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Metaphor God Poems | Metaphor Poems About God

These Metaphor God poems are examples of Metaphor poems about God. These are the best examples of Metaphor God poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Lyric | |

The End

The End

Seeing through these cold dead eyes now,
This world looks much different.

The scars of one’s life entire,
Appear now for all to see.

What once meant everything,
Really means nothing now.

I still see and sense things mortal,
But the earthly world can’t hear my words. 

Lying on an ice-cold white slab this darkest night,
I see the pale yellow moon’s sad face in the sky.

With visions of people who’ve crossed over before,
I wonder when Charon shall finally appear?

Shall it be him who appears on this new horizon?
Or shall it be someone or something else?

The everyday mortal world moves on as before:
Regardless of one’s wealth, poverty, fame, shame, infamy.

I guess now all the ancient mysteries of the universe,
Shall become obvious and answered in kind.

I wonder what shall be said to me and the reception?
Thumbs up or thumbs down—I guess I shall find out.

The pale yellow moon now appears brighter . . . 
As if a special message cometh soon from a winged angel.

Hope this helps to answer my lingering questions . . .
As the dark void from the mortal world grows greater now.

I feel a gentle tug pulling me upward now from Earth’s grasp,
Into the majestic arms of infinity and into God’s eternal light!        

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 12, 2016 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Love's Alchemy is Eternal

Love’s Alchemy is Eternal

Your look, touch, and scent now so perfect pure,
Enchants my true emotions and soaring passion.
I knoweth now our love shall always endure,
As God unites our souls as one by divine action!

Our sensual passion defines love’s spirit entire,
As we caress and kiss for this moment’s bliss.
Love’s alchemy maketh our spirits soar afire,
As we embrace our lips find that deepest kiss!

Our hearts beat now in a sacred tempo of love,
That reflects our real destiny, two souls as one.
This is God’s gift to us from Heaven high above,
As we wish these magic moments of eternal fun!

By Heaven, I pray our love’s alchemy forever,
And declareth my love shan’t leave you ever!    
 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 27, 2016 (Shakespearean Sonnet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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 | Sonnet | |

Your Beautiful Heart Doth Beat

Your Beautiful Heart Doth Beat

Your beautiful heart doth beat with rapture,
And the sweet of your kiss doth now swoon me.
We caress now and my soul you capture;
My love no place other I wish to be!

When we embrace my love in joy and fun,
Our hot passions spark an alchemic fire.
Our spirits soar high now becoming one,
Affirming love only God can inspire!

Your heart beats a brilliant tempo of love,
That enchants our eternal souls replete.
It’s God’s gift to us from Heaven above,
And His divine love is true and complete!

To God now I pray your love forever;
I declare my love leaving you never!    
 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 14, 2015 (Shakespearean Sonnet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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 | Couplet | |

As Liquid Fire Melts

As Liquid Fire Melts

As liquid fire melts with twinkling sunshine in your eyes, 
Opening wings now embrace deeply all of my true emotions.

Feeling the warmth of your beating heart now fluttering so,
I see a radiant chain of daisies growing in the deep green grass.
 
Every choice I have ever made throughout my long life,
Has led me now to you at this very special moment in time. 

Beholding ivory silk starlight whispers of Heavenly angels true, 
I have now a clear vision of my life, my fate, and my destiny. 

Becoming the richest person in this giant, lonely world—
Means finding you and sharing our love unconditionally.

All real emotions we have beholding in this life of ours,
Are part of that God-given sensitivity from the Almighty.

Truly, as liquid fire melts beyond in great stars of the cosmos,
I think of you, our love, and the starlight whispers of angels true!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – April 21, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

A Tree

A Tree

I’m a tree lining a country road
Along with hundreds of other
Trees in the direction of a verdant
Forest—full of scenic wonder and 
Teaming with life.

All of us stand tall and firm with
Such majestic beauty and geometric
Symmetry and precision which is
Evident from the angles and curves
Of each tree and the fact we all
Practically line up in a straight line.

The simplicity and beauty we display
To the human eye disguises the actual
Complexity beneath the surface of our
Existence which could even be likened
To some form of a thought-provoking
Algebraic equation. 

We all represent the wizardry of Mother 
Nature and the divine thought of God and
Have been an integral part of this Earth
Far longer than Mankind—and do we have
Some stories that we could share with you! 

As a tree I’m nurtured daily by our Earth,
But as I take, I also give back and help to 
Bring balance to Earth’s daily Carbon 
Dioxide output in the greater scheme of
The worldwide environment.

