As All Hallows’ Eve approacheth my thoughts turneth to darkest dread,
Whilst in old age I harboureth a deep fear of seeing this one’s grim head;
Methinks the Grim Reaper cometh this time with his scythe in hand,
Which striketh maximum fear in me and maketh him feel quite so grand.
Death and darkness doth pervade this spirit’s intent from that great beyond,
And bringeth one a chilling fear if one’s destiny be unending Hellspawn;
All Hallows’ Eve is the image I conjureth of my imminent departure,
But I hopeth for divine intervention and protection during this departure.
For I shan’t want to feel the fear and malediction of the Grim Reaper’s gaze,
As he eerily walketh in the deep mist to bringeth my soul into that darkest haze;
I prayeth then Oh Lord God, haveth an Angel escort me on my final trip beyond,
And spareth me the Grim Reaper’s terrifying visit and his image of Hellspawn.
I asketh thy divine power and all goodness in protecting my eternal spirit and soul,
And delivereth them to Heaven on All Hallows' Eve most sound and quite whole!
Amen! Amen! Amen!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - October 25, 2014
A Demon Confesses
I shun the light and do so cast the stone,
rot the meat , ravenously eat the bone
Cut my way deep in every man that falls,
eat my thrills as my victim mercy calls!
Shadows, adorning my cloaks worn with pride,
once entered I rot the mind as I ride
Pain and agony my pets serve so well,
my purpose, sending 'em all right to Hell!
Long claws my daggers I do finely shine,
accept my gifts, your soul then is all mine
Dark laughter is my sweet joy letting loose,
long is you wail, your head is in my noose!
I too, serve my dark master very well
loyal demon, freed from the bowels of Hell!
no date- Edited today, shortened to a sonnet
written so very long ago!
A taste of dark,
demons a reality so very stark,
I write safely within this brilliant light
spewing truth out to win another great fight..-08/24/2014
Before the days when man first sinned
Angels traveled upon the wind
Everything magic shone in the night
Fairies fluttered, wings shining bright
Eve was perfect with long flowing hair
Sensuous body, delightfuly bare
Adam's body strong, he was a sight
They played by day and made love at night
Everything perfect, living in the trees
Yet trouble called upon a gentle breeze
The serpent said taste, this fruit so grand
Eve so entranced, she ate from his hand
She saved fruit for Adam, he took a bite
The garden went dark, no more magic light
A sonnet in The Wind Contest.
Written September 9th, 2013
Sponsored by: Poetess Darkly
The amaryllis yawns in bed of white
The fall of day paints shadows on the rose
Each flower is a ward of solemn night
Their gentle sleep upon which none impose
Beyond the halls and down the drowsy stair
Into the hallowed stillness of the lake
Illuminating every pebble there
The moon believes that no one is awake
Yet bittern watches all with eyes of gold
Alighted new in absence of the light
And with his lusty call so clear and bold
He breaks the quietude and then takes flight
A ripple in the water seeks the shore
It meets the rocks and ripples there no more
Stones In The Honeyed Ring Of Time
Sitting here dejected, mere pile of bones
pleasure, just memory in the dark past
Strip out each lie one polishes and hones
facing truth, nothing can forever last!
Stark reality of deeds soaked in slime
pain, a racing bird sent to torture me
Memories in the honeyed ring of time
everything costs dearly, nothing is free!
Evil are the chains wrapping my crushed Soul
Time, a sword cutting so deeply my heart
lost hope of any future winning goal
sad truth is ripping rest of me apart!
Pile of bones, only treasure I have got
smelling meat even after a slow rot!
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 14 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 102
Choices, Voices and Bad Company
Bang , bang , gunshots in heated night air sang
jump back , be careful where you nightly hang
Fun, fun , going where the night action stays
danger waits hidden when nights replace days!
Kick it, kick it, time to chase the gals
beware safety gone if you hang with pals
So carry a shooter , step up your game
name in the paper soon may be your fame!
Hold on, hold on, your future life has game
you grab future rejecting drugs so lame
Stand up , a man that carries his own weight
yield not to greed, lust and all useless hate!
Live on, living to find your star and shine
Live on, love in life , love so very fine!
