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Halloween Poems IV

the Horror by Michael R. Burch the Horror lurks inside our closets the Horror hides beneath our beds the Horror hisses ancient curses the Horror whispers in our heads the Horror tells us Death is coming the Horror tells us there’s no hope the Horror tells us “life” is futile the Horror beckons, “there’s the Rope!” Horror by Michael R. Burch What I ache to say is beyond saying? no words for the horror of not loving enough, like a mummy half-wrapped in its moldering casements holding a lily aloft. No, there are no words for the horror as a tormented wind howls through the teetering floes and the cold freezes down to my clawed hairy toes ... What use to me, now, if the stars appear? As I moan the moon finds me, fangs goring the deer. Strange Corps(e) by Michael R. Burch We are all dying, haunted by life? dying, but the living will not let us go. We are perishing zombies, haunted by the moonglow. Love, ah! serene ghost by Michael R. Burch Love, ah! serene ghost, haunts my retelling of her, or stands atop despairing stairs with such pale, severe eyes, I become another pallid specter. But what I feel most profoundly is this: the absolute lack of her kiss, the absence of her wild, unwarranted laughter. So that, like a candle deprived of oxygen, I become mere wick and tallow again. Here and hereafter ... gone with her now, in the darkest of nights, the flame! I lie, pallid vision of man?the same wan ghost of her palpitations’ claim on my heart that I was before. I love her beyond and despite even shame. Eden by Michael R. Burch Then earth was heaven too, a perfect garden. Apples burgeoned and shone?unplucked on sagging boughs. What, then, would the children eat? Fruit indecently sweet, redolent as incense, with a tempting aroma ... Outcasts by Michael R. Burch There was a rose, a prescient shade of crimson, the very color of blood, that bloomed in that garden. The most dazzling of all the Earth’s flowers, men have forgotten it now, with their fanciful tales of apples and serpents. Beasts with lips called the goreflower “Love.” The scribes have the story all wrong: four were there, four horrid dark creatures?chattering, bickering. Aduhm placed one red petal in Ehve’s matted hair; he was lost in her arms till dawn sullen and golden imperceptibly streaked the musk-fragrant air. Two flared nostrils quivered, two eyes remained open. Kahyn sought me that evening, his bloodless lips curled in a grimacelike smile. Sunken-cheeked, he approached me in the Caverns of Similitudes, eerie Barzakh. “We are outcasts, my brother!, God quickly deserts us.” As though his anguish conceived in insight’s first blush might not pale next to mine in Sheol’s gray realm. “Shining Creature!” he named me and called me divine as he lavished damp kisses upon my bright scales. “Help me find me one rare gift to put Love’s gift to shame.” “There is a dark rose with a bittersweet fragrance as pungent as cloves: only man knows its name. Clinging and cloying, it destroys all it touches . . .” “But red is Ehve’s preference; while Envy is green.” He was downcast a moment, a moment, a moment . . . “Ah, but red is the color of blood!” Disagreeable child, far too clever for his own good. Temptation by Michael R. Burch Jesus was always misunderstood . . . we have that, at least, in common. And it’s true that I found him, shriveled with hunger, shivering in the desert, skeletal, emaciate, not an ounce of fat to warm his bones once the bright sun set. And it’s true, I believe, that I offered him something to eat? a fig, perhaps, a pomegranate, or a peach. Hardly the great “temptation” of which I’m accused. He was a likeable chap, really, and we spent a pleasant hour discussing God? how hard He is to know, and impossible to please. I left him there, the pale supplicant, all skin and bone, at the mouth of his cave, imploring his “Master” on callused knees. Role Reversal by Michael R. Burch The fluted lips of statues mock the bronze gaze of the dying sun . . . We are nonplused, they say, smacking their wet lips, jubilant . . . We are always refreshed, always undying, always young, forever unapologetic, forever gay, smiling, and though it seems man has made us, on his last day, we will see him unmade? we will watch him decay as if he were clay, and we had assumed his flesh, hissing our disappointment. Excelsior by Michael R. Burch I lift my eyes and laugh, Excelsior . . . Why do you come, wan spirit, heaven-gowned, complaining that I am no longer “pure?” I threw myself before you, and you frowned, so full of noble chastity, renowned for leaving maidens maidens. In the dark I sought love’s bright enchantment, but your lips were stone; my fiery metal drew no spark to light the cold dominions of your heart. What realms were ours? What leasehold? And what claim upon these territories, cold and dark, do you seek now, pale phantom? Would you light my heart in death and leave me ashen-white, as you are white, extinguished by the Night? Liar by Michael R. Burch Chiller than a winter day, quieter than the murmur of the sea in her dreams, eyes wilder than the crystal spray of silver streams, you fill my dying thoughts. In moments drugged with sleep I have heard your earnest voice leaving me no choice save heed your hushed demands and meet you in the sands of an ageless arctic world. There I kiss your lifeless lips as we quiver in the shoals of a sea that endlessly rolls to meet the shattered shore. Wild waves weep, "Nevermore," as you bend to stroke my hair. That land is harsh and drear, and that sea is bleak and wild; only your lips are mild as you kiss my weary eyes, whispering lovely lies of what awaits us there in a land so stark and bare, beyond all hope ... and care. This is one of my early poems, written as a teen. Keywords/Tags: Halloween, horror, death, curses, mummy, zombies, ghost, ghosts, specter, specters, phantom, phantoms, spirit, spirits, dark, supernatural, evil

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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