have seen the Devil smiling
The fine print on her request to the Devil, she did not bother to read
‘Your heart and soul will belong to me that’s the payment for your greed.’
The Lady In Red could not give love, just sashay far and wide
Sweeping young bloods off their feet, then casting them out with evening tide
Her heart would have broken, if it was still hers to keep
The young man she fell in love with, was the one that made her weep
He promised love and devotion if only her heart she could give
When she said that didn’t belong to her, he didn’t want to live
She tried to shed some tears but the devil dried them with his fiery finger
“Next time you want something so bad, you better not let your eye linger.”
You asked for dazzling beauty, you promised you were willing to pay
Don’t come weeping to me because you have given true love away
Beauty was more important to you than a genuine heart full of love
You can take this young blood with you, and join as the hand in a glove
But this love you found, this love you desire, the price must still be paid
You can take this handsome youth, but under the ground he must be laid
His life I ask in full recompense and then your love to him you can give
But it will have to be in this lifetime, because you will not be allowed to live.
I am so far out of my element
It almost seems unreal
When in truth, which I always seek to find
Pretence is all that I feel
In this, my second language
I aim to express the glistening skin
That hides the shallow graves of conscience
Trapped so deep within
The pottery I shape in craft
Though pedistilled and on display
A camouflage that’s merely drafted
words of wisdom most portray
And in the spirit of fairness
As a virtue which we all possess
Accept my resignation
For this sport has had its best
I’m off to party hard and waste
My life as best as I know how
The animal within this chest
Needs freedom to survive for now
The playing game of words
is but a winding road that’s filled with stone
I’m parched in parts unheeded
As my cluttered soul heads home
Noah’s ark was real not a fiction
It had a door to escape God’s affliction
Noah delivered a warning message
But the folks mock their own presage
Men grew in sin and matured in transgression
And ignored Noah’s loving confession
The Door stood open a long time
Until time begin to climb
The Lord finally shut the Door
And the rain begin to pour
120 years of grace finally came to a halt
God administered judgment by default
The Door was a glorious type of Christ
He was the Lamb of God who was price
Jesus said “I am the Door of the sheep”
He is the only Door of that Great ship
Jesus is our Door of salvation
Wherein we enter and float as new creation
Behold He stands at your door this day and knock
Let Him in, you’ll find pasture as a partaker of His Holy flock
Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep- John 10:7
The lighthouse stands atop the hill,
A warning for the sailors,
That here be shallow waters,
Reefs and widow makers.
She stands there in all weather,
To shine her beacon bright.
Through wind and rain and dark of night,
She's there to shine her light.
Some say the lighthouse came to be,
Because of an old story,
About a sailor coming home,
Braving some storm's fury.
His ship went down somewhere 'round here.
The sailor lost his life,
And now whenever there's a storm,
You'll see the sailor's wife,
Standing high atop the hill,
A lantern in her hand,
And if you look along the shore,
Sometimes you'll see a man.
He comes out of the water,
To climb the wind swept hill,
Where she stands with lantern light,
Waiting for him still.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
A chill to the bone, a fall to the depth
a longing to feel the warm rays of day.
There was but one road which ran to a church.
There was many roads that ran far in the wood.
Like a fool I have run past Elm and Birch
this lost road turned to a trail where I stood.
A dark cloud now forms a narrow cold sky
a wind from the North, which blows coastally.
My choice brings no answer only a sigh
it made years ago and so willfully.
Weary am I of a life on this path
wishing to visit my option again.
Fearing my Lord or fearing His wrath
I backtrack this road but only in vain.
Before me a puzzle of rock and stone
reaching far back before a road in time
planted me deep in a mist with no tone
searching for a life, that I could call mine.
This narrowing track turns back on itself,
the undergrowth soon will stand in my way.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
Lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
Can it truly be said that a man is mere logic
when I see your emotion as if it hung in the air?
Can it truly be said that a woman's mere feelings
when my brain is like clockwork in logic to bare?
