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Evil God Poems | Evil Poems About God

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Details | Free verse | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

- The Demons Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror -

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!


Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Gary)
September 10, 2016 (Anne-Lise)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God's Light

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God’s Light

Underneath the deep seabed the stirring sands of time have passed on.
Ancient shadows continue to haunt all of us from the oceans’ depths,
And insidious and violent nightmares portray bloody and evil visions,
As an old treasure chest is opened and a gull’s cry foretells tragic stories.

Untold riches awaken Neptune’s deepest waves as the tides turn inward,
And a star-gazing dust trail turns into a golden circle of subtle measure.
The dark moon’s horrid howl sounds in its crimson cradle over the ocean 
As the cruelest beast from evil Hellspawn creeps and invades all energies.

The moon’s beam feasts on poor and lonely souls under the cover of night,
Whilst savagely touching the sad forlorn places between Heaven and Earth.
These unholy places of dark origin beckon the spirit of a vile Vampire who 
Cometh from a deep-darkness creeping around under the Devil’s own aura.

This Prince of Darkness bringeth enchanting soft-sweet kisses of solitude,
Tempting now the innocent silhouette of a ravishingly beautiful young lady
Whose true desire and passion for love leaps over an ice-ruby magical fire,
As her robust heartbeats incite the Vampire’s ravenous thirst for her blood.

The sensual fire stoked by this lady’s heartbeats and lifeblood burn sold 
Down a macabre river of true darkness, all perfect up, as she gasps aloud
For air, wincing and moaning audibly, as she expires with a most ghastly
Death rattle as the Prince of Darkness gleefully smiles at her godless soul.

This gruesome image invokes a blending of human bread eating into the
Suffering eyes of salted fish bait trapped and gasping for air, for mercy,
Just like a trapped drunken sailor now swallowed inside hungry ghouls
Who haunt over dark sea whispers that chill to the bone mankind’s future.

Those souls lost within the land of this living dream bask now positive as
The darkness turns into sunlight in God’s own yard of supreme radiance, 
Metamorphosing into a lovely butterfly emerging from its silken cocoon,
Now so cotton-soft and swallowed by the bright light of the human soul.

The soul’s lucent energy of heavenly radiance comes forth for all to see
As the Devil’s dark beast now sings its paeans of utter joy as this terror
Transforms itself—yet ever so slowly—into a calm sea of true change.
With this miracle change cometh a peace sanctuary of God’s angels!

That’s a thousand of God’s angels now chanting with a pleasured delight
As a heaven-sought change comes to nurture the plight of all lost souls.
With this aura of change, love’s sacred light shineth now so ultra-bright,
For even the darkened heart of the beast can find peace in Heaven’s light!

We await to see where this beast shall go and what shall follow in kind.
Shall this former beast of the Devil himself experience a final epiphany
To be like the blessed butterfly or to return to the black heart of the crow?
Almighty God does indeed move in the most mysterious of ways! 

The Prince of Darkness laughs no longer as his long-lost soul burns hot
And blue-bile-black-red in Hell’s own deepest, darkest inescapable pit!
No redemption for him and for his master, the Devil, confined below.
By God’s holy command, all ancient shadows shall awaken whole into
Heaven’s eternal and radiant light! All by God’s divine grace and mercy!

Amen! Amen! Amen!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Team Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 16, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Roundel | |

Fall from Grace A Roundel

Before the beginning of time when Chaos ruled Hell and Night
Into the depths of this Cosmos, a Paradise, perfectly placed.
Above this darkness, a heaven drawn forth in a burst of light
Before the beginning of time

From the Garden of Eden, henceforth, Adam and Eve were disgraced
Lo!  A fallen angel  changed himself to a serpent in Eve’s sight
Banished, they fled before God to a wilderness, forever displaced.

Forbidden fruit had shown them the difference of wrong from right.
In Pandemonia,  Demons conspired, sin and death be interlaced.
God sacrificed his Son to save them  - from Hell's eternal plight.
Before the beginning of time

Suzanne Delaney

For Suzette Crous
Roundel Competition

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

The Unknown

The Unknown

While standing on a razor end edge of my mortal time,
I’m not sure of what lies beyond and what I shall find.

Death’s dead, cold eyes stare me down now, as I wait;
My spirit sweats and shakes, as my blood turns frigid.

His skeleton face is scary, horrid, pallid, and macabre.
His apparition floats freely full of fear this frozen night.

A little girl long dead steps toward me from this oblivion,
Her face sad, streaming tears as she hands me a wilted rose.

This strange netherworld has that dull, cold pallor of death, 
Just like the smell, sensation, and sadness of a charnel house.