And so, as a Tree, my life and function
As a living organism and an entity here 
On Earth is a testament to the wonder of 
Creation, and both the marvel and mystery
Of the Universe, and the omnipotence and
Divine power of God.

Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman 
– A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(May 12, 2015) (Narrative)

*Originally written on February 15, 2015 for my new book.

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

A Rainbow's Magic

A Rainbow’s Magic

A rainbow’s magic reflects God’s majestic and divine touch,
Giving us a panoply of colored images which mean so much.

The wonder of God’s enchanted pictorial missives here on Earth,
Gives us an ethereal pause as we reflect on each rainbow’s birth.

A rainbow is God’s celestial medium of His images to treasure,
To help Man better understand Him and meet His deft measure.

The power of a rainbow is its picture-perfect aura of pulchritude,
Dazzling our visual senses and assuring us of Heaven’s certitude.

A rainbow’s very visage mesmerizes our human senses complete,
And embeds in us all God’s spirited message of His love replete.

A rainbow is a noble and supreme reflection of beauty at its best,
And of shades of heavenly images on Earth meeting God’s behest.

A rainbow’s magic is the power of God’s message to us on Earth,
Subtly preparing Man for his heavenly ascent and his soul’s rebirth.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, August 13, 2015
(Rhymed Couplet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Pantoum | |

Your Touch Means So Much

Your Touch Means So Much
 
Your touch means so much to me my love,
As we hold each other with intense passion.
We know our love has God’s blessing above;
Our bond for eternity shall always be in fashion.   

As we hold each other with intense passion,
We dazzle with emotion pure on this Earth.
Our bond for eternity shall always be in fashion,
As we approach our souls’ nexus of rebirth.

We dazzle with emotion pure on this Earth.
We know our love has God’s blessing above,
As we approach our souls’ nexus of rebirth.
Your touch means so much to me my love.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
July 31, 2015 (Pantoum)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

The Gem


THE GEM

As precious stones are hidden and entwined
In minerals of ordinary worth,
They must be found, professionally mined
From common, rocky layers of the earth.
Extracted, polished, cut, they'll stand apart
As valued gems.  Neglected, they will share
In earth's destructive force—erosion's art—
Dissolve away with nature's wear and tear.

Oh God, you are both mine and miner; strip
This soul embedded in your work of clay,
And let your tools of grace and fellowship
Preserve the gem of Love from life's decay.
Cut many facets that reflect and show—
The worth of gem and miner in its glow.


Sandra M. Haight

~4th Place
Premiere Contest: Contest No 223 any form-theme max of 14 lines 
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 10/16/2016

~3rd Place~
Contest: Precious Stones and Gems
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged 11/22/2014

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet | |

Our Human Nature

Our Human Nature

A real aspect always part of a person’s life;
One that can bear fangs and pangs of strife.
 
A living barometer replete with its choices;
Leaving each of us puzzled, full of voices. 

It prays on our very emotions and naiveté, 
Leaving us at times in moments of disarray.

Man by his nature is fickle and imperfect.
God by His nature is divine and perfect.

A person’s decency is so wonderful to tell;
Another’s depravity is so worthy of Hell! 

A person’s good deeds mark now his true measure,
Bringing him God’s divine love always to treasure!

Never trust what you can’t feel deep in your heart;
This makes us divine in God’s eyes—sets us apart!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(January 5, 2016) (Rhymed Couplet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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 | Free verse | |

Phantom Slippers of Thoughts

Without soul nourishment our spirits shall wither and die.
Words are a mere instrument, but can reflect truth to power. 
Of our faith within love and understanding—truth begs mercy, 
Whilst melting honey-sweet crystals kiss thy soft warm cheeks. 
We dream and bathe inside the sun’s most radiant gift of desire. 
Cool waters of divine creation lovingly quench this desert fire, 
And the haunting spectre of death shall never be an end to us!
 
Winds of such deep-thoughts softly and sweetly sting at once, 
When I show you a mirror-image of what our destiny can be. 
Adrift in storms of fervid emotions I give in now to your love. 
I see a temple of beauty I once bowed down to under your gaze, 
As your red-hot daggers strike deepest cords in this coldest breeze.  
Now holding hands sunlight-sparkled with you inside this dream,
This heartfelt satisfaction’s worth more than all the world’s gold!

Riches fall from Heaven now in shining jewels of misted pearls,
Whilst I walk alone in deepest thoughts in my blue suede shoes.
Living-loving inside a sole-soul of dreams—true and unbounded,
I hear songbirds whistle and whisper in such joy by God’s grace.
Our souls may nourish themselves on the eternal power of our love.
With God as our witness—we fear not what death shall bring to us,
For our love and true destiny exist far beyond this mortal world!  

