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Best Evil Poems

Below are the all-time best Evil poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of evil poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Evil Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Evil poems are below this new poems list.

EVIL FLIRT by bajantri, jagdish
I SHALL FEAR NO EVIL by Poshiwa, Herzel
THE TALK OF AN EVIL TOWN by Emery, Judy
Evil Graves by Parveen, Tahira
The Evil of Gossip by McConnell, Gordon
Evil and all his friends by Stroh, Uwe
good v evil by JOHNSON, DON
the evil that kids do by aller, jake
There is Evil Inside by Jackson, LJ
Evil-livE by JY, T.I.R.O.

View all new Evil Poems

The Best Evil Poems

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Alice Sweet Alice

      ~Alice Sweet Alice~

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


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

The way she looks 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 enjoys 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!
She whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice Sweet Alice loves the way I look in red!

Every day I face the mirror
Alice puts 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 screams!
Again, Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
When she stood by my side
Alice knew me in ways no one else did
She knew my eyes -When they cried!

Now I can't sleep,
Since, Alice has fallen back into the abyss
Forever conscious in a self-hug
--- this is no dream, it is real!

The rage inside, burns.
It took place the day she left!
Burning curtains 
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice spoke of darkness,
then disappeared 

When I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
Nothing feels the same,
I allow myself to soak in a darkness where it began.

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, I sleep

ALICE SWEET ALICE! 
Please call my name!
Why do they whisper?
Why are they saying she never held a breath?
I know she is real, she's exist
Why else would I let her cut my wrist?

This Sweet Girl 
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Finally, visits again ---
But, who is to believe?
For everyone says 
Alice lives inside my head.

By:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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No Reservation

You Are Not Invited

--Latching onto my soul without an invitation--
Elements around my shore expose more than air
--Playing with fire is not a game you will win--

----
Silently she swarms in like a leech, 
Feeding and sucking from the wounds my pain left behind.
She came inside: "Uninvited!"
Here have a drink, and die!
Taste the water drips that sail across my lips 
Plodding vigorously in the open air of her unwanted hostility
Forbidden as one, I noticed her aura a sickening light
Imprisonment that haunted smoke around her own imperfections
The hate and envy, she lives in resides airborne
The sound that she have summoned up hunger  
Brought me near the edge of everything
Feel my pain, a touch of impurities    
Tainted, infected, poisoned passion, her face disguised
Surrender toward serenity, the lighthearted woman I am inside 
She will never take, my full eternal grace
It’s time to reveal that blazing fire I hide
Drown her from the false flown sorrows of gust
Hold her hideous head under water--- burn her false fire out

Never will I turn my back and watch her muster them broken lids
Lungful of lies poisons the wind that flows from her snake like voice
Maneuvering the skies, scheming that snatch in
Like a viper twisting its unmatched curves, 
I strike, like a pyromaniac  --A burning match 
Allowing her to taste a part of the air I breathe 
A waste in the breeze her insecurities 
Trying to destroy what she can't be, what she can't see
At the end, blustery weather will remind her of the sea inside me,

YOU! The Angel, who crawls around like a shadow
Gorging its way into the heart with a charm of greed
Twisting reality hoping nobody sees its true sick identity
Slandering my name as the master of evil and manipulative
Marking my territory, warning others of a cold draft
Grasping the beauty that glows from my soul 
There it stood on the ledge UNINVITED
The devil walked and took my shoes 

:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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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~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013

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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


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

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A tribute to Leonora G

~ Yolanda was--her name ~    Featuring:) Leonora Galinta

From a hell storm,
A mighty she-devil took on its form
Like a woman scorn ascending from the sea
Haiyan whipped across the central Philippines,
A deadly typhoon, maximum winds of around 315 
Terrorizing the fragile mind before making landfall
Hitting with the center eye off from her hostility 
A merciless turbulence that came and changed everything

Like a Massive Storm  
She comes in as the wise thief of the day and night, 
In her notorious gust of rage roars in disguise of thunder, 
With the company of her own knight of darkness, 
Raze all in a blast of waves wherever her path crosses, 
Ruining one of the cities down to a devastation in the land
“Pearl of the Orient Seas.” 

A mighty tempest in a woman’s name…. Yet, 
A disgrace with more than an immortal man in strength, 
Nature devouring nature itself 
Including her stewards and stewardesses
An unmerciful encroachment, robbing, killing adults and children. 

Yolanda, so cruel in her evil walloping!
A guest left smiling,
Engraving echoes of tears, from every single mourn
Vain, wicked, and colorless -no other air’s compare 
The lives she stole, one heart at a time
Pouring down the most nauseating rain, 
The pain is dissenting with everyone-- everywhere.
The bully of wind, invading sands of serenity

Unknowingly, far beyond your back----------------------------
Everybody will be summoning up more than your strength- 


:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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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

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Welcome to the World of Worldly

Listen to poem:
Welcome to the world of Worldly 
where we feast all night.
All those things you once thought wrong -
here they all are right!

Worldly’s citizens are many.
Membership is free.
Criminals are here as well as
high society.