Leaning tos, that is another discussion
for I will admit that I lean toward the tears
and maybe you too would admit just for reference
that you have the mechanics of a man of your years
But don't you think too, that a blending occurs
right at the moment two soul mates connect
and each leans in toward the other's attraction
they otherwise fell, in their days, to neglect?
Perhaps that is why your eyes well up quite rightly
when you see that my heart has been scorched by design
And maybe that's why I hold common sense tightly
and wrap it in gauze to be precious in kind
We are just truly conjoined puzzle pieces
with traits to be honored as sweet compliments
Whether it's logic or sheer, raw emotion
we balance each other in complete confidence.
Brambles tear my cold bare feet,
I search the wood for you,
the forest says it is complete
there's nothing I can do.
You left a letter on my chest
as silent as a dream
you said I know you did your best
but I'm not what I seem.
my tear streaked face
the wind laughs through the trees,
they say at last you have a place
from which you'll never leave.
A crush of berries marks your trail
so black beneath the moon
I know I seek to no avail
why chant the ancient rune.
a comet streaks across the sky
and rain begins to fall
turn back I hear the river sigh,
you never knew at all.
I turn my face up to the stars
and shriek a dirvish howl
I've nothing but a heart of scars
and you ,oh fiend most foul!
Idon't care what you have become,
I don't care who you 'll be
come back,come home,
let this be done,
I cannot set you free.
Shake the snowflakes
from your shawl,
throw it there across the chair,
come and sit down with us all,
we have stories we can share,
Solstice time is coming on
we are gathered here tonight,
that no soul shall be alone,
we will hold each other tight,
lean against the door my son,
barracade us all within,
for before this night is done,
something evil will come in.
screams and moans
may sear your soul,
but you must not turn aside,
God will aid you in your goal,
Keep the Windigo outside!
Hark ,my son,I hear him howl,
on the ridge above the creek,
Windigo,oh fiend most foul,
you shall not gain what you seek!
were you all afraid?
did I spin a scary tale?
well "tis just a joke I played,
oh my,but you're looking pale.
Horror stories are the thing
sitting late before the fire,
don't get mad,
come ,let us sing,
no, I'm really not a liar.
What's that knocking
that I hear?
someone open it and see.....
' tis the Windigo
my dear .............
and it's coming
just for me.
Ancient echoes from the past
Glimmer just beyond your grasp
When you know that you’re alone
Of a long forgotten song
From the corners of your eye
Hints of time passed by
Of things you did not see
Of the things that used to be
In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.
Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.
What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.
Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.
They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.
The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.
Written by: Kelly Deschler - August 8th, 2013
Giorgio V's contest - "In The Faraway" - the theme is gothic
You hide away in summer
When other blooms fill fields
In a dark room you sit and wait
'Til Christmas time is here
Is it the joy of Christ's birth
That awakens a welcome stranger
Do you peer out to see the light
That hovers above His manger
You are the only flower
That seems to recognize
The hope and peace in hearts
And angelic carols in skies
You sit in darkness, watching the lightning,
You listen to every clap of thunder,
There could be nothing any more frightening,
But, in your mind you still wonder.
The howling wind blows the curtains,
The falling rain taps your window pane,
There is nothing there, you are certain,
But, an uneasy feeling drives you insane.
Tree branches sway within the breeze,
Their shadows fall along your wall,
You find every explanation with ease,
And convince yourself it's nothing at all.
A black shadow darts in your direction,
There's nothing more menacing than that,
Two eyes are seen with the light reflection,
Suddenly, you realize it's just your cat.
But, then a cold chill races down your spine,
It's not the wind, your window is now closed,
You try to say that everything is fine,
So, what is it, do you suppose.
Listen, something is walking up the stairs,
You can hear it's footsteps on the floor,
All this tension begins to raise your hairs,
Do you dare open your bedroom door.
A quaint little store on Mystery Bay,
its cast iron stove stoked with hard woods,
selling fresh oysters and catch of the day—
with local ice cream and sundry baked goods.