Robert J. Lindley 08-24-2014
Note: A sonnet that presents today's life choices are
often far more serious when made than young
people can realise. Seeking action and thrills
always come with a cost. Quite often a deadly cost!
Don't freely decide to get yourself so lost!
Been there, down that, long ago..
Life can be such a cruel thing at times
We should all have a little bit of faith
We all have our own personal form of crime
But I don’t guess that is always the case
Even in dark light will shine
No matter what it will always break through
At some point we must all find our own kind
No matter what we should always stay true
Even in the dark always keep a smile
The light inside will find a way to shine
To find it we walk the endless miles
When we find it, it will be so divine
Surely it shouldn’t be this hard to find
We do what we can to not cross the line
A waking up, do I, Dark Poet, need
to shake my creature core from sheltered sleep.
A seed has taken root as bitter weed
that sprouts from disappointments buried deep
inside me, where a well-hid wild thing
with armored skin lifts groggy head to breathe.
No fire escapes its mouth, for it must cling
to courtesy although its blood should seethe.
If roused, the beast could overstep its bounds
and though I’ve tamed it well, I sometimes hear
in dusky dreams its melancholy sounds.
Before the dawn its murmurs disappear.
On bitter weed subsists my dragon child.
Oh, should I let it rest. . . or wake the wild?
For Irma's Dark Poet contest
Thy sightly, blooming charm, gents' thoughts enthralled,
and attar's scent, their wonderment inflamed,
revealing and contoured thy dressing mould,
transformed their sentiments to status maimed!
The short, designer-made and bold tight skirts,
thy geodetic curves embraced like gloves,
where insolent, male feelings, made for birds,
provoked thine ardour and my savage shoves.
Thou courted wert, by the surrounding plebe,
that dull and raw, with amateurish flair,
undaunted forged inventiveness, and dweeb
they lionhearted tried to kiss your hair.
Disdained, the suitors though, exclaimed defeat,
thy beau's wrath proved their charming obsolete.
© 11-11-2013, G.V., All Rights Reserved
(Hmm... Don't let my smile cozen you. I am still very angry!)
I cut to see if I feel how it's like being human,
I cut to see the pain relinquish inside,
I cut for all the memories that remain to drain down in the sewage
What symbols life runs with death in that rusty pipe.
A slash here and a slash there,
What happened in the past?
A slash here and there,
Soon the memories don't last.
Scissors, knives, razors and sharp edges
keeps a bloody smile, no more weep.
Slice and dice, trim more than the hedges
And I don't care if I go to deep.
One scar closer to a never ending dream,
I don't care if I go to deep.
The Real Fear...
The fear of darkness seems to threaten most
When one is lost and groping in the dark
Of self. One blames unknowns—the devil, ghosts
Or even God—for fright that comes with stark,
Cold, empty blackness. Courage will depart—
Just like a pearl dropped in a sea of ink,
Its glow will die—while fear's black magic art
Revives despair between each hurried blink
Of eyes which stare at shadows that incite
Imaginary monsters of the mind.
But oft these visions are the mirrored sight
Of what one sees within when eyes are blind—
For darkness lights and magnifies the whole
Dim panorama of the troubled soul.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Dark and Deep (Old Poems Only)
Sponsor: Skat A
Debbie Guzzi's Contest
He knows the fog that counts his steps tonight
So proud, the crow, stands on the wires, alone;
what made him bleed before the brinks of light,
defined by emptiness and mountain stone?
The fog surrounds the crow in early dark
what else deserved to be once more recalled
remained to warn the souls that stare and hark
"this shroud descends your being to enfold".
Ethereal, departs on his ascension trail,
stouthearted is his life's long path, my Lord;
the crow unfolds in white engulfing veil,
his stalwart wings on Mistral's wailing chord.
And infinite became his nightly flight,
above the cedars croaked his skyward rite.
© G.V. 06-11-2013 All rights reserved
My morning retirement ritual,
Provides breakfast to the birds on my street.
Food for fowl, silencing bellies that growl,
Watching the many hundreds gather near,
Huddled together on branches they meet,
With a calm patience we’ve learned to revere.
Feeding the birds of every pedigree,
Flying things, all sizes, colors, and shapes.
