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Best Dark Poems

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Details | Dark Poem |

Alice Sweet Alice

      ~Alice Sweet Alice~

        *Like Sisters*
  Everyday -- Holding Hands 
Sunday Dress -- Pink Ribbons
         *Her And I*


How can they say she did not exist
This Sweet Girl I Named Alice

The way she looked at me
-her eyes tender green
A body figure I can't describe
Together we played hide and seek
We swung in ways no one could see
This girl with pretty red curls
Who loves the sound of pouring rain.

Together we slept under the same breeze 
We carved our names on the same tree
Side by Side it Read Alice & I!
We whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice sweet Alice, said I look good in bloody red

Every day I stared into the mirror
Alice put her left hand on my right
We share the same identical scars,
under the right and left palm.

The way she held my hand
Healed the scrapes in every fall
Beating from the bullies, she could not take
Again Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
when she stood by my side
Alice, knew me inside and out.
She knew my eyes -When they cried!

Now I can't sleep,
Since the day Alice, fell in the abyss
Forever conscious in a self hug
--- this is no dream 

The rage took place 
--- when she left!
Burning curtains  
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice, spoke of darkness
Then disappeared 

Now when I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
I allow myself to soak in the abyss of where it started all.

My hair of red, is not the same
These cuts are all that remain
The only clue in which Alice, was here!
Holding on to stainless blade

ALICE SWEET ALICE! 
Please call my name!
Why did they say she never held a single breath?
I know she is real, she's existed
Why else would I had let her cut my wrist?

This Sweet Girl 
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Visits again ---
Who is to believe?
For everyone says 
Alice lives inside my head.

By;PD


Details | Dark Poem |

Stalking The Stalker: Peter Pan Can


Captain Hook, you shine your Swastika 
with the schizophrenic shadows
that followed you to the dimly-lit places 

where you attempt to be a Fuhrer, 
Herr Doktor und the Gestapo 
all wrapped into one -- 
a one-trick-pony with three phony faces.

The shadows hiss into your ear,
"He is Peter. He is also Peter. She too, is Peter.
They are all Peter!"

Just as the foolish invoke the Devil with repetition,
I will grant your wish, by being Peter The Pan;
your Precious obsession.

I am clad in skeleton leaves
and the flowing sap of Skull-Cap trees.

Wendy is an inverted double-u:
M stands for the Murderously silent swagger
of Neverland's Cloak and Dagger.

Stalker-Troll, you are emboldened 
behind the illusory safety of microchips
and a screen that brightly glows.

Put your false bravado where your hook clacks the keys,
because I play for keeps, 
yet know enough to tip the chimney-sweeps.

And the Lost Boys are in tow.
The system lost sight of us
after we aced our exams on William Golding --
yes, Piggy, boys will always....be....boys.

The Lost Boys are Canis Lupus:
Peter and his Wolves
howling at their pearled Goddess.

Nibs, Slightly, Curly, and The Twins
are tracking your scent to under the bridge
where you dine and slumber with Gluttony's swine.

Ignorance, you invoked Pan's gift-bearing countenance
with your fattened, unsmiling jowls,

so here I come clad in skeleton leaves
and the flowing sap of Skull-Cap trees.

My shadow slinks over there,
but I am hiding over here,
patiently waiting to release you
from the sickness whispering in your ear.




*This is a fictional stab at some Poésie-Noir 
for the sake of sentimentality and your entertainment.
Please, enjoy, have a slice.




February 19th, 2014







+/-


Details | Dark Poem |

Sheol

Dark Knight-tress 

Underneath 
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens 
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips

I close my eyes 
I see them all
The Shadows
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens 
The stars dim my view
Irremovable makeup
Land becomes an enemy
I become
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim

~S~


Details | Dark Poem |

A Place

I have seen fair lady April
Dance with daffodils;
I have seen the misty dawn
Light moors and windy hills.
Painted in dark shadows
Of a sunlit afternoon
I have smelled the heady scent
Where blue hyacinths commune.

I have heard the curlew's call
As she sailed the wild dark sea;
And seen the sailor guide his ship
In the dream that used to be.
I have known precious moments
In the echoes of a song;
But I never knew the comfort of
A place where I belong.