Optional clothing whenever low tide,
as the beach sign outside proudly claims,
but summer’s a memory, such exhibits denied,
so we gather inside and sit by the flames.
Tourists stop by, dismissed by old salts,
till asked to regale us of days now gone by.
Each lifts his mug of cold foaming malts,
and each one in turn quickly spins a new lie.
The old boards ‘neath our feet creak and complain,
as we shuffle our way past good friends to the door—
counting the days until we come again,
to part with our coins at the Mystery Bay store.
Submit a Smile Contest
Honorable Mention, Submit a Smile, Poet Destroyer A
Is that a sphinx we see on Mars
Resembling the one in Egypt
Just how were the pyramids built
And pharaohs placed in lavish crypts
When Mars’ oceans began to dry
Did species seek preservation
Did ancient astronauts arrive
To colonize a new nation
To date, the complex construction
Of Egypt’s tombs sparks speculation
Are Martians in man’s family tree
Hanging limbs, green blood relations
* For the "Sphinx Head on Mars?" contest
It is the cold of winter blue
Ice wraps the edges of the night
A crown of stars bedecks the sky
Like twinkling diamonds bright
Morning breaks with slow footsteps
Still the heavens shine with light
But soon they fade into the day
A diamond's remnants now out of sight.....
Offshore in a Key West snorkeling trip
The old tar captain was really quite hip
Asked where the Bermuda Triangle was,
At first he laughed, then looked at me with pause
“About twenty yards yonder,” he replied
You should have seen how my eyes opened wide
“I was on a ship once,” he continued,
“Through a deep green mist our vessel did glide.”
He swore a UFO hovered above
Until the fog lifted and skies were clear
“Oh, my!” I cried, “This is what I write of --
I can’t believe the triangle is so near!”
Though captain and crew had been left unharmed
All of them remembered that eerie day
Just as I’ll not forget feeling alarmed
With the triangle not so far away
The captain had tales, legends in his head
An incredible inspiration source
That night on land as I lay in a bed
I wished I’d learned more; I felt much remorse
*True Story. I was writing a book on Atlantis and the Bermuda Triangle when I met the old captain.
*For Craig Cornish Contest on tge Most Fascinating Person I Knew
I'm a four
Me, I am a number four
Or twenty two, worth so much more
A master number, this it be
Practical, they say, that's me.
27 September 2014.
For Andreas contest 'What's your number'
Born 11 March 1943.
Waking up in the dark of night
barely four years of age.
My world is wrought with fright
not knowing my life would be a stage.
That little girl long ago
was innocent… pure…
but now she is who I no longer know.
My mind is a disease for which there is no cure.
At day I have no rest.
At night I can not flee.
Sanity is a rare guest
and when he comes I can’t see.
This is my curse so real:
I can’t forget
the dreams, and ‘reality’ surreal
is something I’ve never met.
So chirp, little robin, chirp and sing!
For today once more you entertain well.
So be merry, let the world its troubles bring!
For tonight once more you feast in sheer, bloody Hell.
Your ability to remember
will be your curse to flee.
Each year, January to December
You will wish you had not known memory.
While walking on a sunny beach
I suddenly gave out a screech
For my feet tapped
Down to a dark trap
It was none other than a chest
Written on it was, for the best
I opened it at last at dusk
And wowed at its fragrance of musk
A gem was placed in it
Colored bright and pulsating like a spirit
Full of life, it spoke
Thou must not take me for a joke
For I have the portal
I am the one so magical
With me, you shall travel
All over the universe O sheer Marvel
Keeping the gem safe
Finding in it hidden solace
My treasured chest became my grace
And became my most precious mace!
Black night like raven peaks its strides
On ashen wings hung low on breeze,
While moon turns her crepe face and hides
Dragging through seams of vagrant trees.
Just when the thick of fog devours
A hundred moths chain-links the sky;
To pirouette in blazes, shine the hours
Changing eve with diamond eyes.