Come here and forget your sorrows
and forget your past.
Leave your ethics at the door too.
Here they will not last.

Come consume the fatted calf.
Imbibe cherry wine.
Love is a four letter word.
Lust, though, is divine!

Little boys and pretty girls
are also here to serve you
(if you lean that way, of course).
All things are on the menu!

Worship with us at the alter.
The sacrament for sin
is your blood lust or that rush
you get beneath your skin.

We have got a secret leader
with the gift of charm.
Succumb to him. We will relax you.
Let us prick your arm.

Our special members love green color
and they love their gold. 
You might qualify one day. . . 
Just do as you're told.

Finally, remember this.
In Worldly you will be
with peers who think and act like you
(should you need sympathy).


Written May 25, 2016 and 
Inspired by the Lyrics II - The Black Crowes - Poetry Contest of Rob Carmack


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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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

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Enlighten Me

"Haiku of enlightenment"

all explanations 
a perceptive, world of green
mocking the land

summoned bird calls
tantra and morality 
zestful garden-----------------  in waiting 

by;pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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THE VAMPIRE

For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been 
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania. 
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

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The Poet Warrior

My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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Bastille 2016

Bastille


Many years ago
They stormed the Bastille
Two hundred and one lost their lives
The tennis court oath however survived

Jacques had his heart with the masses
Necker could not be dismissed so easily
The storming of the Bastille was to be
The birth of a nation for all men free

And free men they were
Running naked through the streets
What they lacked in cake
The made up with in red wine

The Republique was born
A democracy in infancy
Would grow through trials and tribulations
To become a multicultural great nation

Lone angry men filled with such hate
I welcome you to Bastilles’ gate
Of medieval prisons long ago
It is there, you I shall throw

You kill in the name of a God
A God you do not know
Love has escaped from your very soul
Only hate tarnishes your bitter heart

The ghosts of Bastille are mocking
The coward who is filled with such animosity
There never shall be an escape
The soul of the dead shall eternally taunt you

A criminal with no compassion
You have only given us our determination
To battle for the peace of this great nation
You bring us tears; alas we shall turn them to wine

Naked through the streets we shall always dance!


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Blood Red Moon

Blood Red Moon

Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse 
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings 
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their 
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.

In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats 
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the 
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling 
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.

At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the 
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy 
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as 
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar. 

Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad 
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.

My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I 
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness 
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.

The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear 
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat 
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears. 

I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains 
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared 
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy. 
 
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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Halloween's Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh now alive in this famous predestined time
Where dubious shadow shades run a riot as the ghastly ghosts of darkness,
Begin calling to all goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and witches in the graveyards;
To come alive—as black cats call out their signals to all lost souls seeking, 
Powerful black magic spells to aid the spirits of ancient alchemists as they
Brew their potions to dull the senses and conjure all the evil spirits on Earth.  

A falling silver-layer mist appears as these uncanny evil spirits invade our
Mortal plane and lost ghosts appear as hungry human skeletons looking for 
Sustenance and seem to be horrified at the stillness broken by a death-cold.
They scream as bloodless fingers touch cold shivers without a warm heart; 
And who knows for sure the sad and mournful song from an ancient grave,
As “The Undead” conjure ravenous demons seeking warm blood to feast on. 

Blended into the dust are the crows whose shadows as a “Dark Phantom,”
Begin to form and take his shape—yet fear not the potent occult light as
That special Halloween Eve super moon beams brilliant and bright making  
Its presence known as your destiny and destination are already decided as
The Ancient Alchemist beckons all of us to drink widely from his mystical
Chalice of Darkness as all malice is reconciled—the birds and beasts speak.
 
Life as we know it is offered upon the Demonic Alter as the Dark Phantom
Initiates all human sacrifices as a drool-dripping envy of all existence drops; 
And the lustful and vengeance-seeking Vampires scrape along the walls as
Sharp poisonous thorns begin tearing behind their secret inner-vision as the 
Deep-dark and dismally-damp curtains open and eclipse the radiant dawn as
An unpleasant and horrible pain visits and our heartbeats grow faint and stop.

An unending agony screams sonorously as a deafening silence falls over us. 
In this “Land of the Dead,” they make their own laws overwriting all limits,
As a vile, creeping, malevolent mist crawls down into the valley deep below; 
The Devil's Advocate slithers on in a nasty, vicious way under your own skin,
As shivering timbers of truth of a living being watches outside our bodies on 
This Halloween Eve as our individual dreams enter the Twilight Zone forever! 

The Devil’s clever wizards and witches concoct an ancient poisonous mixture,
As the boiling cauldron of demonically-enhanced soup is stewed with care and 
Fresh toads, spiders, worms, beetles, ticks, and tiny black snakes are added in.
This unholy and potent poisoned soup from centuries past is now blessed by
The Dark One—to take life from the living and give nourishment to the dead,
As the veil between The Living and The Dead disappears on Halloween Eve!   