Details | Dark Poem |

Silver Haze

*                     ~Dark Silver Haze~                               *

   (side#1)                                         (side #2)

come taste life                  ----------  Heart-warming wine
old and stale,                   ----------   Jot down a line
unflavored, unpolished,      ---------   Mood changes hue
A sour, dim shade              ---------   To sweet silver blue

the lowest feeling              ---------- How high the cost
eternal gray sky               ----------  How much is lost
hollow memories               ---------- Back payment due
A sour, dim shade             ---------  To sweet silver blue 

weak limbs, overpower         ------- Head shake and sigh
moments of lights              --------  None left to deny
everything ends                 --------  Insight in view
A sour, dim shade             --------  To sweet silver blue 


torn from reality             --------   Somehow I gain
low spirits of sorrow        --------  Beauty from pain
bitter and dull,                 --------- As thoughts turn to you
A sour, dim shade           --------   To sweet silver blue


**A deep Look Into The eyes of the Poet Destroyer**

~A Tim Ryerson Collaboration~


Details | Dark Poem |

It Matters Not

It hovers here, a moon opaque, obscuring mountain trails I take. No other living things appear. A moon opaque. . . It hovers here. I follow on along a ledge; below a swirling river’s edge. In front of me, the canyon’s yawn. Along a ledge, I follow on. I see no hue when fog congeals. Oh, doom of one who no more feels! The moon has fled, as so have you. When fog congeals, I see no hue. Now all is dim; it matters not. My dear one’s heart I have not got. No use in living without him. It matters not. Now all is dim. At peace I’ll be if I should fall to murky water from this wall. Oh, yawning canyon, swallow me. If I should fall, at peace I’ll be. 'for the Gothic or Romantic (old/new) Contest of Giorgio Veneto and now for the contest of PD


Details | Dark Poem |

Three Hundred

Three Hundred

The wraiths were ringing dead wrought bells
while closely passed the shady shapes
of woods in dusk, where red indwells
communion made from ghostly grapes.

He ran amidst the winds and passed
across the side where grapevines grew,
it was her presence that amassed
small leaves and droplets of fog's dew.

Inside the winds' lone strings accord,
his Bell full-face, was dropped along
the streamlets and horizon's board,
untamed his scopes, they don't belong.

The Astral Chords! He knew this debt;
the skies demand and kill and draw,
the darkened paths his thought beget,
rose thorny droplets on his brow.

Persephone shall be his wed,
subsiding dew the mist regales,
the stringing roar that reaches red,
his greatest bride resigns his trails.

Shall be the threading of winds' howls,
her plea arises from the shades,
homecoming queen from astral halls,
he harks the northern swashing blades.

Ablution's her enjoining black
"Enfold me in the rising dawn
enfold your sadness in the dark
with magistral the curtains drawn".

Acute of wounds she heals and mends
the asphalt of the mists awaits
pristine her bridal thorns amends
while passing through the Hades gates.

Three hundred reasons drew the drapes,
three hundred strings of diligence;
The winds regaled the bride's agape,
his celebration to commence.

© 10-14-2013, George Venetopoulos
(Iambic Tetrameter - Epic)

Three Hundred = 300 Kilometers per hour. The final speed a super-bike of 1,000cc engine is able to outreach.


Details | Dark Poem |

Dear Lucifer

I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I? 
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw 
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown

There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me

What I will never be

Dear Lucifer,
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared


Details | Dark Poem |

A LullabyTo The Lost

Life and cigarettes burn to fast.
We waste are time.
So within the moment you bask.

A pretty face has to age.
Every story meets  it's final page.
When life breaks you over its cost.
Then you'll sing a lullaby to the lost.

The lights in the street hide all but the truth my 
dear.
You can act.
But you can never mask your  fear.

In dark rooms you sell all but your soul.
A wicked moment a stolen encounter.
All things take there toll.

That sweet face has tuirned hard your so warm 
to be cold.
A secret that the bitter have already told.

Can you wash away there stench as from 
the past you are tossed.
In dark corners blood stained angles 
sing a lullaby  to the lost.

Is this hell or a nightmare  that knows no end.
A cell to most.
To others the only refuge inwhich they 
can depend.

she falls to the floor a lost look needle  
in arm.
Most will rememeber a doomed fool.
Others her wreckless charm.

She was  a junkie  and a easy lay.
More bones are broken.
Over words others say.

She sold flesh but payed the ultimate
cost.
In a dingy corner of th world.
Were the angles sing a lullaby to the lost.


Details | Dark Poem |

Mother is Dove

Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.

Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.

Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu 
For my heart.

I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.

I remember the wood from the wood 
The water from the water 
And manifold items from jungle alleys 
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.

I remember the constant match 
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with 
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.

I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls 
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?

Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.

Oh, mother loving woman 
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.


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