Meshed web of stars peeps through frail light
As if to send a dazzling sign,
That glossed winds can unwrap night"s plight
When jeweled bugs and stones align
Nature Theme Contest of Kim Morrison
by nette onclaud
This empty space waits, along a dim marsh
where paramour hides from tints of red dew,
and crackling boughs grip like a whiplash
on venial sins of passion, long the slew.
Her pace quickens to reach Eden's boulder
weighing low, chained by raked emotion
knowing not why ecstacy grips a dare;
as ravens swoop in twilight procession.
The illlicit hours reel a tempting game
venial sins genuflect without relief,
that holy stars warp in foiled cellophane
while gangrene clouds dodge like a hidden thief.
Her secret man appears, bearing moon’s core
to flame clandestine hours into moans' thrill
there, shadows quench for more of rain's downpour
as pleasure and pain mix a tyrst, fulfilled.
Gothic or Romantic Old/ New, Giorgio V.'s Contest
* Gothic Romanticism
by nette onclaud
On the bank of oblivion’s river
A soul hastily arrives
Wishing to cross on the other side
Where eternity resides
Has been preparing for the crossing
Since the first day of her birth
But now that the moment is so near
She is afraid of her death
More few moments she is begging
For much better to prepare
Before the Charon with his boat
Her, to perpetuity transfer
Death however is adamant
Since to delay he can not
So he is reminding the soul
That it is her mortal lot
With dread she is now boarding
For the trip of no return
But surprised she is to find
That this is of no concern
As the crossing is completed
And the soul disembarks
On the land of sanctified
This is now what remarks
All worries and all burdens
That she carried all along
When imprisoned in the body
In that place don’t belong
For first time she is sensing
Real freedom in her being
Such amount of love and beauty
This world has never seen
At an instance she turns holy
And with angels she soars
To the heavens of the blessed
Where her creator adores!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2013
* In my previous poem I dealt with " MAN'S LIFE", "THE CROSSING" deals with what
comes after that! If one has the time it would be a good idea to read both for a
better understanding of the circle of life and death as it is presented here! Thank
T I N Y T H O U G H T
I wonder if
over the cliff
was it hard
reviling the card
it never was
look my way
make it go away
don't want to do
we don't belong
I better run
stick around for fun
is now doing crime
or shouldn't I
you won't frown
play my tricks
love can't be fix
hear me out
leave you in doubt
on me do not rely
my soul will not comply
holding back the tears
today passes 6 years
handled what i got
something that was not
giving my best shot
to a tiny thought
The narrow lane led to an awful place
With its own page in the annals of history,
Where once was committed a murder most foul
It’s perpetrator to date still a mystery
Thirteen, Millers Court in Spitalfields
Was the abode of one Mary Jane Kelly
Where one November morn, eighteen eighty eight
She was found, slit from throat to her belly.
A victim was she of a man they called ‘Jack’
A murderer of most savage renown
Who spread fear through the streets of Whitechapel,
And whose identity has never been found
Because ‘Jacks’ alter ego was never confirmed
Speculation and theories are rife
Was he a personage of royal blood?
Was he a surgeon, skilled with a knife?
Was ‘Jack’ an American actor?
Was he sane, was he mentally ill?
Were his only victims the ‘canonical’ five?
Just how many more did he kill?
Why did it all end and where did ‘Jack’ go
Is as mysterious as from whence he came,
But his legacy remains and for many a year
Life on London’s streets was never the same.
The old shop was dilapidated;
The entry sign was faded gray.
"Magic Beans", the old gypsy stated.
I was feeling gullible that day.
"What do these magic beans do?"
No instructions were included.
"They do what you need them to do."
A few dollars less, transaction concluded.
I walked home with my magic beans,
And left them forgotten in a drawer.
Nothing changed, of so it seems.
What ever did I buy them for?
Assuming the magic must be broken,
I soaked my beans, gave them a rinse.
Cooked them, spiced, served with bacon;
And forever after haven't farted since.
Mark Halliday 20150105