The moon on this eve is one blood red, insidious in intent;
Fixed high in the cold night sky it gives one no hope at all.

The little girl long dead returns and holds my left hand gently: 
She says, “It’s not yet your time . . . this is still only a dream.”
She adds, “The River Styx lies ahead—cold, dark, and deep.”
She says, “There is yet time to change your life for the better.”

As I started to awaken from this intense and revealing dream,
I could hear a faint voice whispering deep inside my psyche.
It told me now a certain message that I shall never ever forget.

Follow your heart and conscience, find the goodness in your life.
Listen to God and what the better angels of your nature tell you.

This shall keep you on that path of the devout in the eyes of God.
The image of God is reflected in Man himself as he seeks to fulfill
Always His Divine Destiny!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 1, 2016 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Canzone | |

The Bewitching Call of the Siren

The Bewitching Call of the Siren

She ululates a forlorn desire for a human love;
She’s pure evil, not from God’s Heaven above.
This siren’s seductive melody is heard on all seas,
And even on the largest lakes and flowing rivers;
Bringing even seafarers near Die Lorelei to shivers! 
Beguiling young sailors to such a ghastly death;
This vile creature’s venom is felt with each breath!
Her visage is one of true love and blessed pulchritude,
Yet Lucifer’s mask is dark with great evil certitude!
Her perfumed scent enlivens her victims’ senses,
While her dark green eyes and deep wet kisses;
Mesmerize her prey, oblivious now to all consequences;
Now feeling her fatal bites and hearing her hideous hisses! 
She taketh all pleasure in her world of this evil measure,
Enthralling all her sad victims to a most horrible death;
Now Lucifer counts with joy the lost souls’ treasure!
Always sans merci this siren be to those in her grot,
As her victims find their souls lost to Hell’s dark rot!
Beware say I to all good seafarers, do heed this tale well;
Be deaf to this siren’s call or your life shall end in Hell! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 4, 2016 (Canzone)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Open our eyes God

They kick God out of classrooms
And evil walks right in
Innocents are led to slaughter
Before their lives can even begin
Our jaws drop from the shock
We are appalled by such a crime,
But we voted for laws to kick god out
To usher in such times
I remember morning prayers in class
And a hymn or two we'd sing
We would join hands around the flagpole
A give thanks for the grace he brings.
This nation was founded on godly principals
And his blessings poured out each day
But we grew up trying it on our own 
And look at the troubles that come our way.
You dont have to believe me
And keep turning your head away
But the proof is happening before our eyes
And gets worse each passing day
Theres now a number of innocent children,
Who are sitting before Gods throne
And hes wrapping his love around them
Because this world has let them go.
How much suffering must we endure 
What will it take to make things right
We must allow God to rule our lives
Til evil is banished from our sight.
We can blame it on the monsters
Or some will  curse God for what was done
But we should look real hard at our own direction
If this battle is truly to be won

Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2012

Details | Limerick | |

Who let the Dogs Out

He went the way of a sickly pigeon,
and dropped his nasty load on religion.
The evil ones hailed him,
power they availed him,
which increased his vanity a smidgeon .

He declared himself the messiah,
From the depths of earthen hell fire,
The people believed him,
almighty pride seized him,
now he’s forcing God to retire.

You see there’s only room for one master,
to be God is what evil is after,
As enticing as it looks,
he and his cronies and crooks,
are setting the world up for disaster.

We Christians who always vote by rote,
keeping the Truths of our faith in a tote,
it’s we that keep evil in power,
We’ll know that in our last hour,
Right after we get thrown from the Boat.

Author's note:
    I read that in the last presidential election, 57% of Christians
voted for the present administration which is currently in the midst of 
of taking away their rights to conciencious objectionality and religious freedom
where the killing of babies ("abortion" for those of you who are still in la la land)
and the financial obligation for it is concerned. 
It is now desired by the present administration that Christians too pay for this 
murderous and horrific agenda.
To the 57% of Christians who voted for the current administration: you got your choice. 
Are congratulations in order?
-Robert A. Dufresne





















Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Diamante | |

GOOD AND EVIL





                             Good,

                  God’s presence in Man

           For safeguarding the divine plan

 Of harmonious collaboration and coexistence

           Which, regrettably, people evict

                 Replacing it with vicious

                               Evil!





                 © Demetrios Trifiatis
                   13 September 2015








Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Epigram | |

INDIGNATION




No, my Lord,

Mercy, for their wretched souls, I could

Never ask

Let them burn into eternity for their atrocious crimes,

Committed against humanity 

And

Against the law of Thy infinite love !*




© Demetrios Trifiatis
  07 FEBRUARY 2015

*After burning a Jordanian pilot alive, decapitating two Japanese 
journalists and killing a woman for not wearing shoes, yesterday the 
fanatics decapitated a father and a son in Iraq. When all this end?