Hungry beaks, vibrant feathers, sharp clawed feet,
Small Finches and Wrens, large Sparrows come round.
Harmoniously singing us awake,
Their only care: yummy seeds on the ground.
My morning retirement ritual,
Feeding the birds of every pedigree.
1) Sonnet written in Anapestic Pentameter
wandering in thoughts.
promises and hopes.
Hand in hand,
tumbling on slopes.
This is love
Running away from this world.
Warm bodies sliding in sheets,
to find another world.
Burning in cold flames.
No fear ... no shame ... no games
This is love
Your head is dead a chamber vast and void
and nothing's what you think on anymore
forgotten are all things you once enjoyed
and are replaced by life the constant bore.
Your brain's been drained you sit alone and stare
all hope's run out, your heart is solid stone
from night to day and day to night it's there
the wish to be forgotten and alone.
You think and sink into Oblivion
not caring if you fade or if you die
but only that you shed the shell you're in
you've gone beyond the questioning of why.
You are the death, the dark of greatest fear
the song of life only the dead can hear.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Dusk, the end of day, the soften bed of moonlight,
brings wild thoughts within its sultry shadows musing.
Belle Lune, fair damsel, bringing love and fright,
release my tongue-tied self, please allow my crooning.
Troubadours have strung the onyx sky with comet
tails glittering white, and bowed each string to unite
the pensive poet's heart and that of his fair coquette;
see them sway, a dance displayed amour in the moonlight.
Shadows deepen, have they left, thought hard, grown contrite
or has the moon, amused, drawn shadows 'round as gowns?
Will he rise at dawn, curtains drawn, write of the night?
The maid, the moon, the well so deep, the heat profound
calls to him in memory, now cooled by harsh light.
For now, there is, but the empty page of daylight.
The Clock ticks loudly in my mind
A 6th sense tingles down my spine
As i feel i venture not alone
Perhaps it's the aura of ones dead sole
I stare in to the darkness looking for something
Although i know I'm going to find nothing
But faintly i hear a scratching sound
I immediately sit up and look around
Idled I sit, Froze in confusion
A ghostly presence is my only Conclusion
I turn on the T.V and turn up the lights
My heart beat slows as the room is now bright
Feeling a comfort because it's no longer dark
Until my dog awakens and randomly barks
The way the dogs spooked theres something you can tell
The presence of something i fear from hell
6 minutes gone of nothing but shaking
But a miracle happened and I feel the air changing
The room gets brighter! My dog sits and stares
A manly like shadow appears and draws near
Forth comes a Broad man, I feel his glow
And blinded I am by the shine of his Halo.
"An angel I am, Your Guardian " he says
Fear not any evil for the danger has fled
Protected you are, you can now rest
There will be no more of this satanic pest.
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
I turned and find the pillow now so cold
You are not there now for me to hold
Was it only through night’s dark hours?
Is sleep so cruel to wield such powers?
To take you from me though you were not there
Dreams so cruel not to answer my sweet prayer
You felt so real and you held me so tight
My special dream lover through the dark night
Entwined together as one, not parted
Not a thread between love uncharted
To sail the hours on waves rising high
Hearts in rhythm souls touching and sigh
To turn and find that you were not there
Left me bereft incomplete not one of a pair.
© ~GG~ 30/12/2012
The creatures that could fly, flew out this night
They brought forth their powers, with them their might
The black dragon is largest on the list
They are the strongest, waving their clawed fist
Next would have to be the fairies so trim
Wielding dark talents purely on a whim
The dark gargoyles fly around with great ease
Spreading the fear of death and dire disease
As sure as you think the darkness would win
An angel flies high, way up in heaven
She saves the Earth from all evil around
Drops down some angel dust right to the ground
And quick as a flash evil leaves this place
Angels left to sing the beauty of grace
Entrant into Gail Doyle's "Angel Dust" contest
Startled I see my dream again tonight
Awaking from within me deepest fright
Creeping from out my misty eyed slumber
The beast inside me began to lumber
Catching myself in front of the mirror
Your eyes beside me, your shrieks of terror
Wax smelt courage, your trigger finger slight
Now you see me in a different light
Soft moonlighted skin dotted with twin holes
For my ravens guide me to sinful souls
Now conjuring up your holy spirits
Refuse you the truth because you fear it
And yet again I wake a lonely Knight
My dear, come here, promise I won't bite
In A Hotel Room
In a hotel room, she lies, literally to herself.