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 15, 2016
(Free Verse)       

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Canzone | |

God's Holy Whisper of Love

God’s Holy Whisper of Love

I long to hear now God’s holy whisper of love,
For its sacrosanct sound abounds most high above.
This subtle soft tone mirrors forever God’s grace;
It maketh our souls one in His heavenly place.
God’s whisper reflects his love and passion in kind;
It’s His wish for poets to set them in true rhyme.
God’s whisper is our music on this mortal Earth;
It sustains our love spirit for holy rebirth.
Warm tears symbolize always our human passion,
As we seeketh God’s plan for His divine action. 
God’s whisper sustains us true in all times of need;
He teaches that love conquers all, and we must heed.
God’s love shall be with us until the end of time;
He knoweth that poets shall set His words to rhyme!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 15, 2016 (Canzone)

Author’s Notes:
One Stanza
14 Verses
Meter: Iambic Hexameter
Total Syllables: 168
Rhyme Scheme: aabbccddeeffcc

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet | |

The Stars at Night

The Stars at Night

Gazing at the stars at night I marvel at their divine beauty,
Knowing that God created them as reflections of His Light.

The stars in a sense serve as light markers to mankind’s
Very existence on this Earth and in celestial dimensions.
			
The stars have served as romantic backdrops for people,
As they seek love, find love, and want a life together.

The stars with their infinite beauty and God-like presence,
Shall always have import in the lives of men and women.

The darkness of night itself creates a motif in contrast to
The very wonder and hope for mankind that starlight brings.

Love itself serves as that very special emotion which brings
Two star-crossed lovers together as one in God’s eyes in love.

The key is not fear, but the ability to love and feel a spirit of
Adventure as people meet, fall in love, and seek a life as one.

The stars at night mirror God’s eternal presence in the Cosmos,
And represent His Love and Desire to always be with mankind.

The stars reflect an infinite beauty and God’s grace and love,
Which shall always be part of mankind’s existence on Earth.  		

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved – June 23, 2015
(Unrhymed Couplet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Terzanelle | |

The Warmth of Our True Love

The Warmth of Our True Love
 
The warmth of our true love is forever,
As we walk hand-in-hand in God’s bright light.
Our love’s God’s gift and shall leave us never. 

We know dear one our love always feels right,
As we savor all of this emotion;
As we walk hand-in-hand in God’s bright light.

Our desire is a magical potion
Of heavenly force and cosmic power, 
As we savor all of this emotion.

This is our love’s ecstasy and the hour,
We find our destiny and feel God’s hand
Of heavenly force and cosmic power. 
	
Love’s God’s music in His angelic band;
Its divine nature touches our souls true.
We find our destiny and feel God’s hand.

God’s love for us binds us like cosmic glue;
Its divine nature touches our souls true.
The warmth of our true love is forever;
Our love’s God’s gift and shall leave us never. 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
July 23, 2015 (Terzanelle)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Money

Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.

From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you 're  seeing,
To everything out of sight.

The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.

The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred  ring.

Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Triolet | |

A Winter's Night

A Winter’s Night

This winter’s night is cold and bright;
frozen air brings fresh fallen snow.
It reflects now God’s true starlight!
This winter’s night is cold and bright;
a brilliant scene, this dark cold night!
Mother Nature smiles, now aglow!
This winter’s night is cold and bright;
frozen air brings fresh fallen snow.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 19, 2015 (Triolet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quintain (English) | |

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

Mankind’s love, passion, and truth on this Earth
Are what the heavenly angels above speak of 
As part of our continuing mortal experience.
No power on this Earth can ever diminish our
Love nor tear asunder the aura of this uniqueness.

Our heavenly dreams and ongoing desire for
Cosmic Awareness are ingrained into our souls 
And our very DNA—forming that rare divine
Wanderlust characterizing humanity’s efforts 
To synchronize its spirituality with God Himself.

This gives us all cause to reflect on and think of
The higher path that brings our hearts and souls
Together as one as we seek our cosmic destiny, 
As part of the Almighty’s plan for us in Heaven.
This is what the heavenly angels above speak of.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quintain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Terza Rima | |

A Love So True

A Love So True

A love so true is what I’ve found in you my dearest one!
The depth of our shared emotions defy all description,
As they excite and enchant every aspect of our lives.

A love so true is a quest I started long ago to find you!
One so special with that undeniable smile and laugh;
One possessed with that rare angelic heart of gold.

A love so true binds us together even in strife and tribulation!
We find our shared thoughts and love do sustain us each day.
We renew our passion and commitment without reservation.   