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

"Evil Twin"

"Spiritual Narrative"

After life began,  appeared “Evil Twin” mind’s obvious sin
‘Evil’  naught of nothing, using the power of love’s “something”
Giving rise to evil self, far to left, image of self
Love created, but mind deviated, it’s love abated

Love’s logic created Soul, but I am so bold, left heart’s gold
Lost in a wilderness mind, became the Soul of evil twin
Lost in it’s philosophies, mind’s logic of complexities
Has philosophically debated, Love that created

Saying, ‘how can this Love be the reality of me
I shall exalt above, this creation of heaven’s Love’
But crucifixion of mind regains Love’s self in time
As the mind is refined, Soul is re-aligned, with Love’s vine

Man’s discoveries, pieces of the recoveries, of true self
As pieces of the mind crucified, must learn to abide
From Love light’s truth  cannot hide, reality has not lied
Being one with reality, God true technicality
 
Evil self is naught, except, in a mind of worldly thoughts
Live of your mind if your will, create life’s bitter pill
Your bitter pill will not spill, into Sacred Heart’s will
This proverb is proverbial,  `Tis non swerve able

Within one’s love, one must abide, for on death’s cross it was tried
Also mind must abide, for on the cross was proven it lied
Death and life was set before, human mind to explore
To show evil twin, death’s sin, just no way for death to win

Make a tree good or make a tree evil, for is by man’s choice
Lie on God if your will,   lie `Tis your own bitter pill’
`Tis by your own choice, by your own voice, `Good or Evil’
Death failed, life’s tree stands still, on yonder hill, alive and well

12-25-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative | |

- The Old Dark House -


This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!








Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

America

 
Thought you folks might like to read this.  Someone sent it in an email to me.


The following is a poem written by Judge Roy Moore from Alabama . Judge Moore was sued by the ACLU for displaying the Ten Commandments in his courtroom foyer. He has been stripped of his judgeship and now they are trying to strip his right to practice law in Alabama ! The judge's poem sums it up quite well.

America the beautiful,
or so you used to be.
Land of the Pilgrims' pride;
I'm glad they'll never see.

Babies piled in dumpsters,
Abortion on demand,
Oh, sweet land of liberty;
your house is on the sand.

Our children wander aimlessly
poisoned by cocaine
choosing to indulge their lusts,
when God has said abstain

From sea to shining sea,
our Nation turns away
From the teaching of God's love
and a need to always pray

We've kept God in our
temples, how callous we have grown.
When earth is but His footstool,
and Heaven is His throne.

We've voted in a government
that's rotting at the core,
Appointing Godless Judges;
who throw reason out the door,

Too soft to place a killer
in a well deserved tomb,
But brave enough to kill a baby
before he leaves the womb.

You think that God's not
angry, that our land's a moral slum?
How much longer will He wait
before His judgment comes?

How are we to face our God,
from Whom we cannot hide?
What then is left for us to do,
but stem this evil tide?

If we who are His children,
will humbly turn and pray;
Seek His holy face
and mend our evil way:

Then God will hear from Heaven;
and forgive us of our sins,
He'll heal our sickly land
and those who live within.

But, America the Beautiful,
If you don't - then you will see,
A sad but Holy God
withdraw His hand from Thee..

Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

DOWN ON MY KNEES I GET DOWN TO PRAY

Down on my knees I get down to pray
My heart is full of pain
For this nation where I live
Is no longer now the same.

Babies are being murdered
Before they are even born
This evil in this nation
Has now become the norm.

Churches no longer fear the Lord
The truth they do not tell
Preachers spewing out their lies
Sending many souls to hell.

Christian prayer is removed from the schools 
What future has our children today 
Being dumbed down with common core 
We must begin to pray.

Why is man in this nation 
Removing our God given rights
Attacking all Christian principles
For these today we must fight.

Our freedoms we must never surrender 
Even though we may be a few
With Jesus the God of this nation 
There's nothing the devil can do.

Copyright © LEON WILSON | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

GOOD AND EVIL




 

The amount of good and evil

Constant remains

Throughout space and time

There is

No more suffering than good fortune 

No more good fortune than suffering  

In the universe and in the human soul 

This is the law of being,

A constant flux of the two forces

Expression of a single reality in

Perfect balance.