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Free Verse)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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- 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

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- The Air Vibrated -



             Most people were born with love and concern 
              ~ the real world is more like a nightmare ~
                       Listening To My Monday Blues
                                         ~
              we need to turn adversity into opportunity
                                    CHANGE
                      ~ before the sun goes down ~


                             
                                ~ * * * * * * ~



                   Some have tattoos, others have scars
                          Everyone has the memories
                    Five years after several coordinated 
              terrorist acts shaken Norway on 22 July 2011
       The bereaved and survivors still have horrific memories
                and miss their loved ones who lost their lives
                
               ... One human
                          ...
                              ... The air vibrated











  25.07.2016
  Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
  Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

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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

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The Playground

We are all in the devil's playground, 
now watch as I breach over and hold on to God's hand real tight. 


~
#1. The underground is never lonely, to many hot dates. 

#2. The host and the guest never seem to rest.

#3. The light will always shine upon my soul, no matter the shadow.
~

BY; PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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The Grim Reaper Cometh

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
(Shakespearean Sonnet)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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FINALLY

Finally 

Doctor, it's been 7 months 
The MEDs aren't kicking in

My dreams are getting stronger, 
The blood remains to run code red
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed 
Dark images keep taking place inside my head 
The voices - The voices, are not all right!

I no longer lay laughing 
The screaming never stops
In irons,  my mind rattles 
Theses thoughts are all I got
In slow motion, my mind plans the perfect plot

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Counting every single second on the clock 
At first, I could not breathe 
I felt, I was left alone, 
Broken down --- Incomplete  
In your eyes, the schizophrenia spoke loud
In my eyes, everything is dark and gray

Doctor, now listen closely, open your eyes
While the walls slowly close in on you
I have my hands around your neck
Finally, I feel my arms, the needles are gone

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
The tightening of the chest is clearing
Today I possess a little more than yesterday 
Knowing exactly what needs to be done.

DOC YOU AREN'T LISTENING!
Was it all for nothing, the bloody wrist?
The faucet constantly dripping every night
The voices I call my friends

Deep, deep down,  
I'm still a child, painting  bedroom walls
Setting fires after my mother's death 
A crazy peril in its most threatening state

Doc, here you are again,
No longer will I allow you to waste my time
With your fetish lies, trying to make me better 
The problem is not me, it was always you!
Painting pink butterflies and white skies

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Don't you understand  she's dead!
Pills aren't going to bring her back 
Padded rooms aren't going to help me,
Help myself --- grieve  the proper  way!
Straitjackets aren't going to restrain me, 
--- from wanting to hurt badly!
Psychologically, I'm perfectly sane 
Expressing my emotions a different way.

Doctor, you're not saying nothing 
You're not moving, 
You're just sitting there pretending to care.
Doc, I hope you aren't mad?
The voices explained it had to end this way
How else could I make you listen?

Finally, the impulse is gone 
Finally, I'm going to be alright 

       by: Pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Silent Lies and Deception

Silent Lies and Deception


In the silence of murky waters
There slithers oily snakes of the night
Wearing masks of deception
Beware of fools singing with Stalin’s tongue

The KGB shall set you free
Drowning you in the river Volga
The cold water keeping your lips tight
Whilst the silent ones spread their deceits

Lies, lies their dirty little lies
I wonder how their tongues wag and loudly sprout
So righteous, like imams with out a doubt
I call for radio silence

When comes the clique of hate
They say they have none, and
Maybe this is true
They run out at times, spreading it to you

Those who truly have good will and peace
Growing like flowers in a botanical heaven
Never spew the bloody insecticides here on earth
That alters the genes of peace in me and you

Beware of white sheep
That howls like the wolf at the full moon
A wise man knows the meaning of silence
Silent ones simply slither sneaky prose in the night

The Caspian Sea
Holds many ghosts who if not for death
Could tell you many silent tales
Of those with a million smiles and twisted masks

Seekers of the Silent Lies and Deception

	Dead Sea and salty tombs

		Silent in womb


Notes: The last poems Angel and Devil, about mans ability for both good and evil, I continued the theme here, by describing two repressive regimes, Russian under the likes of Stalin and Putin and the Palestinian one under Arafat. The poem is either incomplete or to be continued in a second poem, as in the end I inferred the Silent one Amina, a story about the repression and hardships of women in India. An excellent book by a great author Fiza Pathan.


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Terrorism knows no Geography

hate knows no limits
Boston or Beirut Bombings
innocent ones die

in Paris or Pakistan
atrocities unlabeled
innocent ones die

Baghdad or Berlin
Lives should have the same value
innocent ones die

innocent ones die
religion or politics~~~
extremism kills

Terrorism reigns
the world is no longer safe
innocent ones die

say a prayer for all
terror plays no favorites
innocent ones die

Eileen


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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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

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The Hanging

The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection

I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour

Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation

He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum

So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair

The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed

A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror

A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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To All Of You

There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope

Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care

About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you

We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace

And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive

As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife

And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids

We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good

Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal

We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice

We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong

Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through

The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care

We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone

And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you


Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009