Their meetings filled with desire are brief.
How can she put her dignity on a shelf
Lost, between the crumpled sheet.
As a friend I helplessly watch
As her happiness turns to shame
All the joy before is lost
Falling for this hoodlums game.
There is no love in a hotel room
Used for trysts and rendezvous
As she leaves she's filled with gloom
Not the girl that I once knew.
Players play for keeps
no conscience they can sleep.
Alas, life's problems have made me extra wise,
So I try to walk life carefully everyday.
Watching ‘very step taken when problems arise,
As life's uproar will come down each day
Everything that goes up has to come down
It's evil versus good - nature versus man
Always been like this, as man gets drown
In this struggle that takes a full, life-span
The entire Earth revolves in chaotic spin,
Nothing is sacred to most men after all,
Man has forgotten God completely, and sin,
Against Him and akin, and that's why man falls
So I try to walk life carefully everyday,
As life's uproar will come down each day!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Oh, yes indeed, you thought you had lost him.
All was well, you thought you're on easy street.
Your pathway was strewn with flowers and then
nothing to look forward to but to greet
grandchildren at the door, parcel out love,
forbearance accumulated in a
lifetime. Live life orderly and above
the board you built from illusions just a
little and dreams just a lot. One dark night
you awoke. That dark canine of chaos
and despair was back, sniffing, scratching right
there at your front door, the side of your house,
indomitable and stupid and near,
drawn like a dog to the heat of your fear.
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.
They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.
There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off. Who knows?
For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.
You’ll come to me one day and beg for love
Reminding me of heights we reached above
The dreams we shared and love we made so right
And how our passion burned till morning light
The day will come when you will need my bed
A haven was it then for weary head
You’ll come to me and beg to be led there
Where not just bodies but our souls lay bare
The day will come when you will ask of me
to take you back and give you constancy
You’ll beg of me to love you like before
But you don’t know, the lock is on the door
You laid me low, you broke me, and I died
The one who loved you, does not here abide
Death In the Cesspool
Forget the dead, there faces never smile,
nor do they fret about life's uphill climb,
but if one must, 'tis good to cry a while,
remembering they've died from age or crime.
Or if you're of a mind to dance and sing,
while laying dead down to their resting place,
the world should never say a single thing,
as life goes on in its redeeming grace.
And if you think you'll never be the same,
what manner of a fool would want to stay,
here in this garbage heap and stupid game;
here in the pits of hell and death's decay?
We'll sanctify the church. Nativity.
The temple mount. The wall.
And drown ourselves in pee.
© ron wilson
My mind finally past the brink
Of pure insanity;
Slipping deep into the drink,
As I lose my humanity.
Down, down, down into the thick red liquid,
Seeing the bloating corpses;
The thoughts in my mind oh so twisted,
Hearing their distorted pain filled voices.
As I swim deeper into the depths
I slowly become sick and nauseous;
Witnessing all of their gruesome deaths,
I begin to become conscious.
I open my eyes, waking in a room ---
Filled with guts and gloom.
For foster ill informed author,
Of the pathetic unified change.
Distributed empty into the offer,
Charming established and never strange.
Climb alongside dynamic govern,
Prevent recondite or exclamation.
Near dangerous pioneers burn,
When in shrill or uttermost exploration.
Ambiguous and verified to be attractive,
Having narcissus by narrow selection.
Too accomplished of velvet missive,
And actual tawdry of substance's complexion.
Overt professed to be scaled simplistic,
And parched with vacation of the heuristic.
And I, seeing you old upon your chair
Thinking how cold and heartless you could be.
The stern and bitter visage of your stare
That sense of something lost I couldn't see.
Your anger, hardened like a winter chill
Had bruised our childhood days and left us flawed,
We who had wondered why and wonder still
The coldness of your touch that never thawed.
I who was half-afraid to reappear
To look you in the eye and stare you down,
See nothing but an old and haggard dear,
A face that hides behind a frightened frown.
And looking at your face which run with tears
See nothing but your guilt and all you fears.