The one cannot exist without the other

Even if we like it or not

Even if we wish it or not,

We have to accept it and live in peace

Or deny it and live in suffering,

That is the will of the universe:

A harmonious unity of the two opponents

Based on collaboration and coexistence

Of each indivual part

For

The whole to be maintained

Under

The watchful eye of the

Universal justice!*







(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
     15 November 2016


*Old testament Isaiah 45: 5,6,7. KJV

5: I am the Lord, and there is none else, there is no God beside me : I girded thee, though thou hast not known me.
6: That they may know from the rising of the sun, and from the west, that there is none beside me. I am the Lord, and there is none else.
7: I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.  

** Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, sixth century B.C., (Kirk, Raven, 209) “To God all things are beautiful and good and just but men suppose some things to be just and others unjust!"



Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Put On The Full Armor of God

Put On The Full Armor of God “12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. 13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14 Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." Eph 6:12-17 NIV Put On The Full Armor of God, So you can stand against the Devil’s schemes. Our struggle’s not against flesh and blood, That on the surface seems. It’s against the powers of darkness And the Spiritual forces of evil, So Put On The Full Armor of God To protect you from the Devil. Buckle the belt of truth Right around your waist. Guard yourself with the breastplate of righteousness, By your heavenly Father placed. Adopt the gospel of peace and love, And take up faith’s shield, So you can extinguish the evil one’s arrows— Never more to yield. Put on the helmet of salvation, And place your sword by your side. The sword of the Spirit is God’s word, That provides you power inside. Pray in the Spirit continually— Your armor to protect. Be alert and pray for all the saints, That they may be circumspect. The Full Armor of God is essential To protect you from the unseen foe. Make sure you wear it continually, Whatever you do or wherever you go. You are the Lord’s ambassador, So be fearless in your armor. Allow the Lord to fight your battles, And He will show you favor. Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue www.maureenlefanue.com

Copyright © MAUREEN LEFANUE | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy | |

Oh Syria

Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday…somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…

I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get too political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money…is it land
I do not own any of them…I’m just a simple man

I remember…When I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmother’s hands…
But you ripped my away from her…From my home
you ripped my away from my heart…you ripped me away from my soul

I feel helpless…I feel low…
It’s hard to play along when I know…I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.

When I look at my country…people I want to save
When I look around me…people I need to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
when the range of people is way bigger than you

Freedom…oh how much I’ve heard that word
Freedom…oh how this idea has become absurd
when God gave us life…
He warned us only he can take our lives…

Oh Syria…my home
Oh Syria…my all
Oh Syria…what did they hurt you for?
Oh Syria…I’m here…I won’t let them hurt you anymore…
I am Proud to be your son…

Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2013

Details | Munaajaat | |

Tell Me

I'm lost hurt and angry
Why did you take his life
I want, No I need to know
Tell me, Tell me why
I deserve to know

Haven't you done enough to him
What'd he ever do to you
He suffered his whole life
Suffered more than anyone deserved
Tell me, Tell me why you did it
I have a right to know

Why'd you let him born to them
Born to worthless parents
Parents who didn't care
They threw him away like garbage
Pawned him off on someone else
Tell me, Tell me why
Explain how you could do that

You gave him Polio
You let others treat him like disease
You took away the full use of his legs
You warped his hand and foot
Tell me, Explain to me why
I deserve to know

You let others think he was crazy
You let it go on for over year
You didn't stop it, Why
Tell me, Give me your reason
Answer me God, Help me to understand

You go and make matters worse
You gave him Cancer
You didn't give him a chance to fight back
You just jerked him away from us
Tell me, Tell me how
How you could be so cruel

How can others not question you
When others do it, It's murder
But when it's by your hand
It's your will, Their fate
Tell me, What makes you so different
Your no better than the demons knocking at the door

You heard me beg and plead
You know I'm not afraid to die
I was willing to carry it all for him
I was willing to take my Daddy's place
You didn't even let me say Goodbye
Tell me, Tell me why I couldn't take his place
Answer me God, you owe me that much



Spiritual

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

My Dad

My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete | |

Look at who You are

Coming out of your dark
It is no place for me
Filled with anger and hatered 
With me as your mark
How sad of a soul you turned out to be
With all the gifts that you had
The equation ended with a pompous cad
It isn't to late to trust in the Lord
Let him be the might in your sword
God Bless

Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

The Choice

The World

My work is over time to head on home
Made lots of money trading stocks on-line
I told my secretary she could leave 
Askance my traders quid pro quo was fine 

I entered elevator floor nine-teen
Pushed ground floor button number one then saw
Another door to lift laid opposite
Impossible, turned ready to withdraw

The Devil's Minion

Unable to escape the way I came
The capsule doors on other side agaze
Was drawn out by a large, dark silhouette
Inside a narthex three closed doors ablaze

I listened to malefic force within
Effulgent scuttles have distracted me
With ears submitting to an evil force
On knees established I forlornly see

The Choice

The devil's minion utters chilling words
“You worldly man you face deserving death”
“You will be given one last stabbing choice”
“You get to choose a door with your last breath”

If there's a god I pray you save my soul
The dark and eldritch spirit yield a laugh
He said “each door is named must pick one now”
“Not fair” I said, he showed me golden calf

Door number one depicted the word ME
Door number two was written the word YOU
Door number three aglow with the word HIM
“What in the hell am I supposed to do ?