A love so true blessed by our Lord God in Heaven above!
He watches over us now and gives us His true love always.
We walk in His divine path now, two souls forever as one.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 13, 2016 (Unrhymed Tercet)

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 © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet | |

As Liquid Fire Melts

As liquid fire melts with twinkling sunshine in your eyes, 
Opening wings now embrace deeply all of my true emotions.

Feeling the warmth of your beating heart now fluttering so,
I see a radiant chain of daisies growing in the deep green grass.
 
Every choice I have ever made throughout my long life,
Has led me now to you at this very special moment in time. 

Beholding ivory silk starlight whispers of Heavenly angels true, 
I have now a clear vision of my life, my fate, and my destiny. 

Becoming the richest person in this giant, lonely world—
Means finding you and sharing our love unconditionally.

All real emotions we have beholding in this life of ours,
Are part of that God-given sensitivity from the Almighty.

Truly, as liquid fire melts beyond in great stars of the cosmos,
I think of you, our love, and the starlight whispers of angels true!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – April 21, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet | |

Winds of a Frozen Wasteland

Winds of a Frozen Wasteland

Winds blowing down the mountain silver capped so cold, 
Howling fiercely with a herculean ferocity rarely ever seen. 
 
A cold snap cuts straight and deep now to one’s very bones, 
As one’s body trembles tremulously teetering toward a fall.
 
Beloved baby black crows roost inside their snug warm nest, 
As a hail-driven breath spits its hardened bullets piercing now.  

On this frozen wasteland of one’s soul—a lone rooster crows,
Seeing, feeling soft sunlight rays stroking his proud chest pure.

He’s puffed up now breathing boldly the brisk cold morning air;
Singing with wondrous conviction true of daylight’s awakening.

This lone rooster knows the gifts of nature’s frozen wasteland,
As the warm sun’s ebullient eyes flash bright inside dark jewels.

A crystal fountain baptized with Heaven’s own purest light,  
Appears as the sun warms a land frozen nightly by the winds. 

Dewdrops cometh forth as those teardrops of life growing anew,
With brightest beginnings for God’s hallowed frozen wasteland!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 1, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

To Eden Part I

What pushes my pen in this whimsical notch of the world?

   Something whispers to me like an elder dream....
  
   and the trees hang arbored 'oer a little stream of sea,

   the feathered folk flit and flute,

   and sip the may-season rill;


Where sun has finally come dipping like a diamond.....

   I am measured to this mighty moment found;

   and there is holly even in the most forgotten shade,

   though royal (even) ----- with garland diadems made 


It would seem the angels have foretold this:

   to not forget the most beauteous of days;

   with proud hours honeyed, 

   the long-loving minute endures in thy heart,

   and remembers the kiss of legends

   despite realms of sadness and dark,

   the withered wind which blows old upon the sad hills....

   too ancient for wise men; for in youth how pink the heart

   and varied, new struggles are many -----

   yet plain with simple solutions


Mercy hath not a mind for memory....

   swift its song, its house clean of enemies lurking,

   no bogey-man skulking the midnite hour,

   no roving-a-wraith scratching the old attic boards;


Forgiveness sleeps in the quiet wood, 

   and wakes with whispers of faith,

   with the ease of nestled lambs and recollected days;

What poor tragedy to fret with dark remembrance,

   to furl hades in the denizens of thy heart ----

   black-tongued as the devil in his den!


What fool would prefer a scowl to a smile?

   enemies come and go.....

   friends come and remain,

   when the house is quiet with memories....

   of youth and adventure in the old daydream glass;

   more precious the ancient hours 

   and parched the pages of first chapters,

   first beginnings, first faces in the ripples of time's pond;

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014

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 | Free verse | |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse | |

Heart Of The Sea

  Heart of the sea,deeper 
than a chasm-insatiable 
monster like the 
graveyard.
    Habouring the wrecks 
of 
sunken ships and 
treasures,the abode of 
the titanic.
    Silent but troublesome.
Nereus safe haven and 
the Nereids on errand 
riding dolphins-saving or 
destroying at your will 
strange presence.
   Waves spread to all 
parts 
within minutes of your 
ignition.
    Heart of the sea,so 
vast that a journey on 
you can't be 
accomplished without 
your guide.
   A shimmering rare 
pearl 
looming underneath.   
Underneath u coldness is 
cast into oblivion-a 
warmth to the 
inhabitants.
    Heart of the sea is like 
heart of a woman-always 
pregnant after delivery.
Who can fathom your 
depths?









Name:Ifeanyi Bob 
Ekechukwum
(Baron Of Ebullion)

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013