I looked at evil spirit's saber drawn
With my last breath I ran to a new dawn

_____________________________________________________

Copyright © Thomas Carney | Year Posted 2014

Details | Clerihew | |

Modern Prometheus

To Victor Frankenstein, let's give a nod
Who was most infamous for playing God.
What he reanimated deranged his head
And left many that he loved all dead.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Lives In The Son

With me it’s not a matter of “If I could talk to God”
I have talked to God, I talk to him all throughout the day
I first talked to God when I was forty-one
I was an evil man
See, I had lost everything and everyone I had ever loved
I was in prison, which was nothing new
Except on this particular time, which was also my last time
I was in the hole and hate was all I had left
God set me free that day
He gave me a gift called Poetry
And from inside that cell
I sprouted wings and with every poem I wrote
I flew on the wings of an angel
Then out of the blue he returned my wife
Who had left me over a year before
After talking me into turning myself in
Well if I could talk to God this is what I would say:
Through the pain and tears I cried 
An evil soul laid down and died
And of the stories that soul could tell
Delivered from the pits of hell
I thank you God for the blood of your Son
That enabled my sins to be undone
For giving me the gift and desire to write
The strength inside to stand and fight
For the love of my wife as well as my kids
A way to undo all the evil I did
I am your servant may your will be done
For what once was the darkness now lives in the Son
Lord why have you given all this to me?
I try to understand but still can’t see
You are the beginning and the end of time
The keeper of love and all that’s divine
And I was evil upon two feet
Tired, lonely, broken and beat
I don’t deserve all you have given to me
Try as I might I still cannot see
But till death I’ll do all I can
To live your word and be a man
I am your servant may your will be done
For what once was the darkness now lives in he Son
Anyhow if I could talk to God
I reckon I would probably say something like that

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

SUFFER NOT

SUFFER NOT

Suffer not o man she cried desperate for consolation
Compassion twisted and tore at her heart 
but the world she knew was silent.

Painful sounds from death filled wars, would wound her more
than jagged poison tipped arrows that pierced much too deeply.
And yet she carried on in quiet song as the world she knew kept silent.

And if the dying weren't enough, the sight of bloated bellies
and distraught mothers and sacked villages laid bare
by the unwilled force of child soldiers, would crush her spirit. 
How could the world she knew keep silent?

Thinking that God did not understand her despair 
She wept with abeyant tears that could not flow 
as the world she knew kept silent.

To live, to die in the soiled spattered flow of time
passing through, passing through
Is the secret so sublime? Cannot she grieve? 
Then silence no more was heard.

Instead a curious word within emerged 
from her meditation of life's graces
a Hebrew word "Bitachon"
What was not known in agonies 
was revealed in her silence.

C.A.K. 1-9-201

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet | |

The Narrow Line


There are divisions on life’s narrow line
where paths on left unite with paths on right.
Those crossroads we encounter intertwine;
must choose which way, and oft in dark of night.
On left, perhaps the Devil’s wish we turn;
on right, a path more blessed by God; we find
the choice can lose the soul with no return,
or help it rise to happiness refined.

With God and Devil, we must live our years;
the balance is an act we face each day.
At times, the narrow line is blurred by fears;
go right, go left…a choice to make; we pray...
   
The one we then must choose will suit our quest;
Our only judge…a conscience well at rest.


Sandra M. Haight

~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Saints and Sinners
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 11/07/2016

~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Contest 207
Brian Strand
Judged: 09/20/2016

~1st Place~
Contest: Destiny Or Choices
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 04/19/2016

~7th Place~
Contest: Gods and Devils
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged 01/22/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse | |

Whispers in the Dark

Still hiding in the whispers
 
Trying to achieve a dirty end
 
You have no power here
 
Light shines  upon you
 
An yet you choose 
  
 A slithering mask
 
Revealed
 
We Loved You
 
But you loved yourself more
 
Now blind to admit

Is it pride
 
Only

Penance ....shall set you free......





 